


The Skeptic

by alvfr



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bi-Curiosity, Bisexual Female Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama & Romance, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Latino Character, Mystery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Stalking, True Mates, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 78
Words: 523,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25973446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alvfr/pseuds/alvfr
Summary: Joe is building her degree on the premise that werewolves, witches, ghosts - all those things that go bump in the night – aren’t real. She can cite numerous sources on how all folklore stems from a human need to explain the unexplainable. When she chooses the animal attacks happening in her own hometown as a case study, she gets sucked down the rabbit hole of what is actually going on in Beacon Hills. Her cousin thinks he’s a werewolf, this other guy claims to be her mate, and she is just trying to make her next deadline without dying in the process.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 858
Kudos: 419





	1. The Intruder

It seemed like a good decision at the time. She only had classes a couple of days a week and most of her schoolwork could be done online, even with the shitty connection that averaged at well below the advertised 12 Mbps. Her aunt only lived half an hour from campus in any case, and she could easily afford the gas money when she didn’t have to pay rent on top of it. Her aunt was more than happy if she just helped her cousin Scott with his homework when needed. Which was quite often, truth be told.

It was not a big house, but she got her own room, spacious enough to create a little office nook crammed in between the door and the sloped ceiling. Her aunt worked odd hours and Scott seemed to spend most of his time at his friend’s house, so the living room TV was usually unoccupied when she wanted to watch true-crime documentaries. They respected her privacy, she got enough peace and quiet to actually get some work done, and Aunt Melissa’s only rule towards curfews and partying was not bringing strange boys home. Which was an easy enough rule to stick to - her phone was not exactly blowing up with offers for neither parties nor boys.

So the arrangement was satisfactory for all parties. Melissa got help around the house, Scott got help with his homework, and Joe did not have to put herself in lifelong debt to pay rent and utilities at the dorms on campus.

At least it was satisfactory, until _Scott_ started bringing strange boys home.

Joe emerged from her room after a long session of online workshops with her group, feeling very much like a disgruntled hedgehog coming out of hibernation. The afterglow from the computer monitor flashed in her mind every time she blinked. It was easy to lose track of time and now she had to get rid of the evidence. She balanced a large load of old water bottles, used coffee mugs and the occasional empty cup of instant noodles in her arms and used her hip to close the door behind her. Those large piles of unfolded laundry on her bed was best left unseen by the other occupants in the house - especially Aunt Melissa.

A flicker in the shadows down by Scott’s door caused Joe to stop on her way to the stairs. She squinted, still half-blind. Either the combination of Scott’s lacrosse stick propped up by the door and the crooked lamp on the wall caused the shadows to resemble the silhouette of a man - or there was a man standing in the hallway.

“Uh...who’re you?” Joe asked and the water bottles made a cracking sound as she subconsciously squeezed them.

The man, clad in a tight white shirt and a form-fitting leather jacket, took a step forward so he was no longer half-concealed in the dark hallway. This did not in any way or form make him less intimidating, even if it looked like he made a genuine effort to remove that scowl on his face. Dark haired, but almost unnaturally pale skin, and the hint of a five-o’clock-shadow. If she had to guess, he was a descendant of Black Irish. Very attractive, to that extent that he was probably very aware of it too. He attempted a smile.

“I’m a friend of Scott’s.”

Joe’s eyebrows rose to meet her hair-bun that laid haphardazly atop her head. “You’re like, what, ten year’s older than him?”

The man smiled again with a closed mouth, even if it never reached his eyes. “Sorry, who are you again?”

“I _live_ here,” Joe said with emphasis and tried to shift her load to get one arm free in case she had to make a run for it back into her room. She left her cell-phone in there, only because the oversized sweatpants she was wearing did not have pockets. It was either that, or storming downstairs to the landline to call the cops if that should become necessary.

“Ah, so _you’re_ Scott’s sister?” the man said as if he’d heard all about her, but never had the pleasure to meet her before. It was a good act, very believable, except Scott did not have any siblings. “I’m Der-”

“Yeah, I don’t care,” Joe interrupted him. The house was small, the walls were thin - if Scott was in his room, he would have heard them talking out in the hallway and come outside. He hadn’t, so Joe’s best guess was that he wasn’t home. How did he even get in here? Did they forget to lock the front door again? “You’re not Scott’s friend, I’ve never seen you before, and I want you to leave.”

The man raised his hand in a disarming manner, but Joe’s pulse quickened by the second whie she tried to keep it hidden. She took a step back to clear passage in the hallway and nodded towards the stairs leading down. “Leave. Now.”

He hesitated, his head tilted a bit to the side as if he was listening to something, and now her heart beat faster - what if she was practically trapped in the house with some kind of deranged lunatic? She jolted when the man lifted his other arm, and he slowed his movements almost apologetically. With both hands raised and empty palms facing her, he bowed his head to expose his neck.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and obviously made a point of keeping eye contact. He walked past her to the stairs. The same instant he passed her, she got hit full force with what had to be his very pungent cologne. In fact, it was so powerful she tried to take another step back, causing her to bump into the wall.

This made him look up at her and he missed the top step of the stairs. She opened her mouth to yell, picturing him breaking his neck in his fall, but he had already recovered his balance and grabbed onto the bannister. There was not much expression on his face, but the small quirk in his brows made him look confused, almost dazed, and he kept glancing back at her as he made his way to the front door. She remained rooted to the spot, almost dizzy from the lingering scent of him, and did not take normal breaths until the door slammed behind him.

“That guy needs a shower,” she muttered and stumbled down the stairs to lock the door after him. She peeked out from the lace-curtains that were part of the remains from the previous owner, but the street was deserted. Not comforting, she would have preferred to see him walking away from the house. Now he could be lurking in the bushes for all she knew.

On that pleasant thought, she hauled the evidence of the many hours spent in front of the computer to the kitchen. She made a mental note to ask Scott about the guy when he got home. Maybe he had been telling the truth, however unlikely. In that case, they had to have a conversation about boundaries. It was bad enough that that Stilinski kid kept popping up at odd hours - she had several times come down to the kitchen to find him sipping coffee first thing in the morning, before anyone else in the house was up. But at least she knew Stiles, this new, and much older, guy did not seem like anyone Scott would want to hang out with. Not that she knew much about who Scott would want to hang out with other than Stiles. Stiles was Scott’s best - and only - friend. He had never brought anyone else home as far she knew at least.

Joe turned on the radio to have some company and distraction from her own thoughts when doing the dishes. She relaxed a bit more with every passing minute the guy did not leap out of the neighbor’s overgrown cedar hedge. Leaving some of the cups in the sink to soak - they might have been sitting in her room for days and gotten all crusty - she turned to rummage the fridge for any late night snack. Locked in her room in front of the computer all day made her lose any sense of time and she had skipped both lunch and dinner. But hopefully there would be leftovers...

Several bangs and crashes and a final heavy thud came from upstairs - like someone sneaking in through a window, tripping over a wire or the laundry basket, stumbling to catch their balance before tripping again over a wayward skateboard and relenting to the floor. Joe froze with the fridge door open, the fluorescent buzzing the only sound after the racket upstairs died away. It was probably Scott. He must have forgotten his mom worked the late shift and tried to sneak in past curfew. It had to be Scott. Right?

“Scott?” she called in the voice of someone who did not actually want to be heard. The knife block sat invitingly on the counter, but stabbing someone meant getting a bit closer than Joe found comfortable, so she locked her hand around the cast iron frying pan that Aunt Mel used for her infamous grilled cheese instead. More thuds and bangs echoed through the floor.

Inching her way up the stairs, she desperately tried to listen for any tell-tale signs this was just her hormonal teenager of a cousin who was bumping into things, and not some raving madman throwing a fit. What she did hear did nothing to still her fears. Groaning, growling even, and more crashes.

“Shit,” she muttered and shifted her grip on the frying pan, her sweaty palms making it slick. “Shit, shit, shit.”

The hallway seemed impossibly long and alltogether too short at the same time and she was in front of Scott’s door before she knew it. “Scott?” she tried again, and thought the strange noises inside stopped for a split second. No answer from probably-not-Scott.

Joe hefted the makeshift weapon and swore. “Shit.”

She flung the door open and found a monster.

“AAAAH!” she screamed, closed her eyes and swung blindly at the intruder who was definitely-not-Scott! By chance, the heavy iron made contact and definitely-not-Scott let out a shrill yelp. Still squeezing her eyes shut, she shifted the momentum of the frying pan to take another swing, again and again, hitting only air and shrieking like a madwoman each time. “AAH! AAAH! AAH!”

_“JOE! Stop! Stop, it’s me, stop!”_

The sound of Scott’s voice snapped her out of the frenzy and she finally dared to open her eyes again. Instead of the yellow-eyed monster who had snarled at her when she opened the door, she only saw her baby cousin sprawled out on the floor. Blood dripped from his nose where she evidently had gotten him good with the frying pan.

“Scott?!” she screeched and stopped swinging. Quick look around the room revealed it to be empty, although furniture and books laid strewn everywhere. No monster. No danger. Just her cousin. “What the hell?” They stared at each other for several seconds. Scott touched his nose gingerly and Joe dropped the frying pan with a heavy bang. “Oh no! Oh my God, oh, I’m so sorry!”

She knelt by Scott and twisted his face roughly despite his protests. He was bleeding and yelped each time she prodded his nose, but it did not appear to be broken. She tried to grab onto his head to look at his pupiles. “Hold still, you could have a concussion!”

“Ow!” he protested again and swatted at her hands. “Jesus, Joe!”

“Well, I’m sorry!” she yelled right into his ear, making him flinch and grimace. “I thought I saw-” What had she seen? Probably a stress-induced hallucination fuelled by her fear-fantasies from that strange encounter before. Saying she tried to knock her cousin out because she thought she’d seen some kind of fairytale monster did not sound like a plausible explanation in case they had to go the ER. “I thought you were a burglar.”

“A burglar?” Scott exclaimed, but shrugged her off so he could sit more upright. He clutched at his nose, but it looked like the bleeding had stopped at least. “What do we have in this house worth stealing?”

“A burglar wouldn’t know that!”

“Jesus Christ, Joe! _Ow!”_

She’d swatted the back of his head. “What the hell are you doing sneaking in anyway? Curfew was an hour ago.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot,” he mumbled lamely, not looking at her.

“And then what, you decided to do some alternative redecorating?” Joe made a face at the mess in the room. A little mess was normal for a healthy teenage boy, but the overturned furniture was a bit too kitsch, even for him. “What’s wrong with ya? You know your mom can’t afford to replace this stuff.”

Scott groaned and buried his head into his arms. “I know, I know. I just...tripped.”

“Ten times in a row?”

“Joe...”

“I mean I get it, making first line’s exciting and all, but it doesn’t make you some kind of rockstar-”

“Joe!” Scott snapped and gave her a hard stare over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, okay? And I’m sorry for scaring you.”

She frowned at the memories of how piss-her-pants-terrified she had been just a few minutes before. Bristling, she got up and hefted at his arm to make him stand as well. No signs of concussion and no broken nose, he would be fine. “Yeah, well, ya didn’t scare me half as much as that so-called-friend of yours.”

“What friend?” Scott sounded panicked and grabbed Joe’s arm when she turned away to get the frying pan back up from the floor. He forced her to look at him. “Joe, what friend?”

“Some creepy guy in a leather jacket, said he was your friend, and I was like, uh, dude, you’re like a decade too old, and he was like, yeah, well, who are you then, like _I_ don’t actually live here, and I was like, uh, you need to get-”

“Joe!” Scott snapped again to pause her paraphrasing. “What was his name?”

They stared at each other. Scott had caught up with her height-wise almost a year ago and now he had several inches on her. She still thought of him like approximately twelve years old, but the boy was growing to be a man. A man who looked dead serious.

“I mean, I don’t know-”

Scott threw his head back and released her arm with an exaspareted groan.“Joe!”

“I didn’t catch it!”

“Was it Derek? Derek Hale?”

Joe shrugged theatrically. “I don’t know! Maybe? _Is_ he a friend of yours?”

“No!” Scott turned abruptly to flip his computer chair upright. “He’s _not_ my friend. Next time he shows up, don’t open the door.”

“I never did open the door for him, he was just standing in the hall all of a sudden.”

“What? In the house?” Panic seeped into Scott’s voice and he looked around the room as if the stranger was hiding behind the nightsand and Joe started to feel nervous again herself. “Joe, promise me, if he ever come back here, call the police.”

The intensity in his voice gave her goosebumps. Keep in mind that this was a guy who’d failed one of his tests because he couldn’t name which party the current president represented. Not really invested in anything outside the high school bubble.

“What’s going on, Scott?” she asked gently while helping him pick up all the knicknacks from his desk. “Who is that guy?”

Scott shook his head. “I can’t explain. Just promise me you’ll stay away from him.”


	2. The Sportscar

For some reason, Scott was adamant that they kept the unwanted visit secret from his mom. He did not want to add to her already pretty high stress levels. Which was a point Joe could agree upon, even if it churned her stomach to hide stuff from Aunt Melissa. Still, Joe knew that the grocery bills alone were a cause for concern at the moment as Scott was a growing boy with the appetite of one. Aunt Melissa was picking up so many extra shifts she was hardly ever home. That was why she relied on Joe to help Scott with his homework, which she did whenever the boy in question could find time to do it. With his lacrosse practice and newfound lady interest, he was out of the house more and more as well.

  
It was just the two of them at breakfast the morning after.

“Remember you have a Chemistry report to hand in next week,” Joe said without looking away from her own set of papers she had to grade and get back to her Prof by the end of the day. Her position as TA took a lot of time, but at least it meant she could chip in a few bucks every month towards groceries and stuff. Scott groaned a confirmation that he had heard her and quickly gulfed down a large bowl of cereal.

“You’re on your own for dinner tonight, by the way, I got lectures and tutoring all day,” Joe continued while Scott kept grunting in response. Not a morning person, in fact, his eyes were barely open. “I’ll be home late.”

He swallowed thickly and proceeded to empty the juice carton in two large gulps. “Mom’s still asleep?”

“Working graveyards this week.”

“Mhm.”

Joe tore her focus away from the botched interpretation of the textbook one of the undergrads had handed in. Scott sat staring down into the empty cereal bowl, strings of still wet hair hanging limply over his forehead. “You okay? You look-”

“Tired, I know.”

“I was gonna say ‘like shit’, but okay,” Joe continued with a shrug. “You get any sleep last night?” The walls were thin and she’d heard him tossing and turning while she was up late finishing her reading for today’s class.

Scott mumbled. “Some.” He sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Like a girl question...?”

“Ugh.” Joe made a face, but nevertheless put the papers away and peered at Scott over her cup. Bracing herself for any high school-drama. “Fine.”

“I kind of, uh, ditched a girl at a party on Friday.”

“Because you’re not interested in her?”

“No! No, that’s the thing, I really like her. Like, really _really_ like her.”

“So why’d ya ditch her?”

“That’s...” Scott looked utterly defeated. “...complicated.”

“All right,” Joe said and shrugged again. She got up to clear the table. “Just tell her the truth and apologize.”

“That’s the thing,” Scott said quickly and followed Joe to the sink with his own bowl. “I can’t really tell her the truth.” He fidgeted with the edge of a kitchen towel laying by the clean dishes. “Do you think there’s any way she’ll give me another chance?”

Joe rinsed her cup and started to fill her thermos with coffee from the pot. What was with this boy lately? She thought they had weathered the worst of his puberty a couple of years back when he got a new shoe size each week, but this was in many ways worse. She thought about his question and concluded: “Well...only if she really _really_ likes you too.”

They went separate ways - Scott took his bike to school and Joe locked up the house to let Aunt Mel get her sleep before she took her car to Berkely. The ‘99 Ford Fiesta in the fetching color of undetermined blue-ish was still holding up, even if it was by the grace of duct tape in several places. Decent mileage, decent safety rating to achieve decent insurance cost and compatible with most of-the-shelf spare parts to keep the costs down on the rare occasion she took it to a garage. Back east she had a lot of school friends who tinkered with cars in their spare time so she never had to pay for service. Not so lucky here in the west.

“Great news,” said her professor the same instant Joe came into the office. Professor Kane was brilliant, but slightly eccentric. Even if she was one of the highest esteemed academics in their field, had a six-figure salary and several bookdeals, she insisted on dressing like a middle school crafts teacher. Freshmen met with the vision that was Professor Kane, with homemade jewelry, multi-colored knitwear and old, sturdy loafers often made the mistake of not taking her seriously. A lot of them were dropped from the class only weeks later when they failed to keep up with her brilliance.

“Great news?” Joe asked and put two paper cups down, one with herbal tea for the Prof and one with regular coffee for herself.

“I just found the perfect case study for your next academic paper,” Professor Kane said and pushed her bangly bracelets up her arm to hold a local newspaper up. The entire front page was scattered with different stories on a dead body found in the Beacon Hills Preserve. Joe took the newspaper from her hands, trying to find the academic interest. She had to submit a multitude of journal papers to get her degree approved.

“The animal attack?” Joe asked, because that was what the locals claimed, even though it hadn’t been confirmed yet.

“The alleged animal attack!” Professor Kane exclaimed and snatched the newspaper back. “But not the attack itself, dearest, the public reaction to it! The concerned citizens, the online conspiracies, the rumors and whispers and hinting that this might be more. There are so many similarities to fifteenth-century Bedburg, Toledo 1852, 1936 West Milford - simpler times, sure, but the public reaction remains the same, even with all the education, knowledge, technology we possess today.”

“Bedburg, Toledo and West Milford...” Joe repeated and took a sip of her coffee to buy some time. Professor Kane had set her large eyes on her, watching intently to see if Joe could spot the connection. “Those are all cases used as so-called evidence for werewolves.”

“Yes!” Professor Kane did a fist pump. “And all those cases...?” she prompted, nodding encouragingly.

“Ended in convictions,” Joe finished. “For lycanthropy.”

“Exactly!” Professor Kane spread the newspaper out, most of the mid-section occupied by a large picture of the entrance to the Beacon Hills Preserve with Sheriff Stilinski in plain view next to an ambulance. “Of course, a legal conviction in the 15th century and today are two vastly different things, but why did they need a conviction? Why was this different than a wolf or bear snatching the occasional sheep or cow?”

“Fear? Anger?” Joe guessed. “Losing a beloved is more than just nature’s course, they wanted a culprit to blame?”

“Exactly! And when humans can not find a natural explanation, what do we do?”

“We turn to the supernatural.”

Professor Kane nodded fervently. “Yes! So what really separates the modern man from his unenlightened predecessor?”

This was textbook, a point she made in almost every lecture. “The internet. We have more ways to communicate. More ways to spread fear.”

Her professor pressed her hands together in a prayer-like position and beamed. “Exactly, Miss Delgado. Oh!” Professor Kane made several approving noises as she sipped her tea. “I want a draft proposal on my desk by next Friday. Three research questions, a methodology outline and a timeline. By any luck, we’ll hit the Easter deadline.”

“Great,” said Joe and watched the mountain of work she had grow larger still. Research meant legwork which meant talking to people, not exactly her forte. She escaped from Professor Kane’s office without any additional tasks, attended the lectures, spent some mind-numbing hours in the library with the students she tutored and it was well and dark outside before she got back in the car.

Working as a private tutor was good money for easy work, but it was so incredibly boring. She rested her head on the steering wheel, contemplating taking a short nap before driving home. No, she needed to get back as fast as possible - she had other work to complete before she could think about possible research questions for the Beacon Hills-case. She hadn’t even paid that much attention to it - missing hikers turned up from time and again in the preserve, mostly in a decomposed state, so what was so special about this one that it warranted national attention? Not too many details in the news media about this, which was probably why people were getting so worked up. People liked to fill in the blanks.

She took the long way home, which was less stressful than the highway. Apart from the occasional motorcycle, she was alone on the road. The mellow voice from the Alanis Morissette-CD soothed her and gave her just enough background noise to think.

Werewolves, huh? The US did not have that much history with werewolf lore, whereas almost every country in Europe had at least one case of a “documented” werewolf. A lot of other cultures had similar shapeshifting monsters in their reportoire. The US seemed more riddled with other beasts - Bigfoot, the Mothman, Chupacabra...The monsters that could pass for humans were less popular in the US. Not in fiction, of course, but in reported cases. Maybe it was part of the American forthrightness, that people could just not wrap their head around a monster in disguise. That might be a point to add in her paper.

“Dude. Really?” A pair of headlights had been steadily approaching from behind and now they lit up the inside of the Ford. Joe groaned and adjusted her mirror.

The dark car currently tailgating her made no motion to pass her. This was the old highway, before they built the I-5, so there were plenty of room. Joe rolled her eyes and signalled to the right to make them take the hint. In the dark, it was hard to see the make or model. Not a pick-up at least, the lights were sitting too close to the asphalt for that.

“Jesus,” Joe muttered when the car did not take the hint. She turned off the signal and stayed right there on the speed limit. “Fine. Asshole.”

The car suddenly roared and pulled up so it was cruising next to her, maintaining the exact same speed. It was a slick black sportscar, but she did not know enough about cars to pinpoint the model. Tinted windows, so she could not get the satisfaction to see what kind of moron was driving. Resisting the urge to give the driver a plain view of her middle finger, she focused on the road ahead. It was blessedly empty still.

  
They stayed like that for far too long. Her shoulders started to ache with the effort of clutching the wheel so hard, she was ready to emergency brake in case of sudden oncoming traffic. A change in the steady purr of the other car made her glance sideways.

“ _Are you shitting me_?” Joe erupted when the car forced itself in front of her and into her lane. She barely had time to brake and almost swerved straight into a ditch. She laid on the horn, but this had the opposite effect when the car slowed down instead.

“Come on!” she yelled, drowning out whatever Alanis was trying to sing, and watched the speedometer tick down to 50-40-30 mph! She started to sweat. One thing was certain, she was not stopping the car no matter what. They were alone in the middle of nowhere and this could be a ruse to get her out of the car. She pressed her whole palm onto the horn.

They were almost down to 20, when the sportscar revved into life and zipped ahead of her at record speed. Skidmarks marked the road as the car disappeared behind a bend. She blinked her longlights a few times, knowing it had no effect, and swore harshly under her breath as she began to pick up speed again. Some people had too much spare time.

Before she could change gears, she had to slam down the brakes again. The old Ford screeched in protest and she skidded to a full stop just in time for an entire horde of black-tailed deer storming across the road. The echo of their trampling feet shook the car and she stared at the sight of literally hundreds of deer running in a wild panic from one part of the forest to the next.

“Holy shit,” she breathed and fumbled with her cell-phone to record it, but the lighting was too poor. She regularly drove this stretch and was used to seeing one or two crossing at times. But a stampede like this? Only on TV, when a large forest fire forced all the wildlife to migrate all at once. What were they running from? Volcano? Earthquake? It was in the middle of winter, not exactly high-season for forest fires.

The herd passed and the night grew eerily silent again. She rolled her window down, to see if she could smell smoke. Nope. It was really quiet though. No hoots or chirps or cicadas or-

A howl erupted from within the forest.

Immediate reaction: wolf! More logical explanation: coyote. At least they were native to California, although not abundant this far north. Did coyotes howl? Did it matter?

Another howl, tapping straight into the primate part of her brain that screamed _danger_. Joe forced her car into gear and sped off without rolling up the window. She checked the mirror constantly, but no sign of anything.

Her hands were numb by the time she pulled up to the McCall-house. The lights were still on in Scott’s room and she breathed a sigh of relief. She really needed to not be alone right now. It took her several tries to unlock the door with trembling fingers, but she got in and made sure to lock the door behind her as well. Right now she was really sympathizing with whoever was writing online conspiracies on werewolf attacks in Beacon Hills.

“Scott?” she called and bounced up the stairs. She’d known him all his life, she’d lived with them on and off throughout the years and he was more like a little brother than a cousin. A couple of years ago she would have barged into his room without question, but when he hit puberty she learned the hard way why that could be a bad idea. She knocked on the door instead, rapid short knocks. “Scott? You up?”

A bang from inside made her jump back. It sounded like someone throwing themselves against the wall. Her hand was poised on the doorknob, but she recalled Scott’s newfound love interest. Maybe she really _really_ forgave him for Friday?

“Uh, Scott?” she called again, resisting the urge to eavesdrop in case she heard more than she wanted to. On the other hand, maybe the girl hadn’t forgiven him and he was throwing another fit and breaking furniture. “You okay in there, buddy?”

No answer, no sound of anything actually. Weeeeird.

“Scott, I’m coming in,” she rambled and braced herself. “So, y’know, I hope you’re decent...and all.”

Just as she started to turn the knob, the door swung open to reveal Scott. Heavy of breath and dishelved, but at least fully clothed and alive.

“Joe! You’re back!” he said with too much enthusiasm on his boyish face. He tried to discreetly adjust his shirt.

Too nosy for her own good, Joe peered inside. No mysterious pieces of clothing or suspicious lumps on the bed to indicate another presence. “Are you alone?”

Scott took a deep breath as he grinned. “Yep!”

Joe squinted. “I thought I heard something...”

“I - uh - tripped.”

Scott rubbed the back of his head and Joe took the opportunity to dart inside the room. Everything looked normal. It was just...she had this feeling that...

“Do you smell that?” Joe asked and sniffed a couple of times to be sure.

Scott stood by the door, holding it open in case she took the hint and left. “Smell what?”

“That...cologne or something,” Joe mumbled, because she was not exactly sure what it was. Not as pungent as the last time, but still present. Like he had just been here. “This sort of spicy, earthy, woody...” Joe waved her hands around, unable to articulate into words. It smelled like dark, dark red mixed with a grainy texture and that did not make sense at all. It was not unpleasant, not at all, but sort of invasive.

“Did that guy come back?”

Scott radiated innocense, much like Stiles did whenever he was 100% undoubdtedly guilty of something. “What guy?”

“The guy you told me to call the cops on if he came back.”

“Oh, that guy! Uh, no, nope, he didn’t.”

“Weird,” Joe mumbled and took another glance at the completely empty room. She shook it off, maybe Scott had gotten a new shower gel or something. “You want cocoa? I’m freezing.”

It seemed like Scott would agree to anything to get her out of the room. She made cocoa, but the cold resided for hours, the howling at the back of her mind.


	3. The Stalker

Splurging on fancy coffee and newspapers was a rare, but deserved luxury. Joe had pulled an all-nighter finishing that draft proposal for Professor Kane. With the timeline she proposed, Joe would have to begin research immediately. Which was why she was sitting in a coffee shop with all the local newspapers from the last week spread in a large chaotic display on the table. Sipping on the oat milk cappucino, she made pages and pages of notes on her computer.

So the found body was actually just half a body, so far only identified as Jane Doe. The half they found was the lower half, so no positive ID yet. It was not the usual case of animals tearing apart a corpse of a lost hiker. The part was intact, whereas animals usually scattered remains over several acres. No clothing, no gear, no gnaw marks.

Just half a body, naked.

No ID, no suspects, no cause of death...well, apart from the hemicorporectomy. That would definitely kill someone. Interestingly, this was a method from Medieval France used to kill alleged werewolves. Like stake to a heart for vampires. Probably a coincidence, but noteworthy all the same.

The newspapers contained several quotes from Sheriff Stilinski. He claimed they had devoted the entire Beacon County Sheriff’s department to the case, only assisted by the State Troopers. So when several police cars and an ambulance passed the coffee shop, Joe perked up. They were enroute to the station and hospital. The ambulance meant they had found the other half. The police cars could mean they had arrested someone.

The station was just a few blocks down...

She stuffed everything into her bag, waved goodbye to the owner and followed the vehicles. It was not like she was trying to solve the case, her interest was purely academical. In the private of her mind, she had to admit it intrigued her. Was it another hiker unprepared for the wilderness? Or was it actually murder? So far there was evidence to support both.

She turned the corner in time to see a couple of deputies extract someone from the back of a police car. Joe froze on the spot, almost tripping over her own feet. That was not just any someone! It was the creep from the house! In handcuffs!

“Holy shit!” she yelped and the guy turned his head in her direction as if he’d heard her from almost fifty yards away. Joe darted back behind the corner, clutching at the coarse brickword. Her head reeled at the fact that she had been close enough to _smell_ an actual murderer! Holy shit! What kind of mess had Scott gotten himself into? She was gonna kill him!

She waited several minutes before she peeked out again, but the deputies and the guy were long gone. The Sheriff stood outside and talked to a local reporter a few feet outside the main entrance. Joe sidled up to them, hoping to catch some of their conversation.

“Joe McCall,” said Sheriff Stilinski as the reporter wrapped up. That was not her name. A lot of people in Beacon Hills called her that because they knew she was Melissa McCall's niece. They usually did not know that Melissa had never gone back to her maiden name. Joe had stopped correcting people.

The two men nodded at each other before the reporter flipped his notepad shut and went back to his car. This left Joe alone in the attentive gaze of the Sheriff, who grimaced. “How’s your degree coming?”

“Gradually,” said Joe with a polite smile. Unfortunately, most of her encounters with the Sheriff had been via her father. “So, uh, have you arrested someone for the murd-”

“We have a person of interest in custody, yes.” The Sheriff gave her a tired look. “You know I can’t release anything else.”

“Have you ID’d the body yet?”

Another tired look, almost disappointed. “Joe...”

“Sorry,” Joe said and tried to smile disarmingly. “There’s a lot of controversy with this case, and I’m kind of making it a case study for a paper I’m doing on public reaction to unexplainable murders.”

She waited while the Sheriff digested this. “What’s that you’re getting your degree in again?” Sheriff Stilinski squinted at her.

“Social Anthropology, specializing in psychological symbollics in history and culture,” Joe said quickly and watched the grimace staying put on the Sheriff’s face.

“All right,” he said eventually, probably in lack of anything else, and nodded. She could watch the gears turn in his head as he tried to change the subjects. “Suppose I’ll see you at the game tonight?”

Joe had almost forgotten Scott’s lacrosse match later today. Usually she abhorred sports. It mattered to both Aunt Mel and Scott now that he was actually playing, so she guessed she had no choice. “Yup.”

“Great,” said the Sheriff and sounded horibly insincere.

Unfortunately Scott was not home when she got back to the house. Joe would have to berate him for having any sort of association with a murderer later. Stiles called their landline several times to request his whereabouts, each time more agitated than the last. Joe figured Scott was with that girl he talked about. She could not get over the feeling that the murderer had been in Scott’s bedroom the other night. It was the exact same smell. Joe had taken a tour of Scott’s toiletries and nothing smelled like that guy had.

“Bundle up, it’s gonna be cold,” Aunt Melissa instructed when they were getting ready to leave. Scott hadn’t been home at all, but at least Stiles had stopped calling. Joe plopped a beanie over her wild curls and draped a huge scarf around her neck. Their Spanish ancestry did not approve of the cold in any way or form, and Joe was not taking any chances. They drove Melissa’s car to the school and tried to find decent seats on the bleachers.

“Oh, there he is!” Aunt Mel said and pointed to one of the lacrosse-players who all looked identical with all the protection gear and helmet. At least the name “McCall” on the back should indicate this was the right one and Joe waved in his general direction. Joe hadn’t gone to high school in Beacon Hills, and was several years older than Scott anyway. This meant she did not recognize anyone except from Stiles, who was still on the bench. The Sheriff was there too, in plain clothes, and chatting with his son.

“Wow, this is much more exciting now that he’s actually on the field!” Aunt Mel exclaimed and gave Joe a big smile. Joe had to agree. Sitting an hour on a cold bench watching her cousin sitting on another bench had been the very definition of torture. Still, she had turned up to the games out of solidarity, because Aunt Mel often had to work. Joe’s dad never showed up to any of her school stuff. Not even when she joined the soccer team just to appease him in hopes he preferred sports over debate teams. So she figured Scott should at least have one friendly face in the bleachers at their home-games.

“I’ll go get us some coffees,” Joe said, using any excuse to move around a bit to avoid getting frostbite. The students running the kiosk took her order for two coffees and two hot cinnamon buns. With only two hands, she precariously balanced the buns ontop of the cups. The frosting began to melt and drip into the coffee.

“You need some help with that?” a middle-aged man behind her in line asked with a friendly smile. His accent was more east coast, like the faded remains of Joe’s own, and she was sure she had never seen him in town before.

“No, I got it, I got it,” she said and moved deftly around him. She gave him a smile over her shoulder to show she appreciated the offer. “Used to work at a coffee shop. Thanks though.”

Whatever he answered got lost in the wind. Joe decided to go behind the bleachers to avoid the crowd and risk dropping her precious cargo. “Shit.” Here she had to avoid stumbling across large extension chords and wayward lacrosse equipment instead. Her breath came in a white fog out her mouth, it was definitely sub-twenty degrees out.

The field bordered to the great pine woods, ending where it began. Joe stopped solid with one foot still elevated when she thought she heard something. Like a rustle in the leaves. It was really dark behind here, and darker still where the grass gave away to trees a stone throw away. It did not help that she had spent the last few days reading about animal attacks - or murders - in those very forests. There was no way someone - or something - would attack her here, now, with all these people around. Right?

A slight breeze shifted some of her unruly curls and carried with it a whiff of scent. _The_ scent.

“There is no way...” she murmured. It was that same indescribable musky smell, no doubt about it, but he was locked up! She’d seen him get escorted inside the station. Could he have been released? Person of interest, the Sheriff had called him, not suspect. In custody, not charged. Shit. He might already be out.

“Hello?” she called out, feeling stupid and helpless with the two cinnamon buns balanced on each coffee cup. What was she expecting as an answer? What was she supposed to do if she got an answer?

Shuddering, as if trying to shake the feeling of being watched away, she hastily made her way to the other side of the bleachers where Aunt Melissa sat.

“There you are, I was afraid you’d miss the face-off,” Aunt Mel said and gratefully took one of the cups from Joe’s hands. She gave Joe a concerned look. “You okay? You look a little pale.”

“Yeah, just...” Joe said and burned herself on the tongue when trying to take a large gulp of coffee. “Just cold.”

And freaked out, for absolutely no logical reason.

She was spared any more conversation when the first quarter of the match started. Each quarter started with a face-off between the Beacon High’s team-captain, whose name she could not recall at the moment, and the captain of the opposing team Mount Fair High. It was hard to keep trach of whoever had the ball - it was seriously tiny if you were used to basketball or soccer - so Joe tended to follow the cheering and groaning of the crowd. However it was clear to even her that Scott was nowhere near the ball.

The team-captain scored and Beacon Hills cheered, although rather desolately in the case of Joe and Melissa.

A couple of girls had made a sign for someone named Jackson - who might be the team-captain in fact, now when she thought of it. Unfortunately, they did not have much use for it, because the rival team quickly took control of the game. The score was 5-3 to the away team by the last quarter.

“Well, he’s at least closer to playing now than last year,” Joe commented and clapped politely when a few other began cheering.

“This is ridiculous, the others are actively locking him out of the game,” Melissa said and began getting up from her seat. “I’m gonna go talk to the Coach.”

“Oh my God, no!” Joe said and latched onto her arm. “It’s already bad, no need to make it catastrophic!”

“What, I’m just gonna tell him that-”

Whatever Aunt Mel was going to tell the Coach was lost as they both watched Scott finally net his first ball of the game. Aunt Mel began cheering immediately, while the rest of the crowd could only gape as Scott not only got the ball, but he did some weird acrobatic stunt to avoid getting tackled, dodged all the opposing players and scored!

“WOOOOO!” Joe howled and jumped up and down with Aunt Melissa who was shouting herself hoarse.

5-4 now, but that goal triggered a change in the field dynamics. It did not take long before Scott got his second ball, somehow passed to him from the other team, and he scored again! 5-5!

“Holy shit!” Joe exclaimed and stuffed her mittens in her mouth when Aunt Mel gave her a disproving glare. “I mean, oh my God!”

“You can do it, Scott!” Aunt Mel shouted, but it was lost in the din of the rest of the bleachers, all cheering on number 11. The clock was ticking, though, could he make it? Another face-off, and yet again, Scott snatched the ball and made his way to the goal. Maybe the pressure was getting to him, because he was moving weird, almost like he had spasms or tics.

“What is he doing?” Joe mumbled to no-one in particular when Scott seemed to freeze up. The defense of the other team did not seem to want to tackle him, but he was still not trying to shoot. “Come on, Scott, what are you doing?”

Each second ticked away on the board in slow motion.

“Oh no,” Aunt Mel whispered, as she had also realized that he only had less than five seconds left.

4...

3...

With no warning, Scott snapped out of whatever daze he was in and sent the ball flying into the net.

The score: 6-5, to Beacon Hills. The clock ticked out, the game was over. The bleachers exploded!

“Whoa, I did not know Scott had such a sense of drama!” Joe said and clutched her hand in front of her chest, where her heart had just started beating again. She and Aunt Mel hugged fiercely, before they joined the rest of the Beacon Hills-crowd to congratulate the players.

“Where’d he go?” Aunt Melissa asked, scanning the field for number 11. Joe searched too, but came up empty. He was gone.

“Maybe the pressure got to him?”

“Oh God, I hope he has his inhaler,” Aunt Melissa murmured. She tried to find Stiles instead, to go check on Scott if he had retreated to the locker rooms, but the youngest Stilinski was nowhere to be seen.

Joe tried not to think about the dark forest, and the scent of the suspected killer lingering in the air. Too many people, no way he could have tried something tonight. Joe spun around to scan the forestline, and bumped into the man from the coffee-line.

“Sorry,” he said distractedly and scanned the crowd much like Joe and Melissa was doing. “ _Allison_?”

Three kids now missing? What the hell? Joe watched the man pry apart the team-captain and a redhead who was making out, apparently asking them if they’d seen his daughter. Relief quickly passed over his face when he apparently spotted this Allison, who was approaching from the direction of the locker rooms with a badly hidden smile on her face.

Oh.

Okay, not kidnapping or murder then. Joe looked away from the uncomfortable scene of the man chastising his daughter, and dragged Melissa off the field to go wait by the car. She explained shortly her theory and Melissa smiled knowingly. She promised not to make a scene, but tried to sneak a peek at this Allison before they left the game.

* * *

Aunt Melissa knocked on Joe’s door early the next day.

“Ugh,” Joe grunted from underneath the covers.

Aunt Mel poked her head in. “Sorry,” she said in a tiny voice. “I’m leaving for work now. There was a package at the door for you, I’ll leave it on your desk.”

Joe’s desk was right by the door and Aunt Mel did indeed set down a large stuffed envelope before she retreated. Who would deliver a package before dawn on a Sunday? She hadn’t ordered anything, that’s for sure. Seeing as the clock was not even seven, Joe pulled her covers closer around her and went back to sleep.

When she awoke again at noon, she tore open the envelope on her way to the kitchen to get coffee. It felt like paperwork, and she hastily racked her brain if she had missed any assignments she should have picked up and graded. It was no such thing. Someone had, in the middle of the night, left her a dossier of all the police files related to the body found in the preserve.

“What in the actual hell?” Joe breathed and put down her cup of coffee. They were obviously photocopies, not the originals, but still! Pictures, interview records, maps...No note to indicate who had sent it, only a post-it with the letters “FYI” on them. For your information. “Jesus.”

She first suspected Professor Kane, but it made no sense. Even if that woman somehow could get her hands on these sorts of things, they weren’t really relevant to Joe’s paper. It was not the case itself that was interesting.

Except that it was, in a purely non-academic way. Coffee forgotten, she poured over the files, soaking up the content. The body was no other than Laura Hale, a name Joe recognized as it had been referenced a few times related to this old housefire case. Joe almost gasped when she saw the pictures of the severed body, in stark contrast of the family photo of the same girl in the same folder.

“Holy shit!” Joe swore when she opened the next folder, a familar glaring face staring straight at her from a small polaroid picture. Derek Hale - as in Laura Hale’s little brother, and suspected killer. Except that according to these records, Laura’s death was determined to actually have been an animal attack. The report stated that Derek Hale was released last night.

Which meant he could have been at the game.

A hunch based solely on the notion that Joe thought she could smell him.

Shaking that thought away, she went back over the notes. Even if it was ruled as an animal attack, there were some indications of a ‘strange crime scene’, where even the word Satanism was used. This was standard, at least, where the regular cop would deem anything slightly out of the ordinary as Satanistic. From pentagrams to tricelions. No pictures and no further explanation of what strangeness this crime scene held, just markings on a map of where the body had been found.

It was less than fifty yards from the Hale House, and almost two miles from where the other half of the body was found.

How could an animal leave behind a strange crime scene with Satanistic elements? Could Derek Hale have trained an animal to attack for him? No wonder the online geeks were cramming out article upon article about an alleged werewolf-attack in Beacon Hills. If this had happened in the 1700s, Derek Hale would have been accused and convicted of either witchcraft or something similar ages ago.

Joe took a sip of coffee - and let it dribble back into the cup as it was cold now. Ugh. She prepared a small thermos instead and got dressed for a little field excursion. It was just to get into the mindset of the police, she told herself, to fully understand how regular people reacted to these kind of attacks.

In truth, she was deathly curious to what had actually happened. Laura Hale hadn’t even lived in Beacon Hills for ages, according to the police files, and neither had Derek Hale. And now they both show up at the same time, whereas one of them dies in a mysterious way almost instantly? Super weird.

She followed the map to the location of the Hale House - or at least the burnt out ruins of what used to be the Hale House. The front was mostly intact though, so the fire must have originated from the back. Must have been some fire, though, the house was more accurately described as a mansion. Ten people had died, almost eradicating the entire bloodline, and the county had claimed the property.

It gave of a really creepy vibe and Joe tried to avoid looking at it as she instead followed the map to the marked location. The remains of police tape still scattered in the wind and Joe found herself staring down into what definitely was a grave. Okay, sure, some animals buried or tried to hide their leftover prey, but not like this. This was deep enough as to avoid any animal interference. And the dirt was scattered with purple flowers.

Strange yes, but not Satanistic...Joe sat down on her haunches, careful to stay at a respectful distance. Maybe there had been some kind of artefacts here...No, then the police would have taken pictures. It was just a grave. With flowers.

_“What are you doing here?”_

“UAA!” Joe shrieked, lost balance and toppled forward. She would have tumbled right into the open grave, if someone hadn’t grabbed hold of her upper arm and hoisted her back onto the ground. Joe’s heart pumped so hard she could not hear her own thoughts. “Jesus Christ!”

She followed the hand still on her arm, along the leather jacket and up to the stubbled and disapproving face of Derek Hale, suspected killer. Joe wanted to swear, loudly, but her mouth was on lockdown and she could only stare. His hand seemed to radiate this intense heat, even through the fabric of her own duffel coat, and being this close to him meant that every breath was filled with _him_ , that scent, the one she could sense from a respectable distance.

His nostrils flared, but he released her arm as if it took some effort to do so. He took a step back, and Joe did the same.

“Are you-” He darted forwards and grabbed her again. “-serious?”

She stared wide-eyed, halfway aware she had almost tripped backwards into the grave _again_ , and whatever relief she felt when he released her arm evaporated when he touched her again. Derek Hale spun her around, so her back was against the house rather than the open ground.

“You,” Joe said, unsure of why she did it and tore her arm free from his grip. Derek Hale’s glare faltered in uncertainty, but he did not exactly look happy. Joe swallowed, wondering where all her speaking abilities had gone, and wondered how he had moved so fast and would he catch her if she made a dash for her car.

She jumped back when he made a grab for her, but he only snatched the map from her hands. “Where did you get this?”

It had the logo of the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department on it. “Uh...”

“This is private property,” Derek Hale snarled and crumpled the photocopied map into a ball. “You need to leave.”

“Yeah, well, then I guess we’re even when it comes to trespassing,” Joe mumbled and bent down to retrieve the map again. The location might hold some other kind of significance. She had every intention of leaving now - in fact, leaving the scene alive was number one priority. Not acknowledging the fuming man fully focused on her, she turned to her car.

“Don’t come back here,” he demanded almost as soon as she’d turned her back to him. “The woods aren’t safe.”

Joe squinted at him where he was outlined against the midday sunlight. His hands were hidden from view inside the jacket and he stood with his feet spread wide, like a soldier at ease. In fact, relaxed nonchalance permeated his entire posture. His words might be threatening on their own, but she did not get the feeling she was supposed to be scared of _him_.

“Did you bury her?” The words tumbled out before she could stop them. It was the first question of many she wanted - needed - answers to. His face blanked, the relaxation gone in an instant. “I mean, they say an animal killed her - but animals don’t bury their prey like that. Not like a brother might bury his sister.”

His jaw tightened, even if he managed to keep the rest of his face neutral. “Go home, McCall.”

“That’s not my name,” Joe muttered, but climbed in her car anyway. His lack of reaction was telling. He might not have killed her, but he definitely buried her. What was she supposed to do with that information? She had no idea.


	4. The Sportscar II

It was absolutely hopeless finding out who had anonymously donated those case-files. After interviewing all of the neighbors, who were mostly senior citizens and likely to be up before dawn even on weekends, it became apparent that no-one had seen or heard anything. If the McCalls had lived in a slightly more upscale neighborhood, there might have been private security cameras, but not here.

Scott seemed to be in a daze all afternoon when he finally climbed out of bed. Joe forced him to sit down to get that Chem report out of the way and she resorted to pinching him to make him pay attention.

“ _Ow!”_ he hissed the third time and swatted her hand away. “Jeez, I’m thinking!”

“If that’s how you look when you’re thinking about molecular equations, I feel sorry for your girlfriend.”

Scott’s face split in a stupid grin and he rubbed his hair. “She’s not my girlfriend...I think.” His face fell as he apparently remembered something. “We were suppposed to go on a date tomorrow. But now it’s turned into this group date thing. Bowling.”

“You hate bowling,” Joe pointed out and Scott only nodded in consent. There’d been a few birthday parties where either of their dads had taken them to bowling alleys in a general belief that all kids loved bowling. Joe also hated bowling, mostly because of the smell and the competitiveness. Trying to beat each other at something was not her idea of a good time.

The front door downstairs opened and closed, followed by the familiar call of: _“I’m home!”_

“Okay!” both Joe and Scott called back simultaneously. By the sound of it, Aunt Melissa made a beeline for the fridge and then the TV. Joe nodded towards the half-finished assignment and asked Scott to focus for a couple of minutes. “I just gotta ask Aunt Mel about something.”

He shrugged in agreement and Joe went downstairs where Aunt Mel was halfway lying on the couch with a beer, leftover takeout and the TV on. She was still in her scrubs and her curly hair was scattered all over her head, the same style Joe usually ended up with. She’d given up years ago trying to control that lion’s mane.

“Hey, how was your shift?” Joe asked and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. She wasn’t too fond of beer.

“Meh,” was Aunt Mel’s response and it was clear all her focus was on the drama-series she insisted on TiVo-ing.

“So, uh, that package you took in this morning...” Joe started and waited for Aunt Mel to pause her show. “D’you see who brought it? Or was there a note or something?”

“No, nothing. Just had your name on it.”

Joe nodded - it had said “Joe Delgado”. Which meant it couldn’t have been Derek Hale, as he thought she was a McCall. Not that it made any sense that it should have been him, but he had been the epicenter for mysterious things lately. He was the only one she could think of that would do something so strange.

“I figured it was just something from the university. It wasn’t?”

If she told her aunt about the contents, she was positive Aunt Mel would make her tell the Sheriff. Which she did not want to, not yet. She did not know enough yet.

“I’m not sure,” Joe said, which was only half a lie. “It might’ve been. Just a weird delivery time that’s all.”

She excused herself to go back upstairs and help Scott. At least Chemistry was something she could do in her sleep, leaving her time to think about the strange case and the unknown benefactor.

* * *

Next day was was a Berkely-day and she yawned her way through the commute. Another all-nighter to get some actual points down for her session with Professor Kane, not just anectodes about the murder and the string of similar cases she had found when doing some digging. It was the societal impact of the case she was studying, not the case itself. She had to repeat that mantra to herself every so often.

She had forgone her usual CDs and turned on the local radio that mostly played classic rock. It was there she caught the report of another animal attack, this time at Beacon High. A bus driver was severely injured, but alive, and brought to Beacon Hills Memorial. Definitely an animal attack, the victim had survived and lived to tell about it, nothing ambiguous like the severed body found in the woods. Wonder how the online conspirators would spin this.

Professor Kane seemed a bit too delighted about the newest attack. “It is turning out just like Bedburg!”

Where allegedly sixteen people were killed by the werewolf before they managed to stop him.

She seemed pleased with Joe’s work too, and together they made an outline for how to approach a few of the key points. Joe tried to carefully hint at the delivered police files, but Professor Kane did not seem to know what she was talking about and to be fair, she had no reason to be hiding it from Joe either. Added to that, Professor Kane had the unfortunate habit of using Joe’s full name in written correspondence and would not have adressed it to “Joe Delgado”. So the search continued.

After office hours, Joe followed her set schedule, ending with tutoring in the library, before she managed to trudge back to the car to go back to Beacon Hills. A flock of girls passed her on the sidewalk on her way to the parking lot. Judging by the makeup and outfits, they were headed for some kind of party. Joe watched them a bit wistfully as they giggled their way down towards the student houses.

“Stop being stupid,” Joe berated herself under her breath and got in the car. She did not even like parties. The few times she attended, she ended up in the kitchen, usually forced to listen to some guy’s sob story of his high-school sweetheart who broke his heart a few months after moving to another college and giving up on their long distance relationship. Her former classmates stopped inviting her in the end as she’d always find an excuse to not attend. It only got worse when her dad cut her off and she was forced to move off-campus.

Saving the sob-stories for another day, she played another girl rock band CD on her way home and poured her soul into singing along to it. What she lacked in talent, she almost made up for with enthusiasm. She had passed the city-limits to Beacon Hills when she spotted a familiar car outside one of those independent gas-stations that somehow manage to survive gentrification. The black sportscar.

She forced her car to make a hairpin turn and parked on the side of the building to avoid detection. It was the same car. There weren’t that many black sportscar in Beacon County, and it had the same tinted windows and all. Not really sure if she wanted to confront the driver, she carefully got out of her Ford and crept around the corner to take down the license plate number. California-registered at least.

The gas station itself was a squat building with a nondescript sign labeled “Food mart”. The door jingled as someone exited and Joe took a step back to avoid being seen. Her jaw dropped open.

“Why am I even surprised?” she said out loud and stalked up to the sportscar’s owner. “You nearly forced me off the road, asshole!”

Derek Hale seemed infuriatingly unbothered by her appearance. He ignored her in favor of getting the pump out to fill his car up and sounded bored as he spoke. “You and your car seem to be in one piece.”

“What, so it’s okay ‘cause I’m a better driver than you expected?” Joe demanded and crossed her arms, indicating she was not going anywhere. “What’s your deal? Why are you harassing our family?”

Still halfway turned away from her, he watched the numbers tick upwards on the pump as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “Believe it or not, I’m just trying to look out for you. And Scott.”

“How is tailgating me in the middle of the night in any way or form _looking out for me_?” Joe scoffed and relished in the anger that made it easier to ignore that alluring scent that seemed to radiate from his person.

Derek shrugged. “What’d you think would’ve happened if you hit that deer herd going almost 60 mph?”

Her car would have been totalled for one. She might have survived if she was lucky. Joe realized this, but that did not take away the fact that: “How the hell did you know there was a deer herd coming?”

He ignored this completely, but this was because his attention shifted to a couple of other cars pulling into the gas station. One red and one white SUV. They parked on either’s side of them. Derek’s jaw tightened and he handed Joe a twenty without looking at her.

“Go inside.”

Joe cocked her head - he could not be serious. “Excuse me?”

For the first time that evening, Derek Hale looked at her and she was subject to the full force of his intense glare. A second layer seemed to creep into his voice, almost an animalistic growl, as he demanded: “ _Get inside.”_

Something was wrong with his eyes, and Joe scoffed to try and play off how much he unnerved her. For some reason, her entire body had tried to respond immediately to his command, but her brain was not cool with that. Still, Derek had squared up when the new cars pulled up, and he looked more poised to fight than flight.

“Fine,” she huffed and snatched the bill from his hand. The driver of the red SUV got out of the car the same second she opened the door to the gas station. She recognized him as Allison’s father, the one who’d offer to help her carry her coffee at the game. By the way he and Derek looked at each other, there was no lost love.

“Can I get you something?” the young and pretty girl behind the counter asked, hoping to get Joe’s attention from where she was staring out the windows. Joe picked a few random things off the shelves, while trying to pay attention to the scene outside. Allison’s father had started to clean the front shield of the sportscar, so it did not look like they would be throwing punches just yet.

“These are 3 for 2,” the girl said and held up a chocolate bar with a bright smile. Joe wordlessly grabbed two more chocolate bars without looking at the girl. “And, uh, you want any drinks to go with that?”

Something in the girl’s voice made Joe pay attention. She was probably required by store policy to ask if she wanted drinks, but it was a bit awkward probably because in Joe’s inattention she had picked an assortment of chocolate bars and several packs of condoms.

“Yeah, I’ll take a Sprite,” Joe said in an attempt to lighten the mood. The girl still blushed deeply when bagging Joe’s purchase and Joe tried to not roll her eyes. They were just condoms.

They both jumped at a sharp crash of glass from outside. Joe turned around quick enough to see one of the guys from the white SUV stepping away from the sportscar with a humorless grin on his face and a large hammer in his hands. What the...? She snatched her grocery bag and darted outside, but the two other cars had already driven off.

“Jesus Christ,” Joe said as she found the source of the sharp noise. The entire driver-side window of Derek’s car was smashed to pieces. Derek stood completely still by the gas pump on the other side, not acknowleding Joe when she looked at him. “Ya wanna press charges? I’ll be your witness.”

“Leave it,” Derek muttered and shoved the pump handle back into its holder.

“You sure? You’re looking at a 400 dollar replacement here.” This earned her an incredulous stare and Joe shrugged. “I smashed my dad’s window once, those 400 came straight outta my savings. Kind of a number you’d remember.”

“Right,” said Derek and put both hands onto the roof of his car to lean forwards and take a deep breath. Joe realized she was acutely aware of every nuance to his body. How his muscles flexed with every movement, how the lines on his face were accentuated by shadows, how his light green eyes were meeting hers steadily. She’d been caught staring.

“Right! So, you want this?” Joe asked quickly to avoid any awkward questions and held the grocery bag aloft. It had been bought with his money after all.

Derek shook his head tiredly, now back to staring at his car. “No, keep it.”

“Thank God,” Joe muttered under her breath. She swung her arms a bit awkwardly. Something had obviously happened that upset Derek Hale enough to lose his cool, and for some reason she doubted it was the window itself. Could he be in some sort of gang, maybe? Or indebted to the wrong people? Everything about the scene she’d witnessed spoke of extortion in one way or another. She’d grown up on mafia biographies and it reminded her of how the mob would harass people to pay up what they owed.

“Did you know those guys?” she asked, unable to help herself. She pointed her thumb in the general direction of where the cars had driven off. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”

No answer, only his shoulders seemed to tighten.

“Only, if you are, my dad is-”

Derek made a sound that sounded eerily reminiscent of a growl. “Can you _please_ leave?”

“Sorry?” She took her thumb down slowly. He sounded so agitated.

“I need to _think_ and I can’t _think_ with you here,” he bit out and Joe had to take a step back when he looked up at her. His eyes seemed to glow under the fluorescent light of the gas station. It only intensified when he took a deep inhale through his nose. Joe was struck with the wild notion that he smelled her as much as she smelled him.

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” she mumbled and took a long way around his car back to her Ford. “I’ll let you _think_.”

Joe threw the grocery bag in the passenger seat and buckled herself up with a huff. She sped out of the gas station lot - Derek still stood leaning on his car, watching her leave.

Mulling this over as she drove, she failed to reach any sort of conclusion other than something was up. She had too many dots and not enough connections. At the McCalls, lights were still on, unusual for this time of night. Aunt Mel’s car was in the driveway, and so was Scott’s bike, meaning they were both home at least. Joe locked herself inside and was going to yell she was home.

“ _Tsj_!” A sharp shush and Joe snapped her mouth shut. Aunt Mel stood at the top of the stairs. She had a bat and a look of no nonsense. Joe squashed all of the questions that wanted to burst out and all theories about the gas station disappeared.

Joe carefully slid her backpack down on the floor to not make any noise. They did not live in a particularly high-risk area, but still had the bat at hand. Her dad’s orders. Just in case, he’d said. She snuck up the stairs to join her aunt, who cocked her head towards Scott’s room. Joe nodded and crept behind her aunt down the hallway with her phone ready to dial 911, heart thumping up into her throat.

Strange bumps and thuds came from Scott’s room, but this time the door was open. Aunt Mel gave Joe a look of her shoulder and they nodded to each other while Aunt Mel mouthed: “One...two...”

On three, Aunt Mel threw herself into the room and screamed as she swung on the intruder, who screamed back. Joe let out a terrified shriek herself when another assailant came rushing from the side. In panic, she threw her phone at him.

“Ow, Joe, what the hell?” Scott shouted and rubbed his temple where her phone had left a small cut. Just then Aunt Mel realized she was trying to decapitate Stiles with a bat.

“Seriously, Stiles, what the hell are you doing here?” she asked tiredly and held the bat back. Stiles was halfway sprawled on Scott’s bed, obviously warding of her attacks.

“What am I doing?” he yelped and gestured wildly to Melissa and Scott. “God, do either of you even play baseball?”

“What?” Aunt Melissa shook her head and looked at her son with absolutely no sign of amusement. “Can you please tell your friend to use the front door?”

“Only if you tell your niece to stop attacking me,” Scott mumbled and rubbed his temple again. “Besides, we lock the front door, he wouldn’t be able to get in.”

“We might as well give him a key at this point,” Joe butted in and retrieved her phone from the floor. She gave both the teenage boys pointed looks. “You guys are idiots. I’m going to bed.”

“Good night!” Scott and Stiles both called after her, and she rolled her eyes. Aunt Melissa’s exasperated attempt to remind them of the police-enforced curfew followed her out into the hall. The adrenaline rush subsided when she logged onto her laptop and tried to get her work done before tomorrow’s deadline. Half an hour later, she thought she heard Stiles leave the same way he entered.

The empty document stared back at her from the screen. Sighing, she began piecing together a timeline.


	5. The President

“Bus driver succumbs to his wounds,” Joe read aloud from the online newspaper she had accessed on her laptop. It was a rare occassion that the household had breakfast together, but it did happen every once in a while. Scott had his head in a textbook for a class later that day and Aunt Mel was studying the contents of her coffee cup with acute interest. They all shared the not-a-morning-person-gene.

“Yeah, that’s how my shift ended last night,” Aunt Mel said tiredly and took a sip. Joe and Scott looked up from their respective distraction. Aunt Mel rarely talked about those parts of her job. Aunt Mel rolled her eyes at their concerned faces. “It happens, okay? Nothing we could have done.”

Scott tensed up and Joe noticed his fists clenching.

“You okay, Scott?” she asked. He’d been acting strange lately.

“Yeah, it’s just...I knew him, sort of. He drove the bus when I lived with da-”

He shut his mouth instantly at Joe’s warning glare, and they both glanced at Aunt Mel. Talking about Scott’s dad was usually a no-go in this house. She continued to drink coffee as if she hadn’t heard him and Scott let out a shaky breath.

“It’s just weird, you know. Stuff like that usually doesn’t happen here,” he continued lamely and Joe patted his surprisingly firm shoulder, the extent of what her lacking maternal instinct counted as comfort.

“How’d the bowling go last night?” Joe asked to change the subject. Scott’s face cracked into this stupid grin and he admitted that it had went better than expected.

Joe shut the lid of her laptop. Save the gruesome details for later. She just knew that the online blog articles she was collecting for her paper was gonna be filled with all sorts of theories. The police files related to the Laura Hale-case had been helpful in that regard though. Some of the blogs were making all sorts of wild claims to her injuries and the evidence, while a few other were surprisingly spot on. She’d done some digging to see who ran these blogs, but most of the pen-names were just pseudonyms and led nowhere.

Most of them.

“You’re going to Berkely today?” Aunt Mel asked when Joe got up from the table, stuffing her laptop and notebook into her backpack. Her aunt sounded surprised, which Joe could not blame her for seeing as those were the only times Joe actually left the house.

“No, I gotta do some research.” Joe tried to keep her answers vague. She was not sure why, but she did not want to tell either of them that she was looking into this animal attacks-case. Maybe it was because that could lead to them finding out about her encounters with Derek Hale, which she still needed to figure out for herself first before she got them worried.

“Wanna ride to school?” she asked Scott, but he declined as he had work afterwards and needed his bike then. They had tried in the past to stuff his bike into the trunk of the Ford Fiesta. Not a chance. She made him promise to tell Dr. Deaton hello. She’d had the same part-time job a couple of summers before, back when she was still adamant on becoming a doctor.

Last night she had made a breakthrough. After some digging she’d discovered one of the most active bloggers - or websleuth as he referred to himself - was actually from Beacon Hills. He posted under the pen-name of Claudis Verity and ran the blog called “Truth Overload”. This guy was dedicated to the cause - he posted several times a day, and had several thousands messages on the most popular online forums she’d found that dealt with unexplained mysteries like aliens, ghosts, werewolves...

Claudius’ real name was Jimmy Carter (not the president) and he lived downtown in an apartment above a laundromat. Based on his post-history, he was adamant about keeping his identity secret. She got lucky when she found him, he had declined all attempts of direct contact through his blog.

Joe pushed the buttons on the front door of his building and was greeted with a crackled: “ _Who are you?”_

_“_ Mr. Carter?” she asked into the box. Unfortunately, due to the subject she studied, she had dealt with her fair share of conspiracy theorists and people who claimed that the truth was out there before. The intro-class that Professor Kane taught named only “Lore” attracted a variety of people, and a lot of them left disappointed when they realized Professor Kane’s passion laid in debunking these kind of myths, not proving them.

“Mr. Carter?” she repeated when the person on the other side did not answer. Okay, let’s try something else. “I’m here to talk about werewolves.”

The door buzzed open almost instantly. She took two steps towards the stairs and a figure dressed in an open bathrobe and checkered pajama pants came bounding down towards her. Unkept hair, large overgrown beard and no shoes on - he fit the stereotype.

He waved a half-eaten toast at her. “Who sent you?”

“No-one sent me,” Joe countered easily and dodged the wayward toast. “My name is Joe Delgado, I’m a TA for Professor Kane at-”

“That agnostic know-it-all?” he snarled and crumpled his toast into pieces. “She sent you? Hah! Is she scared I’ll reveal the truth and expose her for the charlatan that she is? That I will destroy the very foundation she’s built her career upon? That the so-called theories she announced as ‘practically Medieval’ are actually facts?”

Oh boy.

“No.”

Maybe he didn’t hear her and Joe watched him mutter about the Professor for a bit. It was hard to tell with the beard, but he was supposedly the same age as her, and according to what she could find out online, he’d lived in Beacon Hills all his life. “I’m writing a paper on the animal attacks in Beacon Hills.”

That shut him up and he scratched his beard thoughtfully. His eyes were bright and attentive, a stark contrast to his otherwise hobo-appearance. “What’s your angle?”

“The similarities to Bedburg,” she said, which was not a direct lie, and he nodded fervently. He opened his mouth to say something more, but apparently remembered they were in the hallway of his apartment building.

“Not here, come on,” he said and gestured for her to follow. She did, but only because she had a taser in her backpack if shit hit the fan.

Not surprisingly, he had multiple locks on his door and took some time to open all of them. She was let into a small two-bedroom apartment with a joint kitchen and living room. Very minimalistic, but actually quite clean. Joe’s eyebrows rose, she had expected one of those walls with a myriad of photos and red yarn tying everything together. She had contemplated setting one of those up herself to gather all the loose ends.

Carter locked the door behind them and she put her hand onto the taser in her bag - just in case.

“Tea?” he asked, completely oblivious to her suspicious expression. Without waiting for an answer, he stalked to the kitchenette and began preparing two cups. Joe watched him the whole time, but he did not add anything but a tea bag.

“Did Kane tell you to come see me?” he demanded as he gestured for her to take a seat by the kitchen island that served as a bar towards the living room.

“No, I’m a fan of your blog-”

Joe shut her mouth as Carter put down the kettle with a bang. With his back to her, he explained through clenched teeth that: “Truth Overload is a news site. Not a blog.”

“Right,” Joe said hurriedly and nodded for emphasis. “I’m a fan of your site. And I follow you on reddit, Unexplained.org, the rando-forums...in short, I’m a fan.”

Carter said nothing as he poured the tea and placed a cup on each side of the counter.

“And I’ve been reading your stuff about what’s going on in Beacon Hills. You references a lot of facts that haven’t been released to the public.”

“I’m not giving up my source!”

“I’m not asking for it!” Joe said with her hand raised to calm him. Now she at least confirmed that he had a source. “I’m just really impressed by your attention to detail, that’s all.”

“Thank you,” Carter said tersely and sipped his tea with the same daintiness a 50’s housewife would. “I pour my soul into every piece I publish. Not that those ignoramuses at the Beacon Post appreciates it.”

“You write for the Beacon Post?”

“No,” Carter snapped and spun his cup around on the counter. “I did. But they claimed I had to stick to the ‘facts’ - as if I don’t always stick to the facts! It’s not my fault the facts point in a direction they’re too scared to investigate.”

Joe discreetly put her phone to record and prompted. “Like?”

He did not take the bait. Instead he stared at her and noticed her untouched cup of tea. “How did you find my address? I am very particular about my identity, you know.”

“You used your student e-mail when signing up for a forum in 2005, and a variant of the same pen-name you use today.”

A long silence followed and Joe started to wonder if this was his breaking point.

“Oh God, you must think I’m a complete amateur,” he finally muttered and finished his tea. “What forum?”

“We-are-real.com,” Joe admitted, figuring she already had the info and it did not matter if he covered his tracks now. “Not active since 2006.”

“Oh no, all those people pretending to be ‘real’ vampires and werewolves as a way of expressing themselves?” He made a face, his beard standing out like the pins of a hedgehog. “The amount of images of infected bites as they had tried to ‘turn’ their friends...Ugh.Very disturbed individuals.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“I knew when I signed up there that 90% would be these weirdos who never grew out of their high school depression, but I figured there might be a couple of Omegas who were desperate enough to search for a pack online.” Carter stared into the air as a battle-weary veteran. “Turns out the weirdos were 100% represented.”

“So you’ve researched werewolves for a while now?” Joe asked, because that had been a recurring theme on his ‘news site’. He seemed skeptic to UFOs, a bit dismissive about vampires, and very very interested in werewolves.

“Yeah, I mean, ever since I saw my classmate change I-” he started and then snapped his mouth shut. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling, I forgot to ask you the most important question: you do believe in werewolves, don’t you?”

Joe tried to keep her polite smile intact. Shit. She hated lying. “I wouldn’t use the word ‘believe’...”

“But you know werewolves are real, right?”

“I - uh - I know there are people who genuinly believe they are shapeshifters, and among them werewolves.” Joe took a sip of her now cold tea. She was afraid to look at his face and see his expression. “And I know lycanthropy is a real and serious mental condition.”

“But not the actual supernatural phenomena of certain people changing into wolves?” To her surprise, he smiled. He sighed happily and hung his head forwards. “Oh well, I should have realized that when you said you were a TA for Professor Kane. You are of course a supporter of her work, yes, otherwise she wouldn’t have hired you? And while you claim to be a fan of my writing, I guess it is more a thinking exercise, quite possibly a source of entertainment and possibly research, no?”

“Mr. Carter-”

“No, no,” he held up a hand to silence her, a dainty movement coming from an otherwise awkward man. “It is my fault, I forgot I was dealing with a Skeptic. I don’t get a lot of visitors and have been terribly spoiled in only conversing with Realists lately. Thank you for your visit, Miss Delgado.” He rose from his chair, prompting Joe to follow suit. He used his arm to guide her to the door. “If you ever feel brave enough to embrace the truth, feel free to send me an e-mail.”

“But Mr. Carter, I real-” She was forced outside and he shut the door in her face. She heard all the clicks of the locks falling back into position. Apparently name-dropping Professor Kane had been a mistake. Oh well, he had given her several clues at least. Looks like she was heading for the Beacon Post.

* * *

“Oh, that nutjob?” was the initial response when she asked to see some of Jimmy Carter’s rejected work. The Beacon Post was a classical small-town newpaper with only one photographer, a couple of reporters, and the assistant editor Joe was talking to also did a lot of legwork as a reporter. Kim Wu - as her name was - was busy editing the obituaries when Joe walked into the small downtown office of the Post.

“Don’t get me wrong, brilliant writer,” Kim said while her eyes never left the screen. Deadline must be approaching soon. “But we spent more time editing his pieces than it would have taken to write them ourselves. I never got it. He spent all of his time researching and then he managed to come to the most ludicrous conclusions.”

She clicked multiple times in a row and Joe watched the cursor change into an hourglass. Kim sighed and pushed the thick-rimmed glasses up to her forehead. “Piece of shit.” Waiting for the computer to catch up, she leaned back in her office chair to look at Joe who perched on the desk.

“We tried telling him over and over again that it wasn’t his job to make the conclusions anyway. Report the facts, let the public make an opinion, you know? And he kept pissing off the Sheriff’s department. Every time they made a statement, he put all his energy into proving them wrong. So they clammed up! Of course they did!” She shook her long black hair and redirected her attention to the screen again. “It was him or them, in the end. And a local newspaper without getting statements from the cops? Hah.”

“What exactly was he writing about?” Joe asked, now intrigued more than she had anticipated. His blog was pretty far out there, she wondered how much he got censored when writing for mainstream media.

“Okay, take that housefire a couple of years back. Five or six years, I think,” Kim said as an example, gesturing with her hand on the give-or-take year estimate.

“The Hale fire?”

“Yeah, yeah, that one. Tragic story, eight dead, the surviving kids left the town. And the fire department concludes that it’s electrical malfunction. And then the police rules out foul play. The insurance company makes their own investigation - because they always do - and they also ends up saying it’s just a tragic mishap. And what does Jimmy do? Oh yeah, he goes on a rampage, trying to come up with theories that contradicts all of these experts and writes pages upon pages on how it was definitely arson.”

A tingle went down Joe’s spine. It was just a few days ago since she’d seen the tragic remains for herself. She could understand the human desire to have someone to blame for something like that. “Could it have been? Arson, I mean.”

Kim shrugged. “I doubt it. If the insurance company, who had the most to lose, could not find even a shred of evidence that it was a crime and not a malfunction...” She trailed off, lost in readjusting the cross over poor Agatha Ferris’ obituary. “Anyway, Jimmy almost was let go then, but since he was just interning we gave him a second chance. I guess Harry, that’s the editor, cut him some slack because he went to school with some of the Hale kids. He managed to keep it together a few years, then...you know the guy believes in werewolves, right?”

“Right,” Joe said and laughed along with Kim. “So, do you have any of his old writing? I’m not gonna publish anything, at worst I’ll paraphrase a few quotes for an article, but I will send it to you for approval first if that happens.”

“Uhmm, I think we might have some of the original stuff on storage.” Kim saved her work and shut down the computer. She and Joe walked down a hall to a crowded room with boxes. “The published articles you can get at the library.” Kim gave her a wry smile. “I know it’s probably bad of me, but we use some of his rejected writing to show new guys what not to do. It’s very explanatory.” She took down a box marked J.C. “Here we go, I’ll make you some copies.”

While the printer worked, Kim asked her more about her academic paper and Joe tried to explain, but could see Kim’s eyes daze over. The psychological marks unexplained happenings leave upon a society was not everyone’s cup of tea. In the end, she left with a wad of Jimmy Carter’s old writing, all marked heavily with red where the editor had disapproved.

She stopped by a coffee-shop and began reading, making notes on her laptop. Some of the really early stuff, he must have still been in high-school at the time, was devoid of anything crazy. It all started when he was a Senior, by the looks of it. Not that long before the Hale house fire.

And then he had really gone all in. Several of the articles were referencing old attacks. The editor had added a comment that said: “This is olds, not news!!” in capital letters about an animal attack that allegedly happened almost a year prior to Jimmy writing the article. It was like he was gathering evidence for his theories about werewolves. One of the papers had a large “NO!!!” written so large it covered the whole page. In it, Jimmy Carter claimed that the motive behind the Hale arson was because the Hales were werewolves.

“Sheesh,” Joe muttered and figured Jimmy-boy must have been a really good writer otherwise to still have a position after that. It fit with Jimmy’s own statement about having seen his classmate change - Kim had said Jimmy went to school with the Hales. She really wondered what he thought he had seen.

It was not just werewolves though. All sorts of mysterious stuff happened that would not have made any headlines unless a reporter was actively looking for this kind of thing. Livestock went missing, remains of possibly occult rituals in the forest, strange wails waking people up, ley lines intersecting on body dump sites...this guy reported all of it.

She wondered how much she could use the part that he had known some of the victims of a gruesome tragedy. The Hales. It fit with the pattern that humans invented fairytale monsters to cope. They had to have someone to blame, even if the traditional evidence did not support such a theory. If your loved one is found torn to shreds in the forest, it makes more sense for the human brain that the killer did it intentionally. Something so horrible could not have just been a coincidence. All evidence points to a wolf, an animal that only acts on instinct. That’s not good enough. It might be a wolf’s body, they say, but a human mind. They need a culprit.

Just like Jimmy.

And to Jimmy’s defence, out of anyone in this town, she would also pick Derek Hale to be a suspected werewolf. He had a weird vibe about him. According to Derek’s birth date from the police records, he and Jimmy were the same age so that had to be the classmate Jimmy referenced. She doubted Derek Hale suffered from lycanthropy though. It was a real mental illness, complete with delusions and visions and psychotic episodes. He might be weird, but not psycho weird.

Psycho hot though.

Joe glanced guiltily around the coffee shop in case any of the other patrons happened to be mind readers. It was easier to think about when she wasn’t looking at him. If she allowed herself to entertain any of those thoughts in his presence, she would be reduced to a melted puddle of lust and awkwardness. Not that she had any reason to think she would run into him again. She still had no idea what kind of connection he had to Scott, who swiftly changed the subject every time she tried to ask.

Speaking of Scott, she’d promised help him study for tomorrow’s test, so she had to get back home. There was also a deft pile of ungraded assignments from Professor Kane’s students, so it looked to be another late night.

Aunt Mel had also arrived home for a mid-day nap between two shifts. The day she transitioned between early and late shifts was always a bit awkward. By the looks of it, she had given up trying to sleep and was nestled in a bunch of blankets on the couch watching a hospital drama show.

“Hey,” she greeted Joe when she came in the door. Aunt Mel paused her show, which was her way of saying she wanted to talk. Joe obediently sat down when Aunt Mel patted the seat next to her on the couch and tried to figure out what kind of talk this was. It felt eerily reminiscent of her middle-school mishap- she had burnt her neck with a flat iron and had to spend considerable time explaining it had been an accident and not a hickey.

Aunt Mel smiled serenely at her. It seemed she was going for the tactic of fill-the-gaps-interrogation, where she created so much uncomfortable silence that Joe started to talk just to escape it. Joe just raised her eyebrows and gave a tight smile back.

“So, uh, is there something you want to tell me?” Aunt Mel asked after a while, smile never faltering. Joe tried to think - no way would she act so calmly if she had found the photocopied police files. It had to be something else, but what? For some reason, Aunt Mel almost looked pleased.

Joe shrugged and tried to keep her cool. “No?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah?”

“Okay, but you know you can talk to me about anything, right? _An-y-thing_. I mean it. I’m a registered nurse, there is not a tale I have not heard before.” They continued to stare at each other and Aunt Mel sighed. “I found a grocery bag in the hall that I thought you had just forgotten to unpack.”

Realization dawned on Joe and she felt the heat spread.

“And you know I support consensual and even casual sex as long as it is safe-”

Joe groaned and tried to bury her head in the arms of her sweatshirt. “Oh no.”

“-but three packs? I mean, that’s a lot of casual sex! If it is casual, of course, or is there a young man I haven’t been introduced to?”

“It’s neither,” Joe muttered into her arms. She had forgotten all about that stupid bag. “It’s - uh - they’re not mine, not really.”

This was a mistake as Aunt Mel’s jaw dropped open. “They’re Scott’s?”

“No!” Joe shouted and jumped up from the couch, waving her hands in denial. “No, no, no, nothing like that! I bought them for someone else!”

“You bought them for Scott?”

“No! I - uh - bought them for this other guy.”

“But you just said-”

“Yeah, no, I lied.” Joe’s voice was flat as she tried to not stumble in her words. “There was a young man. It didn’t work out.”

“You bought three packs of condoms and he...?” Aunt Mel asked, waving her hands vaguely to indicate that he had left her.

Joe nodded gravely. “He split.”

More hand motions. “Was he...?”

Joe shook her head. “Don’t know.”

“Huh.” Aunt Mel looked unsure, but shrugged. “Okay. I put them in your room, if you...in case you...you know what, I’m gonna go back to my show before I leave for work, how about that?”

“That would be awesome,” Joe conceded and trudged back to her room, where indeed three packs of condoms laid on her desk. One of them was strawberry flavored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much Derek in this chapter, but we'll get there. Eventually. Hope you enjoyed!


	6. The Bullet

Joe didn’t know where Scott’s head was these days, but it was certainly not on History. It seemed like every time they went over another section, he forgot the previous one.

“So, who founded the Federalist party?”

“Uh...that guy, Patrick Henry?”

“No,” Joe said with raised eyebrows. She shifted the textbook in her lap, closing it so she could focus on Scott instead. He sat on his bed, throwing and catching a tennis ball with one arm. “He founded the Anti-Federalist party. Alexander Hamilton founded the Federalist party. Do you remember what was special about the Federalist party?”

“Uh...” was Scott’s only response and he fumbled the ball behind his bed. Joe waited while he tried to retrieve it, suspecting he was taking longer to have time to think of something. In the end he flopped back up, grimaced and said: “No?”

“It was the first political party in the US, opposed by the Jeffersonians - or later known as the Democratic-Republic party. George Washington, however, our first president was not member of either party as the US politics was not originally intended to be partisan. Are you listening to a single word I’m saying?”

Scott’s head snapped around from where he had been staring out his window. “Huh? Yeah.”

“I could ask you to repeat what I just said, but I have better things to do,” Joe said with a sigh. She got up from the chair and threw the textbook at him, which he caught easily. “Try to at least read the summary and get a good night’s sleep.”

He set the book down in his own lap and gave her a soft smile. “Sorry, Joe. I’m just...”

“Distracted? No, really, I couldn’t tell,” Joe said with a roll of her eyes, but smiled to show she was not mad at him. “It’s good you have a life. Just try to find balance.”

“Balance, yeah.”

“Good night, Scott,” Joe called over her shoulder and went back to her own room. She had her own work, as Professor Kane wanted a first revision of her paper by tomorrow. By habit, she swung by Jimmy Carter’s webpage. Nothing local; no new attacks or sightings. Maybe the mountain lion had found a new territory. No mention of her visit either, which she thought was a bit strange as he seemed to have no trouble referencing other ‘Skeptics’ when they opposed him.

Closing his webpage, she got started on her own writing instead, referencing her notes heavily, and trying to formulate sentences that did not run on for half a page at a time. Academic writing tried too hard sometimes. At around 2 AM, she was only halfway done and decided she needed caffeine if she was going to survive the night. Barefoot, she tiptoed out into the hallway, the cold hardwood making her toes numb. The rest of her froze solid at the sound of someone moving around in Scott’s room. His door was only halfway up and she saw shadows move around. What was he doing up?

“Scott?” she whispered and opened his door slowly to check in on him. He was not in his bed and the window stood wide awake. What she had heard was him sneaking out. That was not the good night’s sleep she’d ordered for him. Joe closed the door softly, as to not wake Aunt Mel. Despite her disappointment, she was not going to rat him out. She got her coffee and continued writing until a while later when she heard Scott return. Checking the clock, the deduced that was fast for a late night rendez-vous. Teenagers... Not her business, she reminded herself, and plugged in her headset to avoid further distraction.

As predicted, he was a mess at breakfast. Joe watched him over her own cup of coffee as he struggled to eat a bowl of cereal, slopping the soggy mess off his spoon. Joe did not hold high hopes for his test. Not that she held high hopes for herself either today. It was a _little_ annoying that she had spent the afternoon helping him and then having to stay up all night to do her own work. Just a little though. She could not be irritated at Scott, not everyone prioritized their life like she had. One test would not be the end of the world for him and one more all-nighter would not be the end of her.

“Good luck!” she called after him as he went out the door, but he only grunted in return. Joe raised her eyebrows at herself in the reflection of her coffee. Well, he sort of had it coming by sneaking out. Coffee empty, she put on another pot and continued reading about reported gunshots in downtown Beacon Hills last night, where the police announced it was just a car backfiring. By her estimate, Jimmy Carter would have a blog post about it before the end of the day claiming it was all a hoax.

At noon, she had an online meeting with Professor Kane. She refrained from mentioning having met up with Jimmy Carter, in case the animosity between them went both ways. Kane was a little disappointed that the attacks had stopped, but otherwise felt they were in good shape with the paper. They agreed on a literature review to find lesser known similar happenings and Joe went straight to bed when the meeting ended.

Which was why she was asleep when her phone went off later in the evening. She groaned and saw that it was past 7 PM. The number was not saved as one of her contacts and she let it go to voice mail. It took two seconds before the ringing started up again.

Joe groaned, hit the answer-button and croaked: “Hello?”

“ _Joe? Joe! Are you home? Scott said there would be a spare key to the animal clinic in the box behind the dumpster but it’s not there and he’s not picking up and can you check if there’s a second key in your house he’s mentioned it before that-”_

Joe held the phone away from her ear as Stiles did not even stop to breathe as he released an endless tirade of words. He always sounded a little spastic, but now it was intense. No end in sight, Joe rubbed her cheek free of crusted drool and sighed.

“Stiles?”

“ _YES!”_ Stiles exploded through the phone. _“Yes, it’s Stiles, please Joe, we need the key right now it’s an emergency and Scott’s stuck at the Argents’ and can you please come over with it right-”_

Someone talked in the background, too low for Joe to hear, but Stiles barked something about shutting up and that he had to improvise because of Scott’s MIA.

“Why do you need to get into the animal clinic?” Joe asked, even as she got out of bed and put on the closest pair of pants, which happened to be pajama pants. They _did_ have a spare key to the clinic hanging on the key holder by the stairs. “Did you call Dr. Deaton?”

Stiles did not appear to hear her questions and pleaded: “ _Just please get over here right now!”_

“All right, all right,” Joe said and figured she was fine just wearing a jacket over her pajama pants and t-shirt. The incessant babbling on the other side didn’t stop. “Jesus, Stiles, I’m getting in the car right now. Yes, I got the key. Yes, I’m coming over right now. Right now, I swear, God!”

Stiles didn’t have any pets as far as she knew, so she had no idea what kind of emergency this could be. On her way over, she tried calling both Scott and Dr. Deaton, but none of them picked up. The traffic through Beacon Hills was sparse this late, but still Stiles called her twice more to make her hurry up. Finally, she reached the clinic and spotted Stiles’ babyblue Jeep that he hadn’t parked as much as stopped right in front of the main entrance.

The boy in question paced back and forth by the rear entrance and did a celebratory whoop with his whole body when she parked her car next to his.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he repeated and bounced on his feet next by the door. Grumbling, she got the key out, but did not unlock. She looked straight at Stiles and was going to ask exactly what kind of emergency this was, but the words died in her mouth. Behind Stiles, she spotted Derek Hale.

“What the hell is he doing here?”

“She needs to leave,” moaned Derek Hale from his position on one of the large bags of animal food Dr. Deaton kept in the nook by the backdoor. Pale, sweaty, eyes dazed - he did not look too hot. He somehow managed to force himself into a standing position, but he practically swayed and Joe’s knees jerked in response in case he would fall over and she needed to catch him. The scent she associated with him was present, it practically rolled off him, like enhanced by the sweat. It was wrong, though, tainted and almost rotten.

“Are you okay?” she asked, but was interrupted by Stiles who urged her to unlock the door. Derek never answered her question and she tried to address Stiles instead, while unlocking at the same time. He was better off indoors in his state. “What exactly is going on? Is he on drugs?”

“It’s a long story,” Stiles said and pushed the doors opened the second she unlocked them. He beckoned for Derek to get indoors and then he turned to Joe with a bright smile. “Scott can explain everything later.”

“No!” groaned Derek as he passed them, grabbing onto the doorframe to remain standing. He hung there, his hair limp over his forehead, while he managed to bite out at her: “No later. Leave.”

He stumbled inside, leaving Joe by the door. He reeked of death. Stiles bounded inside with his phone by his ear, evidently calling Scott again. Seconds later came the incessant swearing when no-one answered. Joe made up her mind and closed the doors behind them, trying to mute out the cats and dogs going insane in their cages. Something must have gotten them really riled up, maybe a fox or something naerby. A predator, no doubt.

“Uhm, why are you taking your shirt off?” she asked Derek, who indeed was wrenching off his shirt using only his left arm. He had a tattoo on his very muscled back and he practically shone under the harsh lightening; he was covered in thick film of sweat. When he turned, she saw the source of his ill condition. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is that?”

Angry black veins spread across his entire right arm, originating from a still open and bleeding wound, the size of her thumb. Derek put his arm on the operating table to get a good look at it under the light while Joe took a step back in repulsion. No wonder he stank, that was clearly infected!

Stiles gave up on calling Scott and leaned against the table to also look at the spoiled injury. “You know, that really doesn't look like anything some echinacea and a good night of sleep couldn't take care of.”

“I’m sorry, why were you breaking into the animal clinic instead of taking him to a hospital?” Joe demanded of Stiles, seeing as Derek looked to be two seconds from fainting. “That needs to be looked at by a professional! Preferably right now!”

“When the infection reaches my heart, it’ll kill me,” Derek bit out, ignoring both of them. He pushed himself off the table and went to rummage through the medical cabinets.

“Yes! Hence the ‘right now’!” Joe repeated. Derek either didn’t hear her, or did not care. She huffed and tore around to the lower cabinet where she knew Dr. Deaton kept his rubbing alcohol. It might not help, but it could not hurt.

Behind her, Stiles couldn’t stand still, bouncing by the steel table with his phone clasped in one hand. “Positivity just isn’t in your vocabulary, is it?”

Joe got the rubbing alcohol and some cotton pads ready, while Derek and Stiles argued about some bullet? It had to be a code word for something. Derek looked to be close to death and the only way a bullet would help was to put him out of his misery as a last resort. As Joe soaked the cotton with alcohol, Derek eventually found what he was looking for. Triumphantly, he lobbed a bone cutting saw onto the table. Last resort was apparently cutting off his arm.

“Are you serious?” Joe grabbed the saw, put it at a distance and pressed the cotton directly onto the near pulsating wound on Derek’s arm. He hissed and this close she could see every individual sweat drop trickle across his forehead. “Sorry, bit this stings. Keep pressure, we need to get you an ambulance.”

“No,” Derek groaned and pushed her away with his shoulder. He ignored the cotton stuck to his skin and started tying a tourniquet across his bicep.

Joe darted forward again, pushed her entire palm over the alcohol-soaked cotton and smacked at his hands that tried to tighten the knot on the tourniquet. She tried to crane her neck to establish eye-contact, a difficult task as his head hung low over the table. “Derek, listen to me, you need to go to a hospital!”

Derek’s nostrils flared and he seemed to focus on her hand clasped over his wound. “No.”

“Jesus frickin’ Christ!” Joe swore and rearranged his tourniquet so it laid pressure onto the cotton and by extent his still bleeding wound. Satisfied with the compression, she got her phone out. “I’m calling 911!”

“Stop her,” Derek ordered Stiles, but the latter was already bouncing over to Joe. He tried snatching the phone out of her hands, which she dodged. He was as tall as Scott, meaning bigger than her, and they wrestled over the phone, while he apologized incessantly.

_“No, no, no, I’m sorry, it doesn’t make sense, but I can’t explain right now!”_

_“Back off my phone, Stiles, I swear to God I’ll kick your bony ass! Let go!”  
_

He managed to pry the phone out of her arms and in a classic-Stiles panic, he smashed it into the floor. Predictably, it shattered into pieces.

“What the hell, dude?!” Joe yelled and put both hands on her head. “What are you on these days?”

“No...” Derek groaned and swayed again. “No hospital.”

“Why not?” Joe shrieked and used her entire body to gesture. “Why is having a goddamn high-schooler cut off your arm better than going to the ER?”

“She’s got a point,” Stiles conceded, still standing a few feet away in shame. He took a deep shaky breath and rubbed his face. “I mean, what if you bleed to death?”

Derek seemed to fight for every word he was saying. “It’ll heal if it works.”

“You two are absolutely insane!” Joe yelled, but they were too engrossed in fighting over whether or not Stiles actually would cut off the arm or not, not if they were gonna consider literally ANY OTHER ALTERNATIVE! Derek already wrestled with the tourniquet to get it further up on his arm. She threw her hands up in exasparation.

“Oh my God, what the hell is happening?” she mumbled to herself, sick to her stomach of the sweet rotten smell rolling off Derek’s body. Options, she needed options...Joe backed out of the operation room and went to the front desk, praying that Dr. Deaton still had a landline connected. From inside, their voices rang out:

“... _either you cut off my arm, Or I’m gonna cut off your head.”_

_“Okay, you know what, I’m so not buying...”_

Joe ignored their panicked voices and tore over the reception desk in search of the old-school handle phone. Lifting the receiver, she got the familiar steady beep signalling a connection and she thanked whatever deity was listening.

_“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”_

“Yeah, hi, my friend is hurt really bad, I need an ambulance to-”

The line went dead.

Joe took the receiver away from her ear and stared at it in confusion. No interruption tone, just complete silence. A movement in the corner of her eye made her look up from the phone only to see Scott. He had the unplugged phone wire in his hand. Too angry to speak, she watched him rush back into the operation room. His voice echoed from inside:

“ _What the hell are you doing?”_

“Scott McCall, what in the actual hell are you- _uwaa!”_ She followed Scott to the back, but slipped in something slick on the floor and almost crashed into the cabinets. She grabbed onto the table for balance. Something pitch black and gooey was in a large puddle of the floor. “What the hell is that?”

“Derek’s body’s attempt of healing itself,” Stiles answered without missing a beat. Joe gagged at the smell of the infected blood vomit. “Yeah, I know, it’s not good.”

“Did you get it?” Derek asked Scott, who nodded and handed what looked like a rifle bullet to Derek.

A literal bullet. Joe tried to wipe her shoes off onto the floor, gagging again at the thought of the putrid liquid coming from Derek.

Stiles asked: “What are you gonna do with it?”

“I’m gonna-” said Derek and swayed. “I’m gonna...”

They all started shouting at the same time as Derek’s eyes slipped shut. Joe and Stiles both lunged for Derek’s torso so he wouldn’t crash straight to the floor, while Scott dived after the bullet that rolled under a cabinet.

“Whoa, easy, easy,” Joe said and managed to get Derek lying down with Stiles’ help. Her fingers slipped on his sweat-covered skin. He was not waking up, even as Stiles shook him. Joe put two fingers onto his neck - his skin burned against her fingers. “His pulse is weak. We need to call an ambulance _right now_!”

Stiles still tried to shake Derek awake, but there was no response. “He’s not waking up, Scott! I think he’s dying!”

Scott laid stretched out belly down on the floor, obviously straining to reach the bullet, and only grunted in response. Joe tried to turn Derek around to get him in a recovery position in case he threw up again, but he was way too heavy without Stiles’ help. Okay, time for that half-day training in first aid. If he stopped breathing, she had to start CPR. Was it 15 or 30 to 2? What was she supposed to do if he kept breathing, but didn’t wake up? Even if Scott got that stupid bullet, how was that gonna help? The black infected veins kept climbing up on Derek’s arm at an alarming rate. Even if they got him to the hospital right away, it might already be too late.

“Oh! I got it! I got it!” cried Scott and emerged from the cabinet with the bullet in hand. It became clear that neither him or Stiles knew what to do with it. They needed Derek in a conscious state.

Stiles improvised and drew his fist back. “Please don’t kill me for this!”

Joe gasped as he punched Derek straight in the face, something he regretted straight away as he yelped and cradled his hand. She did not remember that from her first aid course!

Derek opened his eyes, apparently unaffected by the punch, and momentarily only stared at Joe with confusion. She stared back at the light green eyes and could see how his pupiles dilated before he seemed to focus and pull it together.

“You need a hospital!” Joe insisted as she helped him stand, but he only shook his head and held out his good hand to Scott.

“Give me.”

The second Derek got the bullet, he unscrewed it and poured the contents on the stainless steel table. With a lighter, he set it on fire. Joe’s mouth dropped open when he shoved the remaining ashes into the open gaping bullet wound.

“Oh God,” she said and gagged again. The ashes seemed to burn into Derek’s wound and he screamed so hard the cabinets shook. Joe clutched her own arm, as if her empathy made her feel the same pain as him. He fell backwards on the floor, writhing and squirming, clutching his injured arm. Joe let go off her arm and used both hands to cover her ears as he screamed again, an overtone of an animalistic growl creeping in. She felt tears force themselves out of her eyes.

He was in so much pain!

“I can’t watch!” She sought comfort in Scott’s arms and buried her face into his chest to be spared the vision of Derek spasming on the floor. He was going to die. He was dying and there was nothing she could do! It - hurt - so- bad! Vision clouded with tears, she prayed that it would stop. Please make it stop. Please, please, please.

Her breath caught when her prayers were answered. The screaming stopped, leaving an empty space in the universe she wanted to scream into instead. A dead empty space. Dead. She sobbed into Scott’s shirt, barely aware of Scott stroking her back.

“That. Was. AWESOME!” Stiles suddenly yelled out and whooped. “ _Yes_!”

Joe pulled away from Scott in horror, ready to scream at Stiles. Rustles behind her made her turn around in a daze.

Derek was getting up from the floor. His arm was healed. He still looked pale and sweaty, but not in a near-death-way like before. She felt Scott’s chest rumble as he asked: “Are you okay?”

“Well, except for the agonizing pain?” Derek panted and untied the bind around his arm.

“I’m guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health,” Stiles quipped, but was mostly ignored. Joe could only stare at Derek, recovering each second. He was alive. But how? Before she could ask, Joe’s body made her aware of more pressing concerns.

“I- I think I’m gonna be sick,” Joe said, took two steps to the sink and threw up. The air still reeked with the smell of burnt flesh, and combined with the scent of Derek it was just too much. She vomited twice, before all she got was acid.

She felt Scott put a gently hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”

Joe nodded and rinsed her mouth. “I just need air.” She took a deep breath, letting it drift back into the room. “And an explanation.” Wiping her face, she turned around. “What just happened? In what universe does gunpowder ash clear up an infection?”

To her surprise, both Scott and Derek avoided her gaze, both looking away ashamed. Only Stiles smiled at her, but offered nothing in ways of explaing what they had just witnessed.

“Am _I_ on drugs?” she asked, indicating herself with one hand. “Are we _all_ on drugs?”

“No one’s on drugs. Joe, I...” Scott gnawed on his lip. His hand seemed to linger on the wet stain on his shirt, left there after her tears. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Derek growled. “Scott, don’t.”

“Look, we just saved your life!” Scott snapped and addressed the shirtless Derek. “Which means you’re gonna leave us alone, you got that? All of us!”

Derek’s nostrils flared and he obviously bit back whatever retort he wanted to give. He tore around to pick up his discarded shirt, which had to be drenched in sweat.

“Joe,” Scott began again, softly, as if she was too fragile to hear this. Joe raised both eyebrows at him, wondering how bad this would be. _Was_ it drugs? Or something worse? Hard drugs? Whatever it was, Scott seemed to really have to think about it. He swallowed thickly before he started again. “Joe, I know it’s hard to believe, but I don’t know how else to say it. I’m...I’m a werewolf.”

The room seemed to hold its breath for a few seconds while they awaited her response. Stiles had his arms folded over his head and peeked at her from underneath his arm.

“Are - you - _kidding_ \- _me_?” Joe snapped in a rising anger. She rolled her eyes and shook off his hand in a harsh motion. “Jesus Christ, Scott, read the room!”

“What? No! No, Joe, I am! I swear!”

“I can’t,” Joe said, mostly to herself, and held up her arms in defeat. “I just can’t.”

“Joe, listen to me, I really _am_ a werewolf!” Scott pleaded to her back as she was on her way out of the clinic.

“No! You’re not!” she called back with a roll of her eyes. Werewolf?! How stupid did he think she was? Goddamn teenagers. Fuming, she got back into her car and slammed the door shut. In the private of the gloomy interior, she mouthed the word again incredulously: “ _Werewolf! Ugh._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed it! I have a specific request if someone wouldn't mind helping me: What do you think about the summary compared to how the story is? Can I somehow change the summary to reflect it better or is it fine as it is? (Summaries are the worst...)


	7. The Stalker II

Joe did not talk to Scott when he eventually got home. His anti-climatic attempt at a joke back at the clinic left her deflated. Instead of acknowleding what had happened and how much emotional toll it took on her, she devoted herself to work, a nice trick she’d learned from her father. Other students’ work, luckily, not her own. She did not feel up for explaining societal mass-delusions just yet, it hit too close to home.

Every time her mind started to creep into questions of what had happened, she angrily turned up her music in her headphones and buckled down on her grading. Her hair hung limply around her face after the fast shower she felt compelled to when she had gotten home.

A couple of hours after midnight, she had to get up and stretch her entire body. Too much time sitting in front of the PC, on top of the tension of when she thought Derek was dying-

Ah, there it is. Acknowledge or compartmentalize? Should she allow herself to admit how much it had affected her? How her lungs clamped up and she literally thought her heart would burst when she saw his lifeless, still body? Joe scoffed in the darkness. When did she get so soft? She did not even know the guy!

She took Psych 101 back in the day, but it could not explain what an emotional wreck she became back at the clinic. And the Human Physiology class she had signed up for when she still wanted to be a doctor could not explain how Derek’s infection cleared up in the matter of minutes. She had heard about phantom pregnancies and how the body would respond in case of severe delusions of the person, but phantom injuries?

“Okay, bedtime,” she muttered and turned off the PC, leaving her room dark. If she was going to have any chance of fixing her circadian rhythm she needed to force herself to sleep. It took a couple of seconds for her eyes to recover after the harsh artificial light from the computer screen, but it stabilized enough for her to move around the room without any issues. She’d always had good night vision.

Even the outdoor lamps were off, she realized, and it was completely pitch black both inside and out. She paused in front of the window. It faced the unkept backyard of the McCall-house that made a seamless transition to the forest and she rarely bothered with closing the curtains because no-one was ever back there. Except now she could swear she saw some red glowing dots. Like a pair of eyes... or the small recording lights of a camera.

The second she focused on the lights, they moved.

“Hey!” she shouted on instinct and tore out of her room, down the stairs, through the kitchen and out the back door. Because she had to double track back to pick up a large flashlight that they kept under the sink, by the time she reached the backyard, the lights were gone. Feeling stupid, she sniffed the air a bit, in case she could detect that particular eau de Derek. Nothing. She was not sure if that warranted relief or not.

So quiet outside. It was almost like those moments before the deer herd passed through. No sounds from the forest at all, not even the crickets chirping like they usually did all night. She triangulated the spot where she’d seen the lights based on the view of her bedroom window and used the flashlight to light up the ground and surrounding bushes. Something had torn up the moss in their haste to get away. It was impossible to say if it was human or animal, or which direction they’d gone.

Someone or something had been here.

Watching her...

Okay, so she might be paranoid, but she had the right to be! After that anonymous delivery a while back? Someone had to be watching her somehow to even know she was interested in the case. Who was to say they weren’t watching through her window? Recording her, even.

Shuddering, and not because of the cold, she headed back to the house and got inside. The rational thing to do was call the police. Still looking back towards the woods, she leaned against the door and made sure it was locked. It could be her mind playing tricks on her, a common reaction after a stress-episode. She just could not shake the feeling that when she had looked at those red glows, something was looking back.

“Joe, are you okay?”

“AH!” Joe jumped around and put an arm out to keep Scott at bay while she caught her breath. He was obviously still half-asleep with all of his hair standing up on one side. “Jesus Christ, don’t do that!”

“Sorry,” he whispered and came to stand next to her by the door. “Something wrong?”

“No, I just...I just thought I saw something,” Joe explained lamely. Stress, lack of sleep, paranoia...No need to worry Scott. “Just a raccoon.”

“Right,” Scott murmured and kept staring out the window. The night outside did not reveal anything else. When he finally tore his eyes away, he gave Joe a full once-over. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just running on fumes,” she admitted and grabbed his arm to get them both out of the kitchen. “And you couldn’t have gotten much sleep last night, so I say we take advantage of the weekend and sleep in tomorrow.”

Scott let out a sleepy laugh and let her drag him upstairs. “Sounds fine by me.”

* * *

The feeling someone was watching her did not subside the next day. She kept the curtains closed on her bedroom and shut herself off from the outside world. She dug deep on her paper and tried to find more literature to support her claims. What she ended up with was a little bit of both.

A lot of so-called scientists in the early 1900s seemed to have a lax attitude separating between fiction and fact. Diagnosing someone as being possessed was not unheard of back in those days, and a lot of published papers discussed were-creatures, because it was not just wolves, as an everyday occurrence. If she went back further, the questions revolved around whether or not these creatures of the night actually had a soul and if they were to be considered animals with human tendencies or humans with animalistic tendencies. It was the way the discussion was so matter-of-factly, no controversy of whether or not they were real, just how to classify them that made it a chilling read.

An e-mail notification popped up and she ignored it, thinking it was probably just one of the students panicking over the mid-terms coming at alarming speed. She completed her literature survey and made a list of the books she would need to physically check out from the library. Some had to be ordered from neighbor universities, and some were in French — she made another note to try and find a translated version.

She opened her e-mail again to send a request to Professor Kane, and noticed the unread e-mail from before. No sender, no subject, just a timestamp. Her cursor hovered over the trashcan-symbol, it had to be a phishing attempt or a virus. In a split second decision, she clicked to open it. No text, just a single image of what looked to be a transcripted 911-call. The date and time claimed it to be less than an hour old. Another animal attack, the video store in downtown Beacon Hills. Comparing the timestamp on the transcript versus the one of the e-mail itself they were less than five minutes apart.

“Caller claims to be student at Beacon Hills High...” she read and her thoughts immediately went to Scott and Stiles. It was not unusual for them to rent a scary movie on Saturday night. Panic tightened around her spine and she dashed into Scott’s room. “Scott?”

No answer, no Scott.

More than a thousand students went to Beacon Hills High, but she had this intense feeling she just could not shake. Pacing in Scott’s room, she made up her mind and went downstairs and tried calling both Scott and Stiles from the old-school Nokia she had to use until she could afford to fix the cell-phone Stiles broke. No answer from either of them. If this was another animal attack, the Sheriff was definitely working the scene, so it was not surprising that she went to voicemail at the Stilinskis too. Damn it.

She grabbed her coat and was out the door less than a minute later. Worst case, she would just get some insight on the attack site. Actually, worst case, Scott or Stiles was the one who had been attacked. Not that she allowed herself to consider that scenario as she drove a bit faster than legally allowed down to the city center.

The ambulance and police cars were still by the store, although one ambulance drove off just as she got there. A whole crowd had gathered outside the police tape, another human reaction to just having to see what was going on. She spotted Kim from the Beacon Post trying to get a statement from one of the deputies, while further back, the Sheriff was talking to a pair of high-schoolers that was definitely not Scott and Stiles.

“Thank God,” Joe muttered and let herself breathe again. She vaguely recognized the pair from the lacrosse matches, the boy might have been the captain and the girl his girlfriend. There was still the last person who had been picked up by the ambulance already, but Scott and Stiles came as a package-deal and you rarely saw one without the other.

Stiles popped up next to her, mouth full of curly fries. “Joe?”

“Stiles!” Joe’s panic rushed back and she looked between Stiles and the direction the ambulance had driven. “Scott? Is he-”

“Not here!” Stiles rushed to explain, accidentally spraying her with bits of curly fries. “I was just having dinner with my dad and he got this call so...”

“But if he’s not with you, then where is he?” Joe still had a tight knot in her stomach, the feeling that something was wrong. Looking at the scene, it was hard to believe it had been an animal. The entire window display was reduced to shattered glass and the inside of the video store looked more like an earthquake had torn through there.

“Uh, at home?”

Joe threw her hands up. “I just came from home!”

“Okay, okay, then I don’t know!” Stiles shouted back. “Maybe he’s with Allison? Have you tried calling him?”

“Of course I tried calling him, you...”

She never got to the name calling. Something in the air, a whiff of a familiar scent, made her turn her head towards the roof of the video store. Empty. She could have sworn it smelled like Derek, but as she spun around, he was of course nowhere to be seen.

“You...?” Stiles prompted as if he was genuinly curious to what she was going to call him, but she shushed him and scanned the rooftop again. Nothing.

Joe sighed and rubbed her face. “Jesus, I’m losing it.” Stiles had to be right, Scott was probably with his girlfriend, who she and Aunt Mel had yet to meet. Joe gestured to the video store. “What the hell happened?”

“Mountain lion,” Stiles said with an innocent shrug. He smiled even brighter when she gave him a disbelieving glare. “What do you want me to say? Werewolf attack?”

“Ugh, just forget it,” she muttered and rubbed her eyes. Stiles still looked at her expectantly and she resisted the urge to smack him upside the head. “Who else was here? I saw an ambulance take off.”

“Video store clerk,” Stiles answered instantly, but looked over his shoulder in case anyone else was listening in. “Overheard one of the EMTs. He was DOA - dead on arrival.”

“Any criminal history?”

Joe grimaced the second she asked the question - she’d sounded just like her dad and Stiles did an elaborate shrug as to how should he know.

“Do you think an animal cares about a criminal history?” he questioned with a nervous laugh. He had a point. Joe just got the feeling that these attacks were targeted, not random, which meant an animal couldn’t be responsible. Maybe a hitman, one who really knew how to cover his tracks? Or maybe it really was like Bedburg, where a serial killer was at large and claimed insanity in form of lycanthropy. Laura Hale, a bus driver and a video store clerk. Different ages, different ethnicities, no obvious links.

“You need a ride home?” she asked Stiles, figuring the Sheriff would still be busy for a while longer and the Jeep was nowhere in sight. He admitted he could use one and they got back into the Ford Fiesta, parked a bit away from the crowd.

She had picked up Scott enough times to know the way to Stiles’ house. When they got out of the shopping district, she cleared her throat. “Those two kids who were there...you know them?”

Stiles snorted and his mood seemed to sour. “Yeah, everyone knows them. Jackson’s the captain of the lacrosse team and a raging asshole. Lydia Martin is...” He sighed wistfully, looking out the window. “God’s custom-made, special edition, one of a kind gift to mankind.”

Joe’s eyebrows rose high and she glanced over at the teenager sulking in the passenger seat. Stiles might have some issues focusing at times, but when he did, he went all in. Looks like that was true for his high-school crush too.

“Look, I know how you’re feeling.” Joe swallowed at the uncomfortable role of trying to be compassionate. Stiles gave her a panicked look and she hastily elaborated: “When I was in high-school, I had a best friend, and then halfway through Sophomore year she got a boyfriend. And, you know, teenage love is intense. She seemed to always be with him and never have time for me anymore and it sucked.”

“So...what’d you do?”

Joe made a face. “I ended up dating his best friend just so we could all hang out as a group. And apparently dating me made him realize he was actually gay and he dumped me the night before prom.”

“Gee, thanks for the pep-talk,” Stiles muttered and sank further down into his seat.

“I just...Scott’s still your friend, okay? Give him a few weeks to get his hormones in check and he’ll get his head out of his ass and feel bad for neglecting you.”

Stiles snorted and said something under his breath that sounded like: “Yeah, well, he’s got less than a week to get his hormones in check.” He returned to stare out the window and Joe focused on the road. After a while, Stiles coughed. “Uh, Joe?”

“Yeah?”

“Is it just me or has that car been trailing us for a while now?”

Joe immediately checked the rearview mirror, half expecting to see Derek Hale’s dark sportscar. Instead it was an unmarked sedan of unknown make. They’ve had a car behind them the whole way home, but she had not been paying attention if it was the same one all along.

“Make a right,” Stiles ordered and Joe made a sharp turn, derouting them from the way to Stiles’ house. Stiles unbuckled his seat belt and turned fully around to stare out the window. “He’s still here. Make a right at the next intersection.”

“Do you know the car?” Joe asked. She made the turn, even sharper than before, and sure enough, the sedan followed.

“No, I don’t think so. Make another right, now!”

She did not have time to use the turn signal and wrenched the car over. “Where are we headed?”

“Three right turns makes no sense, we’re practically driving in circles,” Stiles explained without looking away from the road behind them. “And that means they’re definitely following us. Look!”

Joe checked the mirror and saw the car had followed, albeit at a further distance, as if they’d missed the last turn. “Uh, okay, so what do we do now?”

“Do you want to stop and confront him? Or her?”

“No! Should we call the police?”

“No!” Stiles burst out and urged Joe to speed up. “Let’s shake him off! Left here!”

She bit her teeth together and made the almost impossible turn, sending Stiles flying over the dashboard. “Put your seatbelt on, idiot!”

“Yes, ma’am!” he conceded and fumbled to get back in place.

“And hold on!” Joe put one hand on the gear-stick and tried to breathe. She hoped the Ford was up for this. One glance at the mirror confirmed the car still tailed them. “Shit!” If they were lucky, all available patrols were at the video store. She did not have the cash for a speeding ticket right now.

The chase began.

Joe did not usually speed excessively, especially not in populated areas. Stiles shouted directions to her, left, left, right, left again, and when they were met with a yellow light, going red, he screamed at her to put the pedal to the metal.

“Go, go, go!” he yelled and they ran the red light screaming, hoping a semi wouldn’t crush them from the side. “Now turn off your lights and speed up!”

“Are you insane?” Joe demanded. They were out of the city - no streetlights, no traffic. “I can’t drive without seeing!”

“There’s all these side roads here, if we can take one of them without being seen, we’ll lose him!”

“Okay, but how do you propose I’ll make the turn without driving us into the ditch?”

“I’ll tell you when to turn!”

“You have got to be kidd-”

“ _Lights off, Joe! NOW!”_ Stiles voice turned hoarse with effort and Joe could not believe she was doing this, but she turned her headlights off. The sedan after them was too far behind to be of any help and the road was invisible out through the windshield. She knew this stretch was straight, but it took some effort to even hold the steering wheel in place.

“Stiles?” she asked with gritted teeth.

He had opened his window and stuck his head out. “Not yet!”

“STILES!”

“Not yet!”

“GOD DAMN IT, STILES!”

“NOW! TURN!”

“Aaaragfh!” she yelled and made the turn at an almost 90 degree angle, hoping she would still be on the road when straightening up. One of the wheels bounced off the shoulder, but she managed to keep the car going straight, as per Stiles’ directions.

“Okay, slow down.” Stiles hang out of the window, watching both the road ahead and behind them. “Keep the lights off, I think we lost him.”

“Of all the stupid ideas-”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Stiles snapped, his voice a loose entity in the dark. “Veer slightly to the left here, there should be place to turn around.”

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this,” Joe chanted, but did as told. Her night vision had stabilized slightly so she could see a faint outline of the road, and what looked like some sort of building up ahead. Or at least half a building. “Jesus Christ, Stiles, what are we doing here?”

“Sorry, it’s the only route I know by heart.”

She pulled up next to the Hale house. It had been creepy in the daytime, but it was downright terrifying at night. An empty shell of a house with doors leading nowhere and smashed window panes. Once a stately brick mansion that housed a large extended family, now county-owned ruins. Joe would not have spent a night there for a million dollars, even if she hadn’t known its gruesome backstory. Surrounded by the wild forest on all sides, the wind flapping at torn curtains — if she stared long enough, she could have sworn she saw shadows moving inside.

Joe cut the engine and it left her and Stiles alone with only the sound of their breathing. “We’ll wait here a while, so we’re sure it’s safe to drive back.”

“Sure, let’s just...” Stiles rummaged around to get comfortable. “Let’s just camp outside this dark and empty house where eight people burned to death and a girl’s torso was buried. Definitely not haunted.”

“You are _so_ not helping,” Joe muttered and resisted the urge to turn on any lights. “Five minutes, then we’re go-”

“Did you see that?” Stiles hissed from somewhere beside her. “There, there it is again!”

Joe’s heart thumped harder in her chest and she leaned forwards to get a better view of the Hale mansion. It was too quiet. “It’s probably just bats or something.”

A shadow passed by one of the windows and it felt like someone ran ice down her spine. It had a definite humanoid shape. She and Stiles both held their breaths in anticipation. Joe slowly began reaching for the key still in the ignition.

Stiles’ voice sounded thick. “Did you see...”

“Yes,” she breathed and tried to rationalize why someone would be rummaging around in a burnt down house in the middle of the forest in the middle of the night. “Could just be a squatter.”

“Could be a serial killer.”

“That is highly unlikely,” she said, although her inner thoughts reminded her that it was not impossible. They sat transfixed in the car, staring at the window, waiting for any more movement. Every shadow seemed to grow arms and legs and heads and they deepened every time the waxing moon peeked through the clouds.

“We should go,” Joe whispered.

Stiles murmured his consent and Joe prepared to get the car running at record speed. She pushed down the clutch and brake and quickly turned the ignition. Instead of the steady rumble, the engine hacked and coughed.

“Oh no, no, no,” Joe mumbled, let the key go and tried again. The engine spat out a sound like a scratchy machine gun, but it never fired up. She knew that car chase would kill her car! “Shit, shit, shit!”

“Sounds like a bad starter.”

“No shit?!” Joe snapped and jammed the key around again, as if pure force from her side would ignite the fuel and get the engine running.

“Uh, Joe?”

“ _What, Stiles?”_

The car let out a new series of _rat-tat-tat-tat_. Joe swore in all languages she knew and hit the steering wheel. Piece of shit! She jumped when Stiles shook her arm to get her attention. He wordlessly pointed to the house where the front doors were wide open.

“Start the car, Joe.”

“I’m trying!”

“Start the car, start the car, start the-”

“AAAH!”

Something thumped on the driver side window. Joe screamed and tried to leap over to Stiles’ side. Stiles shrieked in her ear and he scrambled to open the door to get out, while Joe clawed at her seatbelt to get loose.

The figure outside hit the window again: “ _Joe_!”

She and Stiles froze.

  
“Was that...”

“Scott?” Joe squinted at the dark figure, where she could just make out a mop of dark hair and a slightly off-center jaw. It was Scott.

She and Stiles fought their way out of the car — she had gotten her seatbelt stuck over the gearstick and trapped his leg in it as well. Out in the open air she threw her arms around Scott and hugged him.

“Scott! Oh, thank God!” She put both hands on his shoulder and held him at arms’ bay to confirm that it really was her very own baby cousin in the flesh and not some demonic entity that just looked like him. He smiled and she decided no demon could look that goofy. The smile vanished when she smacked him on the head. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing here?” Scott countered. He held both her wrists to keep her from hitting him again, and looked between her and Stiles if either of them had answers. For some reason, he focused on Joe and furrowed his brows in concentration. “Joe, are you okay? Your heartbeat is going crazy.”

Joe’s eyebrows rose. “My heartbeat?” she repeated slowly and took a step back from him. “My _heartbeat_ is going crazy?”

“We were chased by a car,” Stiles interjected from his position hanging over Joe’s car door.

_“What kind?”_

A new surge of terror gripped Joe’s insides at the sight of Derek Hale standing in the opening to the Hale house. His arms were folded, but he looked everything but relaxed.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Joe hissed to Scott and gestured to the house where Derek Hale stood still as a statue.

“I’ll explain later,” Scott promised hastily and ignored her exasperated expression. “What kind of car was it?”

“A sort of murky green sedan,” Joe said at the same time as Stiles answered: “A 2008 Nissan Sentra.”

The guys all looked at her and she shrugged. “What? I’m not into cars.”

“All of the Argents drive pick-ups or SUVs,” Scott told Derek who nodded slowly as if that piece of information was somehow relevant. It wasn’t for Joe. Scott turned back to her and Stiles. “Are you sure it was following you?”

“Uh, yes!” Stiles exclaimed with an exaggerated arm gesture. “Unless whoever it was also decided to cruise the entire town in spirals and follow us out to the Preserve. We only shook him by killing the lights on our way here.”

Scott was lost in thoughts, but eventually asked: “Did he follow you all the way from the video store?”

Joe noticed Derek groan and cover his face with one hand. It took a few seconds before she made the connection herself.

“How did you know we were at the video store?”

Scott’s eyes widened and he kept glancing at Stiles as if he was going to be any help. Joe took a step to the side to force herself into his line of vision.

“Scott? How did you know we were at the video store?”

“Uh...” Scott realized he was not getting out of this one and his voice was small when he admitted: “We were sort of there.”

“You were sort of there?” Joe repeated incredulously. We, he had said. Scott and Derek Hale. She blinked a few times and turned to point an accusing finger at Derek Hale. “You _were_ on the roof!” Spinning around to face Scott again, she threw her arms up. “ _Why_ were you on the roof?! What is going on, Scott?”

“Look, I tried telling you-”

“Oh my God, not the werewolf thing again!”

Scott started talking faster. “The so-called animal attacks? They aren’t animal attacks, they’re werewolf attacks! And the same Alpha that’s been killing people bit me when me and Stiles went out in the - _Jesus!”_

Joe used her phone flashlight to shine into his eyes and he recoiled from the brightness. “Are you on drugs?”

“No, Joe!” Scott tried to shield his eyes with his arms.

“I’m serious, Scott McCall,” Joe said and tried to study his pupile dilation. “Are - you - on - drugs?”

“No!” Scott pushed her phone away and blinked rapidly. His eyes shone, almost like the light had left a yellow afterglow. “I swear to God, Joe, werewolves are real and I am one!”

Joe could not physically roll her eyes further back into her head and was going to ask him to prove it. She never got the time, as Derek suddenly appeared next to them.

  
“Car,” he said simply, staring out down the dark stretch of road. A pair of headlights were barely visible through the foliage. He gave Joe a sideways glance. “A sort of murky green sedan.”

There was no way he was able to tell the color from this distance, he was just being an ass. She extended her middle finger to him. “Bite me.”

Joe saw the slight twitch at Derek’s lips, but he ignored her and told them to get inside and: “Hide.”

“But my car...”

Too late. Scott had already grabbed her arm and practically carried her inside. They huddled together behind one of the few intact windows in what must have been a living room of some sorts. Or at least Joe and Stiles huddled, while Scott and Derek sat ready to spring into action. Derek especially; he had one knee on the floor and held his balance with just his fingertips, watching through the window. The moldy air tickled the back of Joe’s throat and she fought to keep from coughing.

The headlights of the arriving car shone into the house, highlighting the dust and ash that covered every surface. The light flashed off of Derek’s eyes, making it seem like they glowed a bright blue instead of his regular light green.

“Stay down,” he murmured, while he himself crept along the hallway and out of sight. They did no such thing of course, and gripped the window frame to peer outside. It was the same car as before, a 2008 Nissan whatever. It stopped next to Joe’s car, where both driver and passenger door still stood wide open. No one got out of the car and they never stopped the motor.

“What’re they doing?” asked Stiles, while Joe and Scott hissed at him to stay quiet. “What? Do you think they’ve got superhearing or something?” Joe didn’t catch whatever look Scott sent him, but Stiles deflated and said a very hushed whisper: “Oh, right.”

What _were_ they doing? Joe tried to be careful not to poke her head up too high where the headlights would reveal her silhouette. The car just sat there. The lights directed straight at them made it impossible to see who was inside the car - or how many there were. She also did not stand a chance to see the license plate number.

“Derek’s on the roof,” Scott whispered. He had his head tilted a bit sideways, as if he was listening intently. Joe was beginning to worry he wasn’t kidding about being a werewolf, he actually believed it. Could Derek have been brainwashing him into believing it was real? Sort of a mass delusions kind of deal?

Even if Derek _was_ on roof, Joe failed to see how that was in any way helpful. She gently pulled out her old Nokia. “We should call the cops.”

“No!” both Scott and Stiles hissed. Stiles of course reached for her phone, but she held it in a death grip and pinched the thin skin of his inner arm. He made a croaking sound to suppress a scream and let go off her phone. Even in the dark, she could make out the very indignant “Ow!” he mouthed while he rubbed his arm.

She angled the phone towards the floor so the light wouldn’t be so obvious, and pressed the 9-button. Scott put his hand over her phone gently.

“Wait.”

Before she could ask what for, she got her answer. Derek Hale came swooping down through the air and landed ontop of the unfamiliar car with a _bang_. He had jumped from the rooftop! How he managed it without breaking his legs or wrists was anyone’s guess.

The car instantly revved up — even Joe could tell that they were frying the timing belt. It kicked into reverse and tossed up gravel in its wake. The momentum threw Derek off the roof and he and the car went separate ways. Too fast for the eyes to follow, Derek somehow twisted in the air so he landed on all fours on the ground instead of his back. He sprang up and faced the car that backed up from the driveway. Joe envisioned it changing direction and hitting him full force.

It didn’t. The car continued backing up at alarming speed and did a complete 180 any professional rally driver would have been proud of before it shot out of there. Derek stood wide-legged in the driveway, watching it leave.

Whoever it had been in that car, they weren’t tough enough to take on Derek Hale. That probably meant it was just the driver in the car. Derek Hale was probably plenty dangerous, he had toned muscles Joe didn’t even know the name of, but he was still just one guy.

When it became clear the car was not returning, she and the boys ran out of the house. She was glad to escape the suffocating atmosphere. Stiles went straight of the tire-tracks, using his phone to get a better look.

“You already know what kind of car it is,” Joe pointed out, but he seemed adamant on checking it out. She turned to Derek instead. “Did you get a look at the driver?”

His nostrils flared when he looked at her, as if she had said something insulting. It was not until he looked away he seemed able to compose himself enough to answer. “No. But I got the license plate.”

Stiles bounced up at that, ready to type it in his phone. He repeated each digit: “14A1534?” Stiles’ face fell. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Derek snarled. “Why?”

Stiles frowned, looking down at his phone, while Joe sighed and explained: “It’s fake.”

“What? How do you know?”

“It’s the wrong format. Two numbers before a letter is for motorcycles. Cars have one number before three letters.” Stiles put his phone away with a defeated huff. “It’s useless.”

“Stiles is right.” Joe rolled her head backwards to release some of the tension. “We’ll have more luck tracing the make of the car, except that we don’t have access to the DMV’s records.”

“Do you have any idea who could be following you? Or why?” Scott asked, and Joe realized he was asking her specifically. At least Derek had the decensy to look away when she subconsciously glanced at him, as he would ordinarily have been her first guess.

“Why do you think they were after me?” she scoffed and gestured to Stiles. “Could just as well have been Stiles they wanted.”

Stiles looked up like a deer caught in the headlights. He pressed a hand to his torso in disbelief. “Me? What did I do?”

“I don’t know! What did _I_ do?” Joe shot back while throwing her hands up in defeat.

“They might have been following you to get to Scott.” Stiles recoiled at the incredulous look Joe shot him. “What? They might have?”

Joe looked between all three of them. “Why would they be after Scott?”

Derek sighed and muttered something that might have been: “ _Here we go_.” He left their small circle to sit atop of Joe’s hood, content with being a spectator apparently.

“Because,” Scott said with feigned patience. “As I have been trying to tell you-”

“I swear to God, Scott, if you start with that werewolf-crap again...”

“It’s the truth! Oh my God, Joe, how stubborn can you be? I - am - a - werewolf!” Scott stuttered when he was faced with Joe’s wall of skepticism. He gestured to Stiles. “Stiles knows! Tell her!”

“All due respect, out of all testimonies in the world, Stiles’ holds the least weight,” Joe intercepted before Stiles could chime in. “He would claim you to be a unicorn if you asked him to.” She folded her arms and cocked her head at Scott. “But okay, sure, if you’re a werewolf...prove it.”

It was not textbook handling of delusions, but he had been taking this too far. Scott was starting to sound like those weirdos Carter talked about, those who tried to turn their friends into werewolves via a bite and ende up only giving them tetanus.

Joe waited for Scott to follow up. He closed his eyes in concentration, made that stupid face she recognized from their homework sessions, before he blinked his eyes open again. “I...uh, can’t really do it on command.”

“How convenient.”

Scott looked at Derek for help and Joe turned expectantly with a raised eyebrow. Derek Hale returned their questioning gazes with a complely blank look and a shrug, as if he did not understand what was expected of him.

“Oh come on!” Scott shouted so loud his voice cracked.

Joe scoffed and walked to her car, shooing Derek off the hood before popping it open. “If we’re done here, I want to drive home. Anyone who can fix my starter is welcome to check under my hood.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “My car’s hood. The hood. Whatever!” No one moved before Joe folded her arms defiantly. “Now please!”

Stiles scrambled forwards, but Derek gave him a dark glare that kept him at bay. Without looking at Joe, he bent over the inner mechanics of her Ford. Her eyebrow rose -- he was obviously planning to fix her car without even a flashlight.

“Stuck gear,” he muttered, and thumped something with his fist. Derek emerged and gave Joe a nondescript look. “Fixed.”

“Right,” she said, eyebrows still high. “Okay, anyone who needs a ride, get in, _now_.”

Scott slumped and dragged his feet towards the passenger seat, while Stiles bounded into the back. Joe paused and looked at Derek, who made no motion of joining them. There was no sign of his car anywhere.

“How did _you_ get here?” she asked and Derek shrugged.

“I ran.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds. Joe was too tired to notice how her pulse quickened. She ended up shaking her head. “Okay then.” Praying the car would actually start so she could escape his scrutiny, she turned the ignition. The Ford purred into gear.

She gave Derek a wry salute as a thanks and goodbye. He stared after them until they were out of the driveway. Next time she looked, he was gone.


	8. The No-Show

“Hey, good afternoon,” Joe addressed Scott when he finally tumbled downstairs the next day. Sunday was the only day of the week Joe bothered with real breakfast, usually a cup of coffee kept her going until lunch, but now she was busy making pancakes. Scott did not even look at her, just plopped down by the table without a word. She made a face. “Okay, I admit that was a little too dad-joke even for me. Besides, who am I to call the kettle black, right? If I could sleep until 1PM every day, I would, ya know?”

It was hard to tell with all the hair hanging in his face, but she thought he rolled his eyes. Bad case of morning moodyness, she decided, and poured him a glass of OJ. He did not touch it and Joe raised an eyebrow as she turned back to the stove.

“So you never told me how that History-test went,” Joe prompted and flipped a pancake. “Or that Chem-paper.” The deafening silence told her all she needed. “Fine, but you know it’s parents-teacher conferences tomorrow. Aunt Mel is gonna find out anyway.” Joe began stacking pancakes on a plate. “How many do you want?”

Scott’s chair screeched as he got up from the table. “You know what, I’m not hungry.”

“But it’s pancakes!” Joe held the frying pan up so he could see. “You love pancakes!” She watched him trudge back upstairs with an angry frown between his brows. “I’m sorry I asked about your grades!” Joe leaned out of the kitchen to shout: “It’s coming from a place of love!”

He slammed the door to his room shut.

That might have been more than morning grumpiness. Looks like the Delgado-temper hadn’t skipped Scott after all. Weird though. He’d been open about his poor grades before. Scott’d never been more than a B-student at best, and usually a C-average. This year though he was really falling behind, but it was not that far along in the semester that it couldn’t be fixed. Hopefully meeting with his teacher tomorrow would be a wake-up call.

_Hopefully_ he could spend a little more time studying and a little less time running in the woods with Derek Hale. She could still not wrap her head around that one. No point in asking Scott about it, he still claimed they were werewolves and Derek was helping him somehow. And, no matter which way Joe looked at it, that did not sound like the basis of a healthy functional friendship, shared delusions or not. Her best bet was still on drugs, but it was hard to fathom that Scott would be that stupid.

Or, y’know, Derek had a thing for young teenage boys. Always a possibility.

Joe poured herself a cup of coffee and nibbled on a pancake. She had made far too many, having factored in Scott’s teenage metabolism, and it just wasn’t the same eating them alone. Luckily for her, a figure appeared at the backdoor, and she only needed to see his twitchy silhouette through the lace curtains to recognize Stiles. She unlocked the door to let him in.

_“Ooh, pancakes!”_

Two large plates of pancakes later, Stiles was working on a third and waving his fork around while he explained just how many 2008 Nissan Sentras there were in California. “It won some sort of ranking on the best affordable car for college students the year it came out. The dealerships couldn’t keep ut with the orders.” He chewed with an open mouth. “Not green one- _sh_ in particular, but _Sh-_ entras.”

“So we’re probably looking for a younger person,” Joe reasoned from a safe distance from Stiles’ occasional pancake spray. “No way of narrowing it to county?”

He shook his head and stabbed another pancake piece that he dragged through syrup before popping it in his mouth. “The public listings were by state only, and I had to pay a 3 dollar fee to access it.” Stiles’ chewed and swallowed thickly. “I could ask my dad, but then there’d be questions and, y’know, stuff.”

Joe let out a puff of air. “Well, if we could hack the police database and access to the CCTV-footage from across the street, we should be able to determine if the car was at the video store.”

“That’s a great idea!” Stiles’ eyes bugged and he chewed faster still. “You know how?”

“No.” She shrugged at the tired look he sent her. “I said _if_.” Tapping her fingers on her arm, she remembered something. “It’s probably just a coincidence, but...”

“But?”

“I sort of got an e-mail about the attack at the video store. That’s the reason I went out there.”

Stiles’ brows were furrowed and he held both his utensils out to ask: “From who?”

“That’s sort of the thing. It didn’t have a sender.”

She waited until he completed a full series of disbelieving body movements. Stiles communicated with his whole person. “So you _were_ the target!”

“It could just be a coincidence!”

“Heck of a coincidence! Any other coincidences you have forgotten? Strange phone calls? Suspicious notes in the mail?” Stiles blinked in an exaggerated manner. “That was textbook set-up and you walked straight into it, baby.” He deflated and mumbled: “Sorry.”

She’d sent him a withering glare for the “baby”. He might have outgrown her in height, but she was still an adult and he was in high-school. No need to forget about that. Even so, he had a point. She half-contemplated coming clean about the mysterious package of police files delivered on their doorstep. With his dad being the Sheriff it might not be such a good idea however. There was no doubt a connection though. Had the files been a set-up too? Was her benefactor in fact not that beneficial?

Stiles waved his hand in front of her face. “Hello? Earth to Joe?”

Her train of thoughts derailed into something that she could not help but feel was connected.“What’s going on with Scott? And don’t start with this werewolf-bullshit.”

“Uhhh...” The prolonged hesitation grew in volume and he rubbed the short hair of his scalp frantically. “Ehm...” He stared at the ceiling for more answers, found none, and returned to Joe. “Well...”

“Jesus Christ, Stiles, I know you’re covering for him,” Joe said with a roll of her eyes. “I just need to know how bad it is.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad. Not - uh - life threatening in any way. Or illegal.”

“It’s illegal?” Joe burst out and Stiles recoiled from her intensity, slithering away from his chair.

“No! I said it wasn’t! Not illegal!”

“Your dad’s in the police!”

“Whoa, hey, let’s not bring my dad into this!” Stiles seemed to think and retracted a bit. “Not that it in fact matters as this is not in fact illegal.”

“Stiles, my God, you’re the worst liar in the world!” Joe threw her hands up and he practically fell backwards over the couch. She followed him as he tried to crabwalk over to the other couch. “What - is - going - on? Why can’t you tell me?”

“Steroids!”

He could just as well have suckerpunched her. Joe’s mouth fell open, as did her disbelieving eyes. No chance of forming any other thoughts or words than: “What?!”

“Steroids! Scott’s on steroids!” Stiles exclaimed with a panicked expression. His eyes were wild. “Not a lot of steroids! Just a little bit of steroids.” Stiles pinched his fingers together to show how little. “Just to help him with the try-outs.”

Joe’s brain seemed to scream at her and she put both arms over her head. “Derek’s been selling steroids to Scott?”

“No! No, no, not at all! Derek’s...Derek’s helping Scott...to quit...steroids.” Stiles struggled with getting the words in place, but Joe was too far in her own mind to notice. Steroids. Scott was on steroids. And Derek was helping him quit?

“He’s just trying to look out for Scott,” Joe mumbled to herself, paraphrasing Derek’s own words from before. It made a weird sort of sense, except from where she fit in.

“Yeah, exactly! That’s what all the running in the woods is about. Healthy, fresh air and - uh - detoxing the system and all!” Stiles gained momentum now that the truth was out. “Derek used to have a problem himself, y’know, when he was in school and then he found out about this steroids-thing in the lacrosse team and he couldn’t look away, y’know? Heart of gold, and all...”

“Does the school know?” Joe asked. It did not make sense that the school knew and they hadn’t been informed. “Aunt Mel?” Unless Aunt Mel had hid it from Joe, of course, which was unlikely, but not impossible. “What ab-”

“No, it never got that far,” he said in a tiny voice. He propped himself up on the couch instead of sprawling like a starfish. “It’s under control, now, actually. Wouldn’t worry about. Or tell your aunt. Or my dad.”

“Are you sure? That it’s under control? I just can’t believe he didn’t tell me. I mean, he knows I...he knows everything about me,” Joe muttered and stared at the chair Scott had left abruptly just an hour earlier. It fit. With the mood-swings, difficulties to concentrate, the abruptly altered physique made evident at the lacrosse game. “I should go talk to him and apologize for-”

“No!” Stiles slung himself across the other couch to grab at her sweatshirt. “He’s super embarrassed about it!” Her fuzzy socks skidded on the hardwood floor as he held her in place. “And, y’know, he’ll know I told you and he’d never forgive me.”

Joe relented and sat down on the back of the couch. “Right.” All the signs had been there, staring straight at her. Steroids. Jesus. All she knew about steroids was from back east at her old high-school where some of the guys on the wrestling team was caught getting jacked. Did you get addicted to steroids? Or just addicted to the results of steroids?

“I just can’t believe he wouldn’t tell me something like that,” Joe whispered again, as if admitting it out loud would make it hurt less. “I mean, I knew lacrosse was important to him and all, but not like this!” She peered at Stiles, trying to gauge if his skinny build had changed lately. “You’re not...?”

Stiles laughed and kissed his non-existent biceps. “No! These are au naturel, baby.” His smile disappeared. “Sorry. Again.”

“And Derek...if he’s just trying to help Scott out, I owe him an apology.” Joe stared out into thin air, both hands on the knees of her checkered pajama pants. “I just thought he was the biggest creep ever!”

“Yeah, well, he does have that whole creep-vibe going for him,” Stiles agreed.

“But...you said he used to have a problem. Derek’s _not_ on steroids now?” Joe asked, with the vivid memory of last night where he jumped from a roof to a car and then somehow backflipped onto the ground again. Without breaking a sweat, let alone a bone.“Wow.”

Stiles shrugged from his place in the couch. “Yup. Wow.”

* * *

Sometimes Joe had to type things into her search bar that she had the urge to follow up with “just for research purposes I swear, don’t arrest me”. Steroids was definitely in that category. Stiles had eventually sidled up to Scott’s room after making Joe promise she wouldn’t reveal that she knew the truth to Scott. It was a hard promise to both make and keep, she wanted nothing more than to stomp upstairs and have a real heart-to-heart with her baby cousin. And keeping it from Aunt Mel? Ugh. The worst.

In lieu of said heart-to-heart, she did what she already knew — researched. She found it all. Pamphlets from public health services, how-to guides, history of common drug use in the pre-war Olympics, advertisements, academic papers on the long-term effect...everything available just a few clicks away.

Apparently it was injected by needles, and Joe knew Scott hated getting even his flue shot, so he must have been really desperate. It did not appear to be particularly addicitive, at least not physically, but could develop into disordered use reminiscent of an eating disorder. Addicted to the gains, so to speak. It did not sit right with her to just let it slide with Scott, but either she had to catch him in the act or she had to betray Stiles, who had confessed under pressure. All she could do now was keep an eye on him.

On a whim, she added another keyword to the search: ‘werewolf’. If Derek Hale had been on steroids in high school and Jimmy Carter was convinced he saw Derek ‘change’, could there be a link somehow? The search did not seem to lead anywhere. All she found was a forum post by user ‘Player-No-1’, who asked if there was a kind of performance enhancing drug called something like ‘werewolf’. None of the replies seemed helpful.

Speaking of Jimmy Carter...

Joe tapped her fingers on her keyboard. She had not given the reporter turned blogger much thought after he had kicked her out. He had posted about the various happenings in Beacon Hills of course, but nothing that caught her eye as anything sensational. Joe just wondered what kind of car Mr. Carter drove. Stiles had said the car was top-selling among college students in 2008 and Jimmy Carter had been a college student in 2008.

“How to look up cars registered to person,” she mumbled out loud as she typed the same words into the allmighty search engine. It was hard to find a list of everyone who had ever bought a Nissan Sentra, but if you had an address or a name, then maybe...A bit of scrolling later, she found a forum discussing how an insurance agency listed all cars belonging to an address when trying to give you a quote. Heart hammering, she entered Jimmy Carter’s downtown apartment. Nothing.

She tapped her fingers again.

A quick detour to the yellow pages and then she tried his parents’ house instead. 2008 Nissan Sentra, color: green.

Gotcha.

* * *

Aunt Mel raised her eyebrows high over her cup of coffee when Joe came downstairs the next morning. It was not often any of them got up earlier than they had to. Aunt Mel seemed to smirk behind her cup. “Good morning. You’re up early. Are you wearing jeans?”

“Uh...” Joe looked down at her attire. She had foregone her usual combo of an oversized sweatshirt and black leggings for actual jeans and a slightly fancier sweatshirt. Apparently she looked like such a wreck most of the time the bar was low for impressing Aunt Mel. “Yes.”

“Looks good,” she said with a wink. Aunt Mel poured Joe a cup of coffee and slid it over the counter to her. “What’s his name?”

Joe ruffled through her backpack, made sure her taser was charged and ready. “Whose name?”

“The guy you’re seeing today?”

“Jimmy. Why?” Joe checked her cell-phone, it had a full battery, handy in case she had to call for backup. Because she lost her original phone and did not have the funds to replace it, she also had to bring her old-school audio recorder.

Aunt Mel smiled even wider and put her empty cup in the sink. She was already dressed in her scrubs and hooked her purse over her shoulder. “Well, say hi to _Jimmy_ from me.”

“Sure,” Joe replied absentmindedly. She wished she had a spy-cam too. Gathering evidence was just as important as getting answers. Aunt Mel called out a goodbye and the front door slammed shut. It _was_ really early, but a necessary evil to catch Mr. Carter off guard.

“I’m leaving!” she called from the hallway, hoping to rouse Scott from his slumber. “Don’t oversleep!”

Grumble, tossing, and a muffled: _“I won’t!”_

Satisfied, she got in her car and headed downtown. Because Carter obviously knew what kind of car she drove, she parked near the public library (free parking), and headed towards his apartment on foot. One thing these ugly old-school military boots had going for them — they were really comfortable to walk in.

She reached the front door of his building and shifted her backpack to the front while pretending to search frantically through it. This early in the morning, there were bound to be someone in the building leaving for work. Sure enough, within fifteen minutes, a man came rushing out the door with a briefcase in tow. They smiled at each other and the second he was out the door, Joe shoved her foot inside the entrance to stop it from closing. Oh yes, multi-purpose boots.

They were not sturdy enough to kick in a door, though, even if her rising adrenaline made it tempting. She stomped over to Carter’s door and kicked heavily at the doorframe in rhythm with her beating fist.

“Carter!” she shouted and kicked again. “Open up, asshole! We need to talk!”

No response. With her blood boiling, she pressed her ear to the doorblade and listened for any movement inside. He might be out, of course, but Jimmy Carter struck her as the kind of guy who did not leave his apartment unless he had to. No sounds whatsoever.

“I know you followed me the other night! I just wanna talk!” Joe called again, tempted to cross her fingers behind her back. She wanted to do more than just talk. “I’m not going away! If you don’t open up I’ll just keep shouting!”

Nothing.

“Fine!”

She gave the door another kick, while her adrenaline still ran hot, and plopped down in front of the door with her backpack. Either he wasn’t in or he was just trying to wait until she left. No matter, she had plenty of time. Joe opened up her laptop, got out all her notes on Jimmy Carter AKA Claudis Verity and began typing.

After fifteen minutes, she expected to hear some careful shuffling from inside. That’s how long she would have waited to check if the other person was still there. No noise from inside. He might have more patience than her - or a higher level of paranoia. Fifteen more minutes passed, and still deadly quiet from the other side of the door. She wondered how thick the walls were or if the door was extra soundproof. When walking over, she had made sure there weren’t any convenient fire escapes attached to his window. It was just the standard fold-out ladder that required a better physique than Jimmy’s to climb down and would anyway most likely result in broken ankles, an acceptable sacrifice for not dying in a fire of course.

Hours passed without a sound from the other side of the door. She had finished both her thermos of coffee, and now sipped carefully from the water bottle to avoid any unnecessary bathroom breaks. Joe could sit her all day if she needed to. Once upon a time, she had played the same game with her dad, but then she had been the one locked inside of course.

Eventually people started coming back from work. Some gave her curious glances as they passed her in the hallway, where she had practically set up camp with her laptop outside Jimmy Carter’s door. No-one said anything, and Joe got the feeling that this was nothing compared to the other weirdness associated with Jimmy. By now, she half-expected someone to come up to her and ask if she didn’t know that Jimmy was on holiday or something. No-one did.

With the general commotion of people trudging up the stairwell, talking on their phone or rustling with groceries, she almost missed the tell-tale sound of a peephole cover sliding to the side. Fisheye or not, he would definitely not spot her on the floor. She braced herself, waiting for the locks to click open as he would probably want to get a better look if the hall was clear. That’s what she would do. As expected, she heard one of the locks _slooowly_ open with a barely discernable click.

Just then another neighbor — a woman in her late forties, maybe, who had the harassed look of someone always wanting to see the manager — came up the stairs and stopped squarely in front of Joe. Joe swore under her breath.

“What are you doing? This is private property!” the woman demanded and placed both fists on her hips. Something about her just screamed landlord representative, offical or otherwise. “You don’t live here!”

“God damn it,” Joe swore again as the first lock on Jimmy’s door snapped shut again. She got up from her position on the floor, to avoid having the imposing woman tower over her. Her legs ached and tingled from sitting on the hard lineloum for so long. “I’m waiting for Jimmy.”

“Jimmy? Do you mean James Carter? Well, he lives right there!” the woman said and indicated the door, as if Joe was an idiot for sitting outside it all this time. “Is he out? Did you try knocking?” Instead of waiting for an answer, the woman pushed Joe to the side and let her own pudgy fist hammer against the metal. “Mr. Carter? Mr. Carter! You have a guest!”

Joe sighed and pushed back her curls. She had almost had him! Staring staight into the tiny peephole in the door, she decided to humor the woman: “Hey, Jimmy! It’s Joe, from Berkely!” Maybe mentioning the college would gain her some favors with the woman she could not help but nickname as Karen in her mind. “You in there, buddy?”

A faint shadow flickered behind the peephole glass and she grimaced. Coward.

“Well, that is unusual!” the woman huffed. The exortion of banging on his door left her out of breath. “I thought I saw his car in the garage, but maybe he’s out for a walk?” Both of them paused at the unlikely image of Jimmy Carter taking a stroll through the city. “Oh, well. I’ll let you know you stopped by, Miss... Joe, was it?”

“You know what? I’ll just write him a note and slip under the door,” Joe said and got her notebook out. At the same time, she noticed several missed calls from Aunt Mel. Her phone had been on silent to avoid detection by Jimmy. Karen waited patiently for Joe to scribble down a few short words. While she did, her phone blinked several times when Aunt Melissa tried calling again.

Joe gave Karen a polite smile, as if the woman had not busted her eight hour stakeout, and shoved the piece of paper under Jimmy Carter’s front door. It said: “WE NEED TO TALK!” with several underlines and then listed her phone number, a fact she might regret if he turned out to be a psycho stalker. On the bright side, if he was, he probably had her number already.

“Thanks,” she bit out to Karen who escorted her to the building’s front door. Her phone rang again, still Aunt Melissa, and she picked up the second she was outside of hearing range from Karen. Joe started to walk down the street, glanced behind her to see Karen had left, and then backtracked to the side of the building so she could see Jimmy’s windows.

“Hello? Sorry, I’ve had my phone on m-”

“ _Joe? Joe! Have you seen Scott?”_ Aunt Melissa sounded frantic over the phone. A lot of rustling in the background, as if she had the phone wedged between her ear and shoulder while multi-tasking. “ _I’ve called him over and over and he’s not picking up! The parent-teacher conferences are in an hour and I need to make sure he’s there! Are you home? Is he there?”_

_“_ I’m still out,” Joe answered and checked the clock on her phone. Above her, the shades twitched in Jimmy’s living room window. “You’re sure he’s not at practice or...?”

“ _Well, I called the school and they said he was a no-show today!”_ Aunt Melissa let out a laugh that bordered on desparation. “ _So I’m freaking out, okay? Can you go home, see if he’s there? Or-or-or if he’s at Stiles or that girl he’s seeing, and tell him to answer his freaking phone before I ground him for the rest of his-”_

_“_ Okay, okay, okay!” Joe tried to calm her aunt down. She grimaced and gave Jimmy’s windows a wave before starting the trek to her car. “I’ll go find him, no problem.”

Her aunt thanked her profusely while Joe tried to evade any gratitude. The knot in her stomach grew with each step closer to the Ford. She wanted nothing more than to tell Aunt Mel about Stiles’ revelation from yesterday. She knew she shouldn’t have ignored it! Skipping school the same day as parent-teacher conferences? Come on, Scott! Steroids was supposed to increase muscle gain, but apparently didn’t consider the brain a muscle!

Their house was empty, where only the dirty cereal dish in the sink indicated he had been there after she and Aunt Mel left. Whenever she tried calling, it went straight to voicemail. Either his phone died — or he had turned it off. Next was the Stilinskis’, but no-one was home. Stiles’ Jeep wasn’t in the driveway, and Stiles himself wasn’t picking up his phone either.

“Oh come on!” she grumbled and jumped back into her car for the third time. Would he be at Derek Hale’s house? No, wait, her aunt had mentioned that girl he was seeing. Allison Argent. Joe called the operator to get an address, who could find a listing for Argent Arms International in Beacon Hills and Joe decided it was worth a shot. The address did lead her to a stately house in one of the better neighborhoods and she recognized the pick-up Allison’s father drove sitting in the driveway.

Which was why she had expected the senior Argent to answer the door when she rang, not this blonde bombshell somewhere in her late twenties. She looked too young to be Allison’s mother, and too old to be her sister, and Joe furrowed her brows.

“Uhh...is this the Argent-household?” she asked and tried to lean backwards to see if there was any sign by the side of the door.

“It depends,” the woman said, but with a friendly smile to indicate she was halfway joking. “Who’s asking?”

Joe laughed, a bit embarrassed for being so spaced out. “Sorry. I’m Joe Delgado, I was looking for Allison. Or, I was looking for Scott, but I was hoping Allison might know where he is.” The woman’s brows were drawn together and Joe tried to smile even wider. “Sorry, again, I’m Scott’s cousin.”

“Oh!” the woman exclaimed and hung a bit on the doorframe. “I was curious, ‘cause he never mentioned a sister and I couldn’t help but notice you have those same adorable brown eyes.” She straightened up and indicated herself with a wink. “I’m Kate. Argent, in case you were wondering if you got the wrong house. I’m Allison’s aunt.”

“Right,” Joe said and they both laughed easily, clearing up the confusion on either side. “So, uh, is Scott here? Or Allison, for that matter?”

“Um, no, not yet,” Kate said and smiled again. She had perfect teeth, and looked ten times more polished than Joe felt, even in her jeans. Kate wore a tight-fitting top with cut-out details and a pair of jeans that might as well have been painted onto her body. “You wanna wait inside? I just made a fresh pot of coffee.”

“Yeah, sure.” Figuring this was the place he was most likely to turn up, she accepted the offer. Fresh coffee sounded amazing too. She followed Kate inside and marvelled at the interiors of the house. It was just as elegant inside as outside.

“Sorry about the mess,” Kate said and laughed. “It’s not messy, I know, but my sister in law always apologizes for the state of the house and I thought I couldn’t let her down when I was playing hostess in her place. Come on, kitchen’s through here.”

Joe had never lived a place where the kitchen, dining area and living room were separate rooms. The living room didn’t even have a TV, which indicated another TV-room somewhere else in the house. Kate placed two cups on the granite kitchen island and gestured for Joe to sit down on the bar stool.

“Okay, so I don’t usually do this too much, but my mom always served some sort of homemade cookies when we had guests.” Kate’s voice was muffled from where she rummaged through a cupboard by the fridge. “And I can’t find cookies, homemade or not, so...” She popped back up with a package of miniature peanut butter cups. “This is the best I can do.”

“Caffeine _and_ sugar? You are spoiling me,” Joe said in approval and helped herself to a couple of the chocolatey goodies. She smiled to show her sincere gratitude. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Kate said and waved her hand to replicate a Southern housewife. She sat down opposite Joe and cradled her cup of coffee. “So, Scott’s cousin. What’s your deal?”

“Uh, I’m a grad student at UC Berkely,” Joe explained. “I’m getting my PhD in human behavior.”

Kate raised her eyebrows. “Grad student? What? How old are you?”

“Twenty-three,” Joe admitted, an usual low age for the PhD-program. “I - uh - had a heavy study load the first years.”

“I’ll bet! So, you’re a prodigy...” Kate smiled again, so infectious that Joe couldn’t help but blush at the praise. “Human behaviour, huh? Like a shrink?”

Joe shook her head and tried to explain. Patterns, cycles, how hive minds affected people in ways they didn’t think of... She tried to keep it short, but usually people only asked about her field of study to be polite, whearas Kate seemed to be genuinly interested. They were both on their second cup of coffee, where Joe had done almost 90% of the talking, when Joe noticed Kate looking over her shoulder. Turning around, she saw Allison’s father standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and a disapproving frown.

“Chris!” Kate said with a bit forced enthusiasm. “Come meet Joe, Scott’s cousin.”

Chris Argent entered the kitchen slowly, to stand on the far edge of the kitchen island. He gave Joe a tight smile. “So you’re Scott’s cousin?” At her nod, he made a half-shrug and addressed Kate. “We’ve already met, you see, didn’t know she was related to Scott.” Joe could see the family resemblance between the pair and recognized the non-verbal communication between siblings where Chris was trying to get something across to Kate without saying anything. He turned back to Joe. “Aren’t you one of Derek Hale’s friends?”

For some reason, Kate’s head swung towards Joe with rapid interest. Joe shrugged. “I wouldn’t say we’re friends.”

“But you know him?” Kate leaned over the counter, an almost calculating look in her eyes. If Joe thought Kate had seemed interested before, she seemed absolutely fascinated now.

“I know _of_ him,” Joe corrected, without really knowing why.

Chris asked: “You went to school together?”

“No, I went to high school back in New York,” she said and smiled, hoping he would be more friendly if he realized they had some common ground. His accent was also faintly New York. It didn’t seem to make any difference.

“So how do you know him? Know _of_ him, sorry,” Kate asked and tilted her head. It was like being measured up by a tiger, if pouncing on her would be worth the effort.

“He - uh - helped me out when I had car trouble,” Joe said, not a complete lie. The events from the gas station came back, along with the smashed window and Chris Argent’s obvious hostility. Admitting any familiarity with Derek Hale would not do her any favors. She shrugged like she was just a helpless clueless girl. “Bad starter, stuck gear? Or something. I don’t know.”

She checked her phone and realized it was getting dangerously close to when Scott needed to be at the school. “Uhm, looks like Scott’s not coming. I should get back home, in case something’s wrong with his phone.”

“Scott’s missing?” Chris Argent cocked an eyebrow and between the pair of them, Joe wanted to shrink and disappear into the ground.

Joe eased herself down from the bar stool and grabbed her backpack. “Not missing, exactly, he’s just not answering his phone. Probably forgot to charge it or...something.” She nodded to Kate, who had done a complete personality change when her brother arrived. “Nice meeting you...both.” Chris Argent did not return her smile.

Kate snapped out of her acute attentiveness and darted around the kitchen island. “I’ll walk you out.”

Joe was aware her shoulders were so tense they could serve as ear-warmers, and Kate seemed to notice too. She walked Joe back to the front door and sighed.

“Sorry about that. My brother’s...” she pointed her thumb in the direction of the kitchen and lowered her voice. “He’s a control freak. He’s not really onboard with the whole Allison’s dating Scott-thing. Don’t take it personal.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it,” Joe feigned nonchalance. Scott had not seemed to be the problem, not compared to Derek Hale. The question of how Kate knew Derek was on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it. “I should really get going.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Hey, listen, I don’t really know too many girls my own age here and I love Allison, but the high school drama can sometimes get a little monotone,” Kate said and opened the door for her. It was getting dark outside and the outdoor lights cast Kate in a golden glow. “You wanna get coffee sometime? Like, at a coffee shop? I promise I’ll be less weird.”

“Uh, yeah, sure. I have a really tight schedule though...” Joe agreed before she could think it through. Kate _had_ been very nice before Chris came along. And Joe didn’t know many girls her age either, even if Kate just barely fit into the category. She was at least five years older. “But I’m sure we can make it work.”

Kate’s face split into a huge grin. “Awesome! Say hi to Scott for me! And drive safe!”

Joe nodded and made a motion to indicate that she would. Kate stayed in the doorway until Joe drove off. Almost a mile down the road, Joe finally took her first proper breath in a while and leaned against the seat. Why would an international arms dealer have a problem with Derek Hale?

And where was Scott?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a two chapters kind of week. I've written a lot in the last couple of days and I'm just so excited for how the story is turning out. Not much Derek in this chapter, but believe me, we're getting there :)


	9. The President II

Scott fidgeted in his seat next to Joe, but said nothing. Joe stared at the road, gripping the steering while tightly with both hands. She also said nothing. What more was there to say? Aunt Melissa had asked Joe to drive Scott home, because she had to go back to the hospital, after the utter fiasco of a parent-teacher conference.

_“You know what he said to me? Lacking a male authority figure! The absolute nerve.”_ Aunt Melissa’s angry recap of the conference rang in Joe’s mind. “ _And then Allison’s dad have the audacity of blaming Scott for his daughter’s absence and tries to make me the culprit!”_

They had shoved Scott into Joe’s car and stood outside while Aunt Mel let loose some steam before returning to work. Turns out, the reason no-one could get a hold of Scott was because he and Allison had skipped school the whole day and turned off their phones.

“ _I just don’t know what’s going on with him lately! I’m not a bad mom? Am I? You’d tell me if I was a bad mom, right?”_

_“Hey, better than my mom,”_ Joe had tried to joke, to alleviate the mood and her guilt, but it had fallen on deaf ears. No wonders she was agitated. First Scott’s MIA, then she gets degraded by both Scott’s teacher and Allison’s father and to top it off, the whole parking lot dissolved into chaos when an actual real-life mountain lion attacked.

Not attacked, more like prowled, but there was a lot of screaming and running around. Joe was on the far side of the action, but had both seen and heard when Chris Argent put the animal down with two shots. For some reason, he had stalked up to Joe while putting his gun away, and said something like: “ _That’s what you do with rabid animals.”_

He had not seemed satisfied at her shrug and: “ _Okay?”_

Apparently, the Sheriff was hurt as well, but no one knew how bad yet. Not life threatening at least, or it would have been all over the news. Joe glanced in the rearview-mirror — a habit she picked up after being stalked around by Jimmy Carter — but the night was deadly quiet.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Scott muttered, as if he’d heard how Joe tried to steel herself to ask how he was doing.

“Okay then,” Joe said instead and continued driving back. At least the dead mountain lion meant that the animal attacks would stop. It had to be rabid or sick, usually they didn’t stray too close to human settlements. Wonder how Jimmy Carter would spin it? She gripped the steering wheel tighter. She almost had him!

Scott shifted in his seat. “Am I grounded?”

“Uh, no, not exactly.” His mom had detailed his punishment before they drove home. “But you’re looking at some extra chores for a few weeks.”

He groaned and sank down further. “Great.”

“And if you miss any more classes, you _are_ grounded. I wouldn’t push it,” Joe said and smiled in his direction, but with his head tilted towards the window, he probably missed it. Every fiber of her body urged her to ask about the underlying issue, the drug use, but she knew it would mess things up between him and Stiles. She just couldn’t betray Stiles like that.

“Are you okay, Scott?” she asked instead, hoping maybe to coax out an admission.

Scott pulled his hood up and turned even further around in his seat. “What do you care?”

“Oh boy, teenagers,” Joe mumbled and sighed of relief when they finally arrived at the house. Scott went upstairs without another word, obviously with a lot on his mind, and Joe trudged to the kitchen in hopes of leftovers. No leftovers, so she settled for the rest of the cereal and made a note on the grocery list Scott would have to pick up tomorrow. A part of Aunt Mel’s punishment.

Her phone buzzed on the counter with an incoming text. She rolled her eyes at the positively tiny screen, a hard adjustment when you were used to a smartphone. Unknown sender.

‘Talk? Wed 20:00 BHHS park lot 1-1 JC’

Her dad had made her learn military time, and she deciphered the shorthand to mean Jimmy Carter wanted to meet her on Wednesday at 8PM in the Beacon Hills High School parking lot _alone_. Or Jesus Christ wanted to marry her 20 times or something when Beacon Hills scored 1-1 in their next game. No, it had to be Carter. Especially since she had slipped him her number earlier. So, meeting her stalker by herself in a non-public space after dark? Classic setup. Possible ambush.

Well, she was obviously gonna go anyway. Two days would give her time to prepare.

* * *

“Hmm.”

Professor Kane flipped to the next page of Joe’s draft. She insisted on printing everything out, on the notion that reading on a screen was bad for her brain. Joe sat opposite Professor Kane’s desk, a sense of dread building in her stomach. Usually, the Professor made happy sounds when reading, not contemplative ones.

“Hmm.”

Joe shrank further. The Professor hadn’t touched her tea either, completely engrossed in Joe’s writing. It was just an early draft, and the Professor said herself that you needed at least three iterations to get anywhere worthwhile.

“Well...” Professor Kane finally said and put the pages down. She pushed the glasses on top of her head and gave Joe a tight smile. “It’s reading a little Nancy Drew.”

“Oh no...”

“It’s not bad, it’s not bad!” Professor Kane raised both hands to stop Joe’s despair. “It’s just...hmm. Vague? Yes, vague is the word. The literature review? Excellent, right on point, great connections to the case itself.” Joe steeled herself for the final blow. Academics were trained in giving positive feedback first, then negative. “However...this blogger you reference? I can see the coherence, I really can, but then you sort of allude to this previous _incident_ that set this blogger on a path to the paranormal, and how this same _incident_ sparked a lot of discussion. What incident is this? Why are you being so mysterious about this? Is it not public knowledge?”

“Uhm, it’s a small town,” Joe tried to explain, aware she was rubbing her hands together and unable to stop herself. She placed them under her thighs instead. “And it’s not been that long. I didn’t want to disclose any unnecessary details.”

“If it’s a small town, everyone knows everything anyway,” Professor Kane countered and the bangles on her arm clattered as she gestured. “No need to be coy about it!”

“Uh... eight people died.”

The Professor slumped back in her chair, took her glasses off absentmindedly and started to clean them on the edge of her tunic. “Oh. Yes, I can see that is a bit problematic.” She waved the thought away and pushed the glasses back onto her skinny face. “Okay, forget the _incident_ for now. Maybe we need to confuddle the entire paper, allude to a small town in America, gods know we have more than enough of those.” She pointed a bejewled finger at Joe that ended in a long painted nail. “You should focus on getting an in-depth interview with this blogger. Trust me when I say that these so called anonymous internet personas usually jump at any chance to spew their theories. Send him - or her, let’s check our privilege at the door here - an e-mail to get a conversation going.”

“I’m - uh - working on it,” Joe admitted and accepted the printed copy of her draft back. They were marked heavily in red. “And try to rewrite for clarity.”

“Yes, this is not a mystery novel, Delgado. This is academia. Science. Conjectures, data, logic, conclusions. You can do better!”

“I will,” Joe promised and trudged out of the incense-smelling office with a bowed head. She took a deep breath and leaned against the outside wall, clutching the draft to her chest. Too much time chasing mysteries, not enough time doing research. Those two were not the same. Professor Kane had been her main sponsor for the PhD, pushing on that Joe could get a full-time position as faculty when she completed it. And she had to complete it. No use in being a student forever.

The drive back to Beacon was uneventful for once. No chance encounters with Derek Hale, no deer herds in a panic, no strange animalistic noises. Just her, the road and a soft feminist rock-CD. The only thing she could not wrap her head around was the police files, delivered at her door step. That was _before_ she had made contact with Jimmy Carter. The strange e-mail she had attributed to him, as a way to get her location and stalk her for whatever twisted reason. What were the odds of having two stalkers sending her inside information about the so called animal attacks? So called because they could be murders, not because she was suddenly believing in werewolves.

Follow the money, her dad used to say. It just meant that solving a crime usually ended up in finding who had something to gain. Money was just an euphenism. Could be power, freedom, pleasure...so who had anything to gain from her snooping around? It was one thing that she was unable to piece together the puzzle, but she was starting to worry she did not have all the pieces yet either.

No one was home yet at the McCalls’. She checked Aunt Mel’s schedule on the fridge and she had the graveyard shift. Scott was hopefully at the grocery store, she deduced, as the lack of anything edible stared back at her from the fridge. Settling for eating stale crackers Aunt Mel bought that one time she was trying to get into fancy cheese, she chewed absentmindedly and went upstairs to get her kit ready for the next day.

Dark clothing, check. Most of her clothes were gray or black anyway, no difference there. Taser, check. Audio recorder, check. Heavy maglite flashlight, usable as a blunt weapon in emergencies, check. Batteries for said flashlight, negative.

Sighing, she trudged downstairs again, checked the designated everything-drawer, and found nothing except the empty carton. “God damn it, Scott.” He was the only one who wouldn’t add that to the shopping list when taking the last ones. His clock radio used the same kind of batteries as the flashlight, and he could just use the goddamn cord instead of wasting batteries, all because he was too lazy to get out of bed to turn the radio off.

She grumbled about this on her way up to his room. At his door, she hesitated. He would be home any minute, and it would be most polite to wait for him and then ask him for the batteries instead of barging inside. On the other hand, if she went inside his room to get the batteries she could snoop around for other evidence of a certain little illegal habit of his and use the potential findings as an excuse to get him to talk to her. Sound plan.

In the darkness, she tripped over some wayward shoes and swore on her way to the standing lamp by his desk. Jesus Christ, it was a mess in here. Typical teenage boy, with clothes and books and-

“OH MY GOD!” Joe yelled and chucked the empty flashlight at the figure in Scott’s armchair. Derek’s hand shot out and grabbed the blunt instrument at lightening speed without pulling a single muscle in his face. “ _What are you doing here?!”_

“Waiting for Scott,” Derek said simply, flipped the flashlight in his hand and offered the handle to her. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here!” Joe exclaimed and snatched the flashlight back. Her heart thumped so hard she had trouble thinking. “Jesus Christ, can you, like, lurk a little less maybe?”

Derek’s immaculate eyebrow rose. “You live in Scott’s room?”

“No! But I live in this house, which gives me hella more rights to be in his room than you.” Joe rubbed her chest with one hand, trying to massage her heart back into place instead of threatening to jump up her throat. “Sheesh.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” His eyes glittered in the semi-darkness. As always, he wore that slightly dusty leather jacket with a tight t-shirt underneath. When he shifted, the scent wafted at her, and she closed her eyes to ignore it.

Anger. Anger was better than fear and even fear was better than...whatever else her body was trying to make her feel. Joe kept her eyes closed, to be spared the sight of him a bit longer. “Then why were you sitting in the dark like some kind of psychopath?”

“I didn’t mean to scare _you_.”

“God, you’re so weird,” Joe muttered and slumped ontop of Scott’s bed. She fell backwards, grabbed the clock radio from his nightstand and bounced back up. No snooping around with Derek as witness. “Look, I know that you’re helping Scott.” She wrestled the lid off the radio and thumped it against her hand to get the batteries out. “And I know what you’re helping him with.”

Derek sat as an umoving mass of darkness. She thought she heard leather creak, as if he was tightening his fingers around the armrests. “You...do?”

“Yes, and I...I really appreciate that you’re whipping him into shape.” Joe pushed the batteries into the flashlight. “And, y’know, as much as I hate being left out of it, I appreciate your loyalty to Scott. I get that it’s personal for you since you struggled with it in high school and all.”

Derek hissed and put his arm up when she tested the flashlight in his direction. He held it aloft, squinting at her from behind it. “Who exactly have you been talking to?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Joe turned the flashlight off, a bit disconcerted with how his eyes glinted in the beam. “What I’m trying to say is that even though I get how important it is to get Scott off steroids, you cannot keep breaking into our house. Ring the doorbell, like normal people.”

They sat in silence for some time, so long that Joe wondered if suggesting Derek wasn’t normal deeply offended him. Instead he leaned forwards on his knees and subjected Joe to an intense stare from light green eyes. “Steroids. Scott is on...steroids.”

“What, still? I thought he was already off it and you were helping him stay off, that’s what S-” Joe stopped herself from betraying her source, but it was in vain when Derek rolled his eyes.

“You can say Stiles,” he muttered and then said something under his breath Joe didn’t catch. “Stiles told you that I was helping Scott stay off steroids.”

“Only because I pressured him!” Joe made a point to defend Scott’s best friend. “And I promised I wouldn’t ask Scott about it, and I won’t, I just wanted to thank _you_ for helping him and...apologize, I guess. I’ve just been super skeptical about you because I didn’t know what your deal was. But I get it now.”

They looked at each other a bit more from either side of Scott’s room. Derek was not exactly talkative anyway, and seeemed at a complete loss for words now. Joe wondered if it pained him to talk about it.

“Look, addiction’s an illness, it’s nothing to be ashamed of-”

“Shh.” Derek’s head had snapped to the side and Joe shut her mouth instantly. He waited a bit, before his posture relaxed. “Scott’s home.”

“How...?” Joe asked, but heard the front door open and shut downstairs. Neither she or Derek made any motion to get up. Seconds later, Scott’s gangly form came bounding up the stairs and straight into his room.

“Jesus Christ!” He flailed backwards, grabbing at the doorframe to remain upright. “What are you— why are you— Joe?”

“Why am _I_ the one you’re most surprised to see?” Joe asked and indicated herself with the flashlight. “I live here.”

“Not in my room!” Scott exclaimed and Joe ignored the pointed look Derek sent her. He let out a shaky breath, he had obviously rushed inside, and she and Derek watched him check through the blinds of his window. His gaze kept flickering between her and Derek. “Seriously, Joe, what are you doing?”

“Stealing batteries,” Joe said simply and held up Exhibit A: the flashlight, and Exhibit B: the clock radio. Her social antennas were not exactly finely tuned these days, but she recognized Scott wanted her to leave his room. As much as that hurt, she guess she did not have much choice. “You get the groceries?”

Scott looked away from the window briefly. “Yeah.”

“Great, I’m starving,” Joe announced. She bounced off his bed, smiled as sincerely as she could to both Scott and Derek, and made sure to close the door behind her. Of course, there she halted and leaned carefully against the doorblade with her ear pressed against it. It was hard to make out words, but Scott sounded agitated, while Derek’s low baritone barely filtered through at all.

Scott mentioned something about going viral? Or a spiral? Derek’s voice went up a pitch, as in shock or surprise. Joe furrowed her brows, pressing firmer against the door. Maybe viral was something about the drugs. She tried to breathe evenly through her nose, and her eyes widened as she realized Derek’s scent was intensifying. Just as the door handle turned, she jumped to the side and pressed against the wall.

“ _What does it mean?”_

Derek paused halfway out the door and looked over his shoulder at Scott. “You don’t wanna know.”

Joe swallowed, hoping Derek would just leave in a hurry, but had no such luck. He closed the door to Scott’s room and revealed her entire form where she tried to make it seem she was just relaxing behind the door. In a last ditch attempt, she held one finger in front of her pursed lips. Scott had seemed stressed enough, no need for him to know she was being nosy.

Derek stared at her with a deadpan expression, rolled his eyes and left without another word.

* * *

_So, hey, Joe, what’s it like living off-campus?_

Hey, you know, it’s great. Cheap rent, fast internet, all that jazz.

_Yeah, but isn’t it kinda lonely? What do you do when you’re not studying?_

Well, the usual, watch TV, surf the internet, lurk in the bushes of the local high school parking lot on a Wednesday evening. Normal stuff.

Joe shifted so that the rock under her elbow relocated to jab into her ribs instead. The dirt was riddled with cigarette butts and she did not want to think of what else she was laying in. Where was Jimmy? With the parking lot being huge, she had not wanted to take any chances of an ambush (in case he was a psychopathic killer), so she had gotten there way too early and hidden in the nearby forest with her night-vision binoculars. They had been her father’s idea of a great Christmas present for a twenty year old girl, but they were coming in handy now. She watched the world through several shades of bright green, waiting for Jimmy Carter to show up.

That was as far her plan went. What she would do afterwards depended a lot on Jimmy, but she had the taser and heavy flashlight ready in case of any trouble. She used to own a pair of knuckledusters too, but couldn’t find them and figured asking either Aunt Mel or Scott would just cause concern on their part. Jimmy was tall, but scrawny — she figured she would be able to outrun him if push came to shove.

First he had to show up. The clock was two minutes past eight.

No cars in the lot, not that she had expected there to be. Paranoid creep like that, he would definitely come on foot. So where would he want to meet? She scanned the lot. Under a streetlight to better gauge her expressions, maybe. Or in the darker corner to avoid detection. Not in the middle where they would be easily discernible from afar.

Five minutes past. Still no sign of him.

She let the binoculars travel over the far edges of the lot. The green-tinted world shifted and adjusted to the deeper shadows. Her focus stopped on a large blob barely visible through some underbrush on the other side. It had moved, or at least she thought it had, and now she waited to see if it would again. When the auto-focus of the binoculars kicked in, the blob transformed into a definite humanoid shape. Her elbows ached from laying still, but she kept her focus trained on it.

A few more seconds passed and the figure shifted. Yup, that was a person. In fact, it looked suspiciously like someone lying in the bushes with their own pair of night-goggles spying out over the parking lot

Joe slammed down her binoculars and scrunched her lips together at the hot embarassment filling her body. He hadn’t spotted her yet, thank God, so she crawled backwards out of her own concealed spot until she was safe to stand without getting seen. Looked like he was as skeptical of her as she was of him. He was lying in the other thicket she had considered for the stakeout. Considered, but dismissed — it was too easy to ambush.

“Hey,” she said after she had tip-toed around the lot and could shine her flashlight right at Jimmy Carter.

He made a hacking choking noise and tried to look at her through the goggles: “ _Ack!”_

Glad her binoculars were safely tucked out of sight in her backpack, she waited for him to scramble up to sit on his knees with the goggles now pushed up onto his forehead. He blinked excessively, no doubt the light had been harsh on his corneas, and she imagined he struggled to focus on her.

“What’cha doin’, Jimmy?” she asked and folded her arms over her chest. Nothing about Jimmy Carter felt remotely threatening at the moment. “Spying on me again?”

“Well, excuse me for taking precautions,” Jimmy said and fumbled with his goggles and earpiece. Like Joe, he’d dressed in dark colors. Where she had opted for black running tights and a hoodie, he looked like he had raided an army surplus store for their tactical night gear. It hung limp over his skinny body, evidently made for someone twice his size.

“Precautions? For what? You’re not scared of me, are ya, Jimmy?”

“Maybe I should be,” Jimmy said and got up to stand. Like her, he had a backpack stuffed with equipment. “You think I wouldn’t find out your dad works for-”

“Shut up!” Joe snapped and looked over her shoulder in case someone was watching them. The parking lot remained empty as ever. She lowered her voice to a hiss: “Who told you that?”

Jimmy met her angry glare equally — now she noticed the dark smudges around his eyes; camouflage paint. “You’re not the only one who can do background checks.”

“My dad’s got nothing to with anything!”

“ _And_ I saw you conversing with the Sheriff’s kid!”

“Yeah, after you sent me an anonymous e-mail to lure me out of the house!” Joe’s fists were balled tighly against her side. “Before chasing us around town!”

Jimmy looked mildly embarrassed, but it was hard to tell in the dim lighting. He folded his arms evenly. “Well, I had to get proof.”

“Proof of what?” Joe demanded, still keeping her voice to an intense whisper.

“That you’re working for Derek Hale.”

Joe studied his face for a few seconds, waiting for any tell-tale signs he would crack up and yell “SIKE!”. She saw nothing but earnest distrust. “Are you actually serious right now?”

“Are you denying it?”

“That I work _for_ Derek Hale? _For him?”_ Joe’s eyes threatened to bug out of her head. “Working for him as what, exactly?”

Jimmy looked undeterred at her incredulous glare. “That is yet to be determined. You obviously seem to have some skill at detective work-”

“I am _not_ a detective,” Joe bit out before he could finish his sentence. “And I am _not_ working for or with Derek Hale of all people!”

They stared at each other in the dark parking lot. Jimmy’s beard moved as he chewed on his lips. “Then why are you harassing me?”

“ _You’re the one harassing me!”_ Joe whisper-shouted.

Before she could say anything else, a fearsome shriek penetrated the night. Shrill and piercing, somehow echoing across the lot. They froze and looked around, Jimmy flipping the goggles back down over his eyes. Joe used the flashlight instead, but saw nothing. “What the hell was that?”

“Sounded like a fox caught in a bear trap. Or a tortured rabbit.”

“It did, didn’t it?” Joe held the flashlight up high. Obviously an animal in pain. “Some psycho high schoolers playing a prank?”

“Jocks,” Jimmy said in a voice of someone who detested even the taste of the word. “They have weird rituals.”

The next second they both dropped to a crouch as a full-blown roar swept across the parking lot. It penetrated every fibre of Joe’s being, filling her ears and head and heart with a myriad of anger and fear and excitement. The leaves rustled on the ground that seemed to shake from its very core. Jimmy, with the night-goggles firmly covering half his face, looked around wildly, mouth stuck open in a grimace.

It ended, leaving nothing but a trail of intense foreboding in Joe’s mind.

“What the hell was _that?”_ she asked again. If the first sound had been a tortured animal, the second was of whatever was doing the torturing.

“Howl,” Jimmy said breathlessly. He tore off the goggles and squinted at the far-end of the school, near the main entrance. “Over there!”

“Hey wait!” Joe shouted and sprinted after Jimmy, who took off at high speed. She overtook him easily with him already gasping for breath, and tried to grab onto his tactical pullover. “What’s- _aaagh!”_

Her fingers clutched into the fabric of his sweater as she choked out a scream. She barely registered hitting the ground on her knees, gasping and fighting for every breath.

“Hey, Delgado? Joe? Joe!”

Jimmy crouched down to look at her and she desperately tried to make him understand. Her heart and lungs burned with pain and when her other hand clambered across her chest, she could not understand how they came back bloodless. Joe had never been shot, but she could only imagine it felt like this, piercing through muscles and essential organs.

“Joe! Joe, what’s happening?”

She lost grip of his sweater and fell forward onto her hands and knees. Spit dribbled from her open mouth and she fought for each breath. Her heart that had seemed to stop now thumped back into a steady, but elevated rhythm. The sensation of not one, but several spears bursting through her skin and puncturing her lungs gradually dulled to nothing.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered and rubbed her chest. The fabric of her hoodie remained intact, as did her skin and lungs. “I think I just had a heart attack.”

The bits of Jimmy’s face visible between his beard and camouflage had whitened considerably and sweat laid slick across his forehead. He helped her stand. “Do you wanna call an ambulance?”

“With _my_ insurance? No way.”

“We should get you to the ER anyway.”

Still too much in shock to speak, she murmured her consent. “My car’s just over there.”

Half-supported by Jimmy Carter, she managed to get across to the other parking lot. Her car sat hidden in the far corner — she let go off Jimmy to get the keys out, hands shaking from what literally felt like a near-death experience. Jimmy had questioned her on their way over of her medical history, if she was epileptic or diabetic, but now his sudden silence made her look up. The goggles were back on and trained on a dark shadow by the school wall.

“Jimmy?”

Jimmy’s hand came up with a single finger extended. He did not look away from the shadow. “Shh.”

The scare temporarily had her forget about that intense roar from just minutes before. Now she pulled herself together, muscles tightening, ready to spring into action in case of danger. Jimmy moved slowly, slowly towards the shadow, one hand reaching into the pocket of his cargo pants and pulling out what looked like a taser. One much like the one resting in Joe’s backpack.

She edged herself forwards, flashlight brandished like a club, until she caught sight of the unconscious man lying face down in the grass.

“Oh my God!” she yelped, dropped the flashlight and darted forward. A dark stain surrounded Derek’s form on the ground — blood. A lot of blood. It soaked the knees of her tights as she knelt by him, struggling to turn his heavy body the right way and check for a pulse. “He’s alive!” Jimmy stood frozen to the spot near her car, face hidden by his goggle. “Help me!”

Her shout snapped him out of it and together they managed to get him face-up to see the damage. His chest was a red ruin of torn muscle and pierced skin. With every labored breath, light pink blood welled out of his mouth, a tell-tale sign of punctured lungs.

“Okay, okay, okay.” Joe wasn’t even aware of her incessant chanting as she tore at his t-shirt further to get a better look. Bad. Really bad. She tore off her hoodie and pressed it into his wound, hoping to stop the bleeding. “Now we should call an ambulance!”

Jimmy seemed immobilized by the sight of Derek, more concerned with scanning their surroundings than. He shook his head stiffly and went to grab Derek’s long legs. “It’s not safe. We need to get out of here!”

“What? Why?” Joe remained where she was, with Derek’s torso halfway propped up on her thighs, pushing into the still pulsating chest wound.

“Whatever did that to him is still out here! Come on!”

The roar. Some kind of animal attack. Joe did not waste time and put her blood-coated hands under Derek’s armpits. The leather slipped on her fingers and she groaned when they on the count of three hefted him up and crabwalked over to the car. His head lolled with their movements, completely loose.

“Keys!”

Joe thrust the keys forward to Jimmy. They had squeezed Derek into the backseat and his legs were bent awkwardly to make room for Joe so she could keep tabs on his condition. Weak pulse, labored breaths, blood bubbling between his lips. She turned his head sideways to avoid him choking on the blood stemming from his lungs. His eyes were eerily bright and not responsive when she pinched them open to look at his pupil reaction.

Before Jimmy got the car into gear, they unconsciously held their breath at the sound of another roar somewhere in the night. From their position, they could just barely see some shadows moving inside the school building.

“We should call the cops,” Joe said and tried to dig her phone out from her backpack, hindered by the heavy limp body in the backseat.

Jimmy revved the engine and tore out of the parking lot. “No cops!”

“What? Why?”

“Trust me!”

“I do not trust you in any-” Joe and Derek banged against the side as Jimmy made a sharp turn onto the main road. “Jesus!”

A groan from her lap made her look down. Derek’s eyes were closed, but apparently moving under his eyelids.

“Derek? Derek!” She tried to get his attention, even pinching his eyelids open again, but his pupils never focused on her, dilating in and out on their own. “Derek, it’s gonna be okay. You’re really hurt, but we’re taking you to the hospital-”

“No hospital!” Jimmy barked from upfront and Joe opened and shut her mouth in quiet rage.

“WHY NOT?”

“Just trust me!”

“You’re saying that a lot for someone completely untrustworthy!”

They yelled at each other as Jimmy manouvered the car down the street, making drive-bys and illegal turns that would for sure have them arrested. Joe tried to keep a steady pressure on Derek’s chest — the bleeding wouldn’t stop! — and found it easier to scream at Jimmy than contemplate just how bad Derek’s chances of survival were. Whatever struck him must have cut open an artery, and Joe’s first-aid course did not extend that far.

Jimmy finally skidded to a halt in front of a familiar laundromat. He bounced out of the car and tore the backdoor open to help Joe get Derek out.

“What are we doing here? He needs a hospital!” she argued, barely realizing how deja vu this entire scenario was.

_“No...hospital...”_

Joe had Derek’s feet this time, while Jimmy struggled with the muscled torso, but they both heard the weak muttering from Derek’s lips. Jimmy gave her a look, as if to say ‘I told you so!’ and Joe bit down an intensive curse on Derek’s insane priorities. What kind of magic bullet was he gonna use this time?!

Somehow they wrestled Derek upstairs and into Jimmy’s apartment. Joe’s lungs and arms were burning with effort of carrying him, and she doubled over in hard breaths after depositing Derek’s body onto Jimmy’s dinner table. Derek was too long and his feet flopped off the table edge.

By some miracle, Derek lifted his head a half inch and groaned: _“Where...”_

_“_ Derek? Listen to me, okay? Please, you need to stay awake! Okay, can you do that?” Joe tried to keep a soothing tone as she unwrapped the mangled mess of his t-shirt. She needed to find the burst artery and pinch it close long enough for the paremedics to get here. If they got here. Jimmy shrank under the wild-eyed look she gave him from where he returned with a first-aid kit. She mouthed: “ _Call 911!”_

Derek somehow found the strength to grab her wrist and mumble: “ _Joe_?”

“Yes!” Her voice sounded impossibly bright, etched with false optimism. “Yes, it’s Joe! Okay, you’re gonna be okay, Derek, I just have to hurt you a little bit to help you and-”

Tears streamed down her face, the adrenaline still bursting through her veins, and she willed her fingers to stop shaking. She kept talking in that too high, too happy voice, knowing that if she stopped she might stop breathing alltogether. The dark t-shirt was so heavy with blood it was hard to tell it apart from the flaps of flesh.

“...stop.” Derek’s grip on her wrist tightened and now his eyes were getting clearer. “Joe, stop.”

“It’s gonna be okay, I promise, just hold still, it’s gonna be okay,” Joe chattered on. She looked up at Jimmy. He had not called 911. Why had he not called 911? He had the phone in hand, but stood frozen solid, staring straight at Derek’s chest. He jumped at Joe’s sudden shriek: “We have to get help!”

Derek’s head slumped back down onto the table, eyes closing, grip on her wrist increasing. The words seemed to come with enormous effort. “No...wait.”

He’s gonna die. He’s gonna die. He’s gonna die!

Joe’s thoughts went haywire and she kept trying to be careful to not hurt him anymore than necessary, but her fingers kept tangling in his t-shirt and she could not find the opening and there was just so much blood everywhere and it was impossible to see what she was doing and oh god he was gonna die!

“It’s gonna be okay, I promise, it’s gonna be...”

Finally, Joe got the courage to just rip the remains of his t-shirt away from his chest. The blood pooled in between his jutting muscles, contouring each abdominal ridge and hollow. The blood did not seem to come from anywhere and wide-eyed, Joe swept her hand across his bare chest, thinning the blood enough to see a completely perfect torso. Unscathed.

His chest rose and sunk with each breath and when she looked at his face, his eyes were open and clear. Bright. Conscious. Anticipative.

“You absolute _asshole!”_ she screamed, balled her fist and punched him right into his sternum. He let out a _oof_ -sound and contracted his body in reaction to her force. Grabbing at her hair, tempted to claw his face off, she yelled: “ _What the hell is WRONG WITH YOU?!”_

Her hair, clothes, face, hands — everything coated in massive amounts of fake blood. She backed away from the table, from Derek, from Jimmy, so enraged she could not string a single sentence together.

“Are you trying to make me lose my mind?!” she demanded, adrenaline crashing through her system. Derek had propped himself halway up on his elbow, meeting her eyes a bit unsteadily. She whispered to herself, in awe of her own gullibility: “Stupid, so goddamn stupid.”

“Joe,” said Jimmy and took a step forwards.

“NO!” she screamed and held her hand out, as if wishing a weapon into existence. “You stay away from me! Both of you! I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing, but it ends now!”

“Joe, wait.” Derek this time, his voice a little hoarse.

“You!” she started, but had no way of continuing. Her teeth bared, she kept backing off, aiming for the front door. “It was all fake? All of it? At the clinic as well? Jesus _frickin_ ’ Christ!”

“It wasn’t _fake_ ,” Derek bit out, now abandoning his ruse of injury and sitting up on the table. “I healed. Both times.”

She let out a string of choice curse words, most portraying exactly where he could stick that so-called healing of his. Her back reached the door and she fumbled behind her with the locks, not daring to take her eyes off the two psychopaths. “You’re gonna stay away from me. I swear to _God_ , I’ll call the cops if I ever see you near me, my house, or my _cousin_ ever again!”

Jimmy tried to take a step towards Joe. He backed off with both arms raised when she practically hissed at him, but he made sure not to get too close to the table where Derek sat too. “Joe, there’s an explanation for all of this-”

“I don’t care! _Stay away from me!”_ She finally got the door open and was halfway through it when Derek took a deep breath and called after her:

“You felt it, didn’t you?”

Despite her forebodings, she paused for a split second, peering at him over her shoulder.

He had a desperate angry tone: “When the Alpha got me, you felt it, right? In your own chest? As if it was your own lungs, your own blood, your own pain?” When she did not answer, he yelled: “Did you or did you not, Joe?”

She barely heard Jimmy’s sharp intake of breath before he whispered: “True mates...”

The look she gave them was of pure and utter contempt. Without another word, she slammed the door shut behind her and ran out of the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long one, but a lot of Derek. I tried asking before, but I'll ask again: Any feedback on the summary of this story? I don't think it matches the story all that well, but I'm blank on how to allude to the main plot without giving it all away. Also accepting any other kind of feedback or observations, as always :)


	10. The Date

She shook uncontrollably while driving. The pent up panic now released into chemicals crashing her bloodflow. Blood. It reeked in her car, a tangent iron that made her gag. It was worse than fake blood, it was real. Probably pig’s blood, she knew a lot of movies used pig’s blood. It was easier to get large amounts of it rather than make a realistic batch of fake blood themselves. The interior of her car was coated with pig’s blood.

Her curls lay stiffly plastered to her face. She glimpsed at herself in the mirror. If she was pulled over she could just claim to be a stunt double for the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It looked unreal. It still felt unreal.

Fake. Only explanation. Derek faked a life threatening injury, again, and she could not pinpoint why. He and Jimmy had to be working together, it made a lot of sense. It explained why the car hadn’t run Derek over the other night. How Derek knew she would be at the video store. Not that she understood why he was after her, or if it was even her he was after, but the coincidences kept lining up.

“No hospital,” she muttered grimly to herself and let out a disgusted laugh. Only idiots in movies said things like that. Or criminals.

And idiots like her listened.

She almost missed the first siren, too engrossed in her own thoughts, but quickly pulled over when it was followed by half a dozen others. Ambulances and police cars rushed past her, heading towards Beacon Hills High School. Ice formed in her veins, an unpleasant lump in her stomach. Had there been an actual animal attack? She and Jimmy never called for help, but someone obviously had.

“Screw it,” she muttered and wrenched her car back onto the road to follow the emergency vehicles. By the time she caught up with them, choosing a legal speed limit as she was still trembling, a whole crowd of first-responders were fanned out in front of the school’s main entrance. A lot of officers with dogs walked the premises, obviously searching for something — or someone. At the steps, EMTs were wrapping a small group of people in shock blankets. Even at this distance she recognized a pair of them.

“Scott?” she whispered to herself, then tore out of her car. “ _Scott_!”

He heard her just as she began sprinting towards him and threw her arms around his neck. She both heard and felt the air _oof_ out of his lungs.

“Scott, oh my God, are you okay?” she asked and pulled back to look at him, again a vague feeling of deja vu washing over her. He looked to be in one piece. Rattled. Scared. But not hurt. She hugged him again. “Oh thank God.”

At her drive from Jimmy’s apartment, her mind went non-stop in producing theories as to Derek’s involvement/interest/obsession with Scott. Seeing him alive and well had at least disproven some of her worst fears.

“I’m fine, Joe, we’re fine,” Scott mumbled and then put her at arm’s distance. His eyes were wide and filled with fear. “What are- Joe, are _you_ okay?”

The blood. Too late, Joe realized she had ran straight into a huddle of policemen and EMTs covered in pig’s blood. She could give up Derek right there, if she wanted, press charges for harassment or stalking or _something_. Instead, she said: “It’s fake. I got hit by a senior prank at Berkely. I was- I was just going home to shower when I saw the lights and I...” She shook her head, rubbing self-consciously at the stains. “Nevermind that, what happened here?”

Stiles was on the steps next to Scott and temporarily looked away from the policemen scouring the lacrosse field. “Derek Hale.”

Joe’s breath halted. “What?”

Scott took a deep breath and looked away from her. “Derek. He...he killed the janitor.”

_Pig’s blood. It has to be pig’s blood. It couldn’t be...no._

“What?” Joe asked again with eyes so wide it strained the skin on her forehead. “A-are you sure?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m sure!” Scott snapped, as if he had been asked that a thousand times already. He gestured between him and Stiles. “We both saw him!”

Joe trembled, now aware she was only wearing a t-shirt in the cold California winter, and that her arms, fingers, face, car — everything was coated in the blood of the janitor.

“I gotta go!”

Not stopping to hear what they were shouting, she ran back to her car. Scott’s words went on repeat inside her head. Derek Hale killed the janitor. The blood wasn’t Derek Hale’s. It wasn’t fake. It wasn’t from a pig. It was from a dead man, a man Derek killed, a cover-up from Derek to get away from the scene. And she had left Jimmy behind with him.

At record speed, she was back at the laundromat and pushed all the buttons on the intercom system. Someone buzzed her in and she took two steps at a time to get up to Jimmy’s door.

“Jimmy!” she shouted and banged with a closed fist. The other fist clutched her taser, ready for use in case someone else opened the door. “Jimmy!”

_Click, click, click_. All the locks opened and Jimmy Carter, alive and seemingly unharmed, opened the door and ushered her in. “Will you lower your voice, Delgado, you’re gonna get the landlord on my tail.”

“Oh thank God!” she breathed again and enveloped Jimmy in a hug. He smelled vaguely of chamomile tea. He stiffened at her embrace and had a disturbed look on his face as she pulled away, bending over double to get her breath back. “I thought I- I thought he- I thought you might be dead.” She looked up and scanned the apartment. “Is he here?”

“No, he left a literal second after you did,” Jimmy said and put all the locks back into place behind her. “Without a word of gratitude, might I add.”

“I’m so sorry, I never should have left you alone with him,” she said and stumbled forward to collapse into one of his armchairs that was part of a larger sitting group facing a large television on the wall. She glanced over at the dining table, empty, except from the tattered remains of a dark, blood stained t-shirt. Unable to look away, she said: “He killed the janitor at the school.”

Jimmy paused his ministrations at the kitchen, probably making tea, and made a contemplative sound. “Hm.”

“The police are looking for him. We should call it in.”

“They won’t find him either way,” Jimmy said and Joe swivelled the chair to face him. He had indeed made two cups of tea and gave one to Joe, who cupped her fingers around it to regain some warmth. Jimmy’s eyebrows were raised as he studied her. “You know what he is, right?”

Joe remained impassive. “I don’t believe in-”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Jimmy said hurriedly. Whatever he had seen in Joe’s eyes, he hadn’t liked it. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t think Derek killed the janitor. It doesn’t fit.”

“Doesn’t fit with what? He was covered in someone else’s blood! Scott and his friends _saw him do it!”_

Jimmy sat in the other armchair, bushy brows locked in contemplation. “They saw Derek Hale kill the janitor? How?”

“With their eyes, probably?”

“No, how did he kill him? Gunshot? Knife? With his bare hands?”

“I didn’t...” Joe trailed off. Had Scott said he had seen Derek kill the janitor or just that they had seen Derek at the school and then found the janitor? “I didn’t ask. I don’t know. Why are you so sure he didn’t?”

It took some time before he answered, prioritizing sipping at his tea in silence. When he did, he sounded like he had made his mind up about something. “How much do you know about the case?”

Joe had no patience for conspiracies tonight and she made it very clear when she frowned. Between the heart attack, Derek’s pretend near-death, seeing Scott, hearing about the murder...

“Enough,” she bit out in the end. She wanted to go home. She wanted to shower, cry, change clothes, and lock herself in her room for a few days.

Jimmy put his empty cup on the side table and got up. “You know who Laura Hale is?”

“Derek Hale’s dead sister,” Joe answered and swung her chair again to keep Jimmy in her line of focus. “Who he was suspected of killing.”

Jimmy fiddled with something near the TV, and then pulled down a large canvas covering the entire wall. Pictures, maps, post-its, all connected with multi-colored string. Joe stared — she _knew_ he had one of these, she just knew it — but did not dare to get up. It was massive, and judging from what she could make out, spanned across several years of research.

“Laura was Derek’s sister,” Jimmy agreed and pointed to a picture that looked to be from a high school yearbook. A pretty dark-haired girl with bright green eyes. “And the only other Hale-kid alive after the house fire. She and Derek was at the school when the fire broke out, late night extracurriculars.”

“Okay, and? What does this have to do with Derek killing the janitor or not?”

“Do you see this list here?” Jimmy pointed to another part of the map. It looked to be a print-out from some kind of police record. “All of them are known arsonists residing in Beacon Hills at the time of the fire.” Joe got up from her chair slowly, peering at the list. Two of them were highlighted in red. Jimmy pointed to the top one. “That’s the video store clerk.” The next: “That’s the bus driver and...” He got out a red marker and crossed another name off the list. “That’s the janitor.”

“You’re saying someone is working through a hit list to avenge the Hale House fire? This does not exactly help Derek’s case.”

“That’s the thing,” Jimmy said and stood back to look at his handiwork. “Derek doesn’t know about this list. He doesn’t know these names.”

“What, he told you that?”

“No. Laura Hale did.”

* * *

Derek Hale’s police sketch glared at her from the computer screen when she entered the Beacon Post website. It was all over the news now. Wanted for questioning related to the disappearance of George Hall, last seen at work at Beacon Hills High School. Disappearance, not murder. They had still not found the body.

Joe sat back in her computer chair and glared at a plastic bag tucked away in the corner of her room. All her clothes from the other night. Covered in what she still presumed to be the janitor’s blood. If she could get it to a lab, they would be able to confirm it based on blood type analysis or DNA. It would lead to more questions for her though. Probably her dad would need to get involved. Or her uncle.

Jimmy Carter said Derek had not killed anyone. Scott said he had. Joe blew air out her mouth and stared at the ceiling. Scott. He had unwittingly followed her lead and locked himself in his room for the past couple of days. Both her and Aunt Mel had tried talking to him, but he was non-responsive. From the little Aunt Mel had been able to gather, it had something to do with the girl he had been seeing. _Had_. Combining that with possible trauma from being locked in the school with a deranged killer, they decided he needed some space. It meant fewer answers for Joe, though.

If Scott knew all along that Derek was a killer, why had he continued to make contact with him? Did Derek have anything on Scott? Steroids, sure, but it was hardly a serious criminal offence. It would get Scott kicked off the stupid lacrosse team though.

She spun the chair around, sighing deeply. Nothing made sense. Apart from the Hale Arson Conspiracy, of course, as explained by Jimmy Carter the same night of the janitor’s disappearance. The bus driver used to be an insurance investigator, specializing in fire damage. He’d been let off not that long after the Hale House fire, apparently suspected of fraud. The other two dead or missing were known arsonists in Beacon County. At Jimmy’s, she had read their police files. They had not seemed like men equipped to conspire to anything. Arsonists were not known for their cooperative personalities or their ability to plan ahead.

Jimmy filled in this missing piece of the puzzle, but only with a blank name tag. “Mister X”, he had called him, was the one actually responsible for the whole thing. No motive (apart from Jimmy’s paranormal theory), no name, nothing more than a hunch that a ring leader was pulling the strings of a lot of arsonist puppets.

Laura Hale had apparently read his blog and contacted him to exchange information. He would help her, in return for the exclusives of publishing a book or something about the events after justice had been served. They did not get that far before Laura disappeared and then re-appeared in pieces out at the Beacon Hills Preserve.

A knock on the door jolted Joe out of her own thoughts. “Yes?”

Aunt Mel peered inside, her whole demeanor gentle and calm. “Hey. I’m leaving for work now.” Joe nodded to indicate she understood, and Aunt Mel paused to send a mournful look down the hallway to Scott’s room. “I left some money on the counter for take-out. Can you make sure he eats something?”

“Yeah, of course,” Joe said with what she hoped was a sympathetic smile. Aunt Mel nodded and slipped out without making too much noise. She worried about Scott. Hell, they both worried about Scott. Heartbreak and trauma was a difficult combination, and Joe was not sure what was true or not regarding drug use and delusions, but it did not matter. Scott was in pain.

Aunt Mel reappeared in the door with another concerned look. “Hey, are you okay, Joe?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you’re sure you don’t want to get out a bit? Get some air? You’ve been working day and night now.”

Pot calling the kettle black, thought Joe, and tried to give Aunt Mel a reassuring look. “I’ll be fine, Aunt Mel. Don’t worry about me.”

“Well, I cant’ help but worry about both of you,” Aunt Mel said and patted the doorframe awkwardly. She spoke to it instead of Joe. “I know I’m not your mom or anything, but you know I care about you like you were my own, right?”

“Jeez, Aunt Mel, you’re making me feel like I got terminal cancer or something,” Joe said with a harsh laugh. She swallowed her grin at the sight of Aunt Mel’s face and grimaced slightly. These kinds of talks were the worst. “I _know_ you care, Aunt Mel. And Scott knows you care. We all know you care about us, okay?”

Aunt Mel tapped the doorframe lightly with her fingers, waiting for something. “And?”

“And we care about you too,” Joe concluded with a roll of her eyes. “And now you should care about being late for work. Bye!”

“Bye,” said Aunt Mel with a twinkle in her eye and closed the door behind her. Joe waited for her foot steps to go down the stairs and then the front door open and close. She fell back in her chair again with a huff. Everybody’s worrying about everybody else. Her eyes fell to the window. Jimmy had adamantly denied skulking in their backyard at all, so that meant someone else had been recording her. Presumably the same someone who had delivered confidential police files at her doorstep. Who? Who had something to gain? Derek himself? Nothing fit.

The website on the screen updated itself and now the text accompanying Derek’s picture read: “Police search continues for alleged killer Derek Hale.” Alleged killer. They’d found a body then, but apparently not allowed to print a story on it directly. Probably the police wanted to buy time.

A message ticked in on her phone. From Jimmy, she’d saved his number now, but she could not open it. Probably a photo, something her dumb phone could not handle. She texted him this and got an immediate reply to check her e-mail. At least he had sent it from his regular e-mail, instead of that anonymous crap, and it was another dispatch-transcript. She wondered how he got hold of these.

“Body of presumed George Hall found around six hundred yards north-west of Beacon Hills High School,” she read under her breath. Not news. Olds. “Body appears to be subject to several animal bites, autopsy to confirm if post or pre-mortem.”

Animal bites. Animal attacks. _“You know what he is, right?”_ Jimmy’s question rang in her mind.

Joe shut off her computer with a harsh click and went to get pizza for her and Scott instead.

* * *

_The bite marks found on the bodies of the Beacon Hills-victims casts an immediate anchor back six hundred years and..._ no.

_Germany, six hundred years ago; California, last month. The string of similar attacks and the...._ no.

_The human psyche’s ability to process, as explained by..._

Joe sighed and pushed her laptop away on the small table. Around her, conversation buzzed, only interrupted by the frequent hissing from the barista machine as the employees in the coffee shop made orders upon orders of espresso-based drinks. Taking Aunt Mel’s advice and unable to take Scott’s complete detachment anymore, she had gotten out of the house, hoping to get some actual work done. Her notes laid scattered on the table, her oatmilk cappucino long forgotten, and her thoughts unable to gather long enough to get some writing done.

Nancy Drew, her Professor had called it. Criminal mystery. Interesting, but not her subject. She was not trying to solve the crimes, not that Jimmy Carter cared about that at all. He seemed to jump on the chance to get a confidante — it seemed like he had been dying to share his theories with someone for ages. A week ago she might have welcomed it, but his theories had not been able to shed any light on the biggest mystery of all: Derek Hale and his connection to her and/or Scott.

Joe tapped her pencil against her notebook, watching the laptop-screen dim before switching to screensaver. She’d gotten here on foot, not strong enough to get back into her car that still reeked with dried blood. It needed a professional cleaning job, one that she could not afford at the moment.

_“Excuse me, this seat taken?”_

“No,” Joe mumbled without looking up. She gestured to the empty chair. “Just take it.”

To her surprise, the person slid into the seat directly instead of taking the whole chair along like Joe first had thought. Kate Argent’s large grin appeared in her line of vision, holding two large cups of fresh coffee.

“Saw you through the window,” Kate said with a wink as Joe scrambled to get all her paperwork and laptop off the table. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Joe said and stuffed her notes haphardazly into her backpack. Pencil, notebook, charger — everything rushed off the table. “I was, uh, trying to work, but I just can’t seem to concentrate today.”

“Sounds like you need caffeine,” said Kate with absolute authority and offered one of the cups to Joe. “Soy hazel latte, wasn’t sure if you’re into dairy, with an extra shot of espresso.”

“Oh, uh, jeez, how much do I owe you?” Joe went back into her backpack in search of her wallet.

Kate scoffed and waved her hand. “My treat, seriously. I’m the one barging in.”

“Thank you,” Joe said earnestly and sipped the delicious combination of soy and hazel. She preferred oatmilk, but this was delicious. She made sure to tell Kate just that.

“Yeah, it’s a safe combo,” Kate said and took a sip herself, earning a foam moustache on top her lip. Joe watched almost transfixed at the pink tongue darting out to wipe away the foam. A heat spread from her neck and upwards and she tried to focus on her own coffee instead. Kate had not seemed to notice Joe’s fascination and nodded her head towards Joe’s backpack. “What’cha working on?”

“Oh, just this paper,” Joe said dismissively. “Got a real case of writer’s block and my professor wants a new draft by tomorrow.”

Kate’s hazel eyes glittered. As the last time, she wore tight jeans and a brightly colored cashmere sweater, while her hair lay immaculate across her shoulders. Joe resisted the urge to fiddle with her own hair, knowing from experience it would do more harm than good. “Wow, flashback to my undergrad days. So glad I’m done with that.”

“What did you major in?” Joe asked, glad to shift the focus. Kate had mentioned she’d taken some sort of degree in Portland or something.

“Art history,” Kate said and winked again, leaving Joe unsure if it was a joke. “I know, I know, classic case of not having any clear direction in life. God knows this country doesn’t really need any more history majors. It was either that or women’s studies, and with a history major I at least had some semblance of chance to get a job.”

They laughed and Joe urged Kate to tell her more. Apparently she made her living as a freelance writer for some art magazine, though she was on a small break now until the new season started — whatever that meant — and was helping her brother out with the family business. “You’d think that working with weapons would be fun, but it’s really just a business like anything else. All numbers.”

By the time both of them were nursing empty cups, the conversation had flowed non-stop and Joe found herself rising with the offer to get the next round. She went with her own standard order of oatmilk mocca cappucinos, and found her blush rising again at Kate’s very vocal admission at how much she approved.

“So, uh, I heard about Scott and Allison,” Kate said gently after the cappucinos were half-gone as well. She stirred the drink slowly with a long spoon, pausing occassionaly to pop the spoon in her mouth and lick off the foam.

“Well, you know more than me,” Joe admitted. By now, most of the coffee shop had emptied out and it was getting dark outside. “Scott won’t talk about it.”

Kate made a face. “Ouch. Teen love. Brutal.”

“Tell me ‘bout it,” Joe agreed and took a last sip of her cappucino. Some chocolate syrup had congealed in the bottom and stuck to her lips when she took the cup away.

“Hang on, you got a little...” Kate indicated with her finger to her own face. Joe used a napkin, but apparently missed, as Kate laughed. “No, here — okay, let me.” Kate leaned over the table and used her thumb to stroke across Joe’s bottom lip, presumably wiping off the syrup. Joe’s heart thumped painfully in her chest as she watched Kate lean back and suck her own thumb, the pink tongue swiping across the skin.

This time, Kate made no motion of hiding that she caught Joe looking and sent her a wink that rendered Joe’s insides into goo.

“Thanks,” Joe mumbled and wondered what to do with her hands. Were they always this much in the way? What did she normally do with them? “So, uh, how’s Allison taking it?”

“Oh, you know, moping, slamming doors, listening to some soppy boyband.” Kate shrugged excessively and Joe noticed her collar bones accentuated by the motion. “Doesn’t help that Chris won’t let her leave the house after that incident at the school. Can you believe it? Derek Hale, a killer?”

At the mention of Derek Hale, Joe deflated and tried to find anything else to look at than Kate. Kate however leaned across the table again, her entire focus concentrated on Joe. With nothing else to say, she settled for a lame: “Yeah, I know.”

“You said he fixed your car, right?” Kate pressed on while Joe pushed herself further back into her chair. “Do you think he had plans to, y’know...” Kate made a slashing motion with her hand across her neck.

Joe shrugged. She had never gotten the impression that Derek was antagonistic in any way, not even when she was snooping into his sister’s empty grave.

“Thank God he didn’t, huh?” Kate said and finally leaned back, giving Joe more space to breathe. With the close proximity, her nostrils had filled with the sickly floral perfume Kate wore and it was making it hard to breathe. “I really hope they catch him soon, but he’s probably halfway to Mexico by now.”

“Canada’s closer,” Joe mumbled without really knowing why. She did not want to think about Derek Hale, let alone talk about him with Kate Argent. Her brother could not have made it clearer how much they disliked Derek, and why did Kate give the impression of watching Joe like she was looking for a clue? Did they think she and Derek were in on this together in any way or that Joe would know something about Derek’s whereabouts?

“I never asked...” Joe started, hoping to get the words out before losing courage. “How did you know Derek Hale again?”

“Well,” said Kate with a wistful smile. “We, well...used to have a thing, back when he lived in Beacon Hills.”

Joe’s brows furrowed. She wasn’t sure of Derek’s exact age, but Kate was closer to thirty. Last time Derek lived in Beacon Hills, he’d gone to high school. Well, as far as she knew, he could have stayed here temporarily at any given time after that too.

“Oh,” she said in lack of anything else. A sensation closely reminiscent to jealousy settled in her guts. She firmly ignored it. What Kate and Derek did back in the day was none of her business. “Okay.”

“I mean, you gotta admit, he’s a looker,” Kate said with a conspiratorical wink. “I know, I know, with the current situation it makes me sound like those girls writing love letters to Ted Bundy because he had a handsome smile. To my defense though, he hadn’t killed anyone when he and I — y’know. Not that I knew of, at least.”

“I guess,” Joe murmured, now the image of Kate and Derek y’know-ing plastered on the inside of her brain. Derek, all firm muscle, and Kate, a long-legged supermodel...physically, they were probably a good match. She had a feeling that physically was the best description for whatever thing Kate and Derek used to have.

“You guess? Come on, Joe, gossip with me here,” Kate said and laughed again, a clear and inviting sound. “The boy works out, you know what I mean? Tight narrow hips, broad shoulders, biceps the size of your head — mm!”

Joe was unable to produce any sound. The description was accurate, but it was hard to portray just how good looking Derek Hale actually was. His body, sure, but his face? With sharp cheekbones, chiseled jawline stubbled with a five o’clock shadow, perfectly symmetrical plump lips and soft, glossy hair you could run your fingers through when-

“That’s it? Joe, you’re letting me down here!” Kate admonished and Joe snapped her head up, suddenly afraid she had said everything out loud. Kate sighed and did a half-shrug motion. “Okay, I guess he’s not everyone’s type.” Kate looked down into her cappucino again, only her long eyelashes giving away that she peered up at Joe. “Especially not if you’re, maybe, not that into guys at all...”

She let the sentence drift off, but Joe had already stood to leave without even thinking about it. Grabbing her backpack in a swift motion, she said: “I gotta get going.”

Kate made a face, realizing her faux pas. “Joe, I didn’t mean-”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Joe said and gave Kate the fakest smile she had ever produced. “Really. It’s just getting late and I promised to help Scott prepare something for a project and-” she kept babbling about nothing and everything, eager to just get out of there as soon as possible. Kate’s predatory manner kept turning her both on and off, and she needed some space to clear her head.

Kate grabbed her wrist just when Joe passed her. “Joe, I’m sorry, I really-”

“I said it’s okay,” Joe bit out and extracted her wrist without trying to notice how Kate’s warm fingers left invisible marks on her skin. “I mean it. This was nice. Thanks for the coffee.”

Joe pushed herself between the tables — the employees of the coffee shop were busy cleaning up the equipment after a long day. She paused when Kate called her name again, and the similiarity was not lost on her as she turned her head to look at Kate over her shoulder.

“Be careful tomorrow night, okay?” said Kate, leaning comfortably back on her chair. “Full moon. Could make everyone crazy.”

Full moon. Kate seemed sincere, so Joe simply nodded and practically ran out of the coffee shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So grateful for the reviews on the last chapter! Was really more than I expected :) Alas, no Derek in this one, but what can you expect when he's on the run from the police?


	11. The Intruder II

“I just don’t get it.”

Jimmy let out an exasparated breath in front of his conspiracy mood-board. Back in his robe and pyjamas, he fulfilled every stereotype that Joe had about online bloggers. In an effort to get some more pieces to the puzzle, Joe had agreed to stop by Jimmy’s and share notes. Two more arsonists had disappeared over the weekend, last seen on their way into the Preserve.

“Okay?” Jimmy prompted for Joe to continue. They had been bouncing theories off each other for a while now. While Jimmy seemed to have some access to the workings of the police, or possibly just the transcript server for the dispatch central, he had not gotten the full scope of the Laura Hale-investigation that Joe had through the anonymous donation. She had not disclosed how she had come in posession of them. One mystery at a time.

“With the last two, it makes how many? Five in total, right?” Joe said and counted the names. Janitor, bus driver, video store clerk, and two laid off construction workers. “That’s almost half your list of all known arsonists in the county. How many do you need to burn down a house?”

“A house full of people, remember? Awake, presumably, as it was in the afternoon.” Jimmy squinted his eyes at the large photos of the Hale House, before and after the disaster. “If you discount the bus driver, he was the insurance guy, that leaves four plus Mister X. I mean, it’s a big house, it’s not implausible.”

“It just seems random.”

“I see what you mean. You’re thinking this killer just picks off all the arsonists regardless of any possible involvement.”

“You do realize that makes you a suspect just by having that list, right?”

Jimmy made a dismissive noise. “I have strong alibis.”

“No, you don’t,” Joe argued. “We were right with Derek Hale at the time the janitor presumably died. You can’t have another suspect witness on your behalf, they would just claim conspiracy. Oh God, that makes me a suspect too!”

“Sh, sh, sh,” Jimmy tutted and Joe slumped back in her chair. He did not believe in coffee and all she was served was this herbal tea. He had more in common with Professor Kane that probably either of them wanted to admit. “Let’s think logically. Apart from Derek and Laura, who would have motive?”

Joe groaned. They had tried to think logically for the last hours. She had assignments to grade back home, her own second draft that Professor Kane expected before midnight, and a heartbroken cousin who refused to come out of his room except from going to school.

“Mister X,” Joe said eventually and straightened back up. “If he’s worrying about the story blowing up, he might be picking off loose ends.”

“That makes sense. If Mister X is the mastermind behind decimating the entire Hale-family, he would presumably have no qualms ridding himself of earlier allies.”

“I’m sorry, Jimmy, I know you don’t want to admit it, but everything’s pointing towards Derek,” Joe said and now Jimmy groaned. They had had this conversation already. “Laura could have been wrong! Derek might have had conducted his own research and come up with the same list of names. You said it yourself, there was no other survivors.”

“Well...”

“What?”

“Well, there’s...hmm.” Jimmy fell back into silence, putting the marker in his hand up to pursed lips, like an old Victorian gentleman would do with his pair of spectacles. “This is not public information, by the way. I only know this because of Laura.”

Joe sat up in the chair, tucking her legs under her. “Someone else made it out?”

“Severely injured,” Jimmy said, but in a confirming tone. “Third-degree burns covering most of his body. He’s practically in a vegetative state in a rehabilitation facility not far from Beacon Hills.”

“Practically? Is he not rehabilitating?”

“No, when Laura went to see him, she said she did not get any response at all. The nurses claim they sometimes noticed his eyes move, but Laura thought it was wishful thinking.” Jimmy sucked in a sharp breath. “Can you imagine the pain he’s in? How much it would take for a person to escape the inferno and then make it to safety? It’s a miracle he’s alive.”

Joe couldn’t. “Did she have another brother?”

“Uncle. On her mother’s side.”

“Oh,” Joe looked at the family photographs Jimmy had on his wall of the Hales. There were a few who could have matched that description. She wondered if Derek knew about this uncle as well, if he ever went to see him. When their grandma had a heart attack, she had been in a coma for more than a week. She’d woken up just hours before finally passing away. Watching her still form on the bed, breathing through a machine for several days had been torturous. Scott was almost too young to remember, but Joe did vividly. She had never seen her dad so distraught and helpless before.

“I need to get back,” Joe said eventually and stretched out. “I got a bunch of work that’s unfortunately not doing itself.”

Jimmy scoffed, as he always did when something remotely related to Professor Kane came up. He noticed her putting on a pair of sneakers, meticulously doing up the shoe-laces. “You’re walking?”

“Yeah, well, my car smells like death,” Joe mumbled and switched feet. “It’s just an hour walk, it’s fine.”

“Okay,” said Jimmy with uncertainty. He went back to his kitchen, but apparently changed his mind with an impatient sigh. “I can give you a ride, if you want.”

Joe glanced up at her unlikely partner in crime. She was still not sure where she had him — he gave off the impression of knowing a lot more than he let on. Worst of all, she could not determine his angle. Sure, he claimed to care about the truth, but if it was one thing her dad taught her, everybody had ulterior motives. She contemplated saying no anyway just to get some time to think. Not that she had done anything else lately and look what good it had done her.

“That’d be...great,” she said slowly and he nodded and sauntered off to change into actual clothes. Of course, Jimmy’s notion of what was deemed respectable or decent differed from the rest of the population. He came out of the bedroom wearing dark slacks and a tight red turtleneck. Very 90s vibe.

“I hear hydrogen peroxide is good for blood stains,” he said conversationally and Joe pondered on the increased strangeness of her life lately. He drove incredibly slow towards the McCall-house. Apparently when Jimmy wasn’t actively in pursuit of another car, he drove like an 80 year old woman on her way to church. Joe was at least pleasantly surprised that she had to give him directions to the house, maybe he hadn’t been stalking her that much after all.

When they pulled up to the curb, Joe stared at the scene in puzzlement. Lights were on in the living room and the upstairs hallway, Joe’s car sat parked in the driveway — Aunt Mel was probably at work already — and Scott’s bike laid haphardazly next to the front door. Stiles’ Jeep was also parked on the curb, a familiar sight if there ever was one.

“Something wrong?”

“I think...I think someone stole my car.”

Jimmy leaned sideways to glance out her window at the obvious sight of her car sitting right there in the driveway.

“And returned it?”

“Yes!” Joe exclaimed and gestured to the Ford. “Look, I hate backing into a parking space. I’m horrible at it. So I always park nose in.”

The Ford obviously sat the opposite way of how Joe normally parked it. Aunt Mel could have moved it, of course, but she would have called Joe about the obvious blood stains and rotting smell. Scott was even worse than Joe at reverse parking, and this was a perfect job.

“There’s something on the windshield,” Jimmy mumbled, squinting at the dark car. Joe noticed it too just as he said it. A paper flapping in the wind. “Could be a trap.”

“So not helping,” Joe muttered. The street looked deserted and there weren’t many obvious hiding spots out in the driveway, apart from in the car itself. “Stay here, okay? Just in case.”

“Just in case of what exactly?” Jimmy asked, but Joe had already unbuckled and got out. None of the neighbors were out, not unusual at this time of night, and moon shone bright and full above her. Kate’s words came back to haunt her now. Had she known something Joe didn’t?

Trying to keep track of all her surroundings at once, she crept closer to her car. It _was_ her car, no doubt about it, right down to the familiar dent on the bumper that she never had bothered to fix. When nothing appeared to be jumping out of the shadows to attack her, she snatched the paper from her windshield. It was torn off a legal writing pad and showed a single word:

‘SORRY’

It was not the same handwriting as the note that accompanied the police files. Immediately she started to check her car for damages, in case anyone had hit it so hard it did a 180 flip, but it was pristine. In fact, it looked like it had been cleaned... Joe carried the keys in her pocket out of habit and opened the driver seat door. A faint smell of pinecone and lemon wafted in her nose as opposed to the rotting carcass smell she had expected. Her eyes drifted close. There was another scent...

She jumped back from the car when the front door of the McCall-house burst open and Stiles came bounding out full speed. He slid to a halt in front of Joe, wild-eyed and hard of breath.

“Joe! Have you seen Scott?”

“Not since this morning-”

A loud rev of an engine cut her off and they both turned just in time to see Jimmy Carter speed away in his murky green sedan. Stiles stared at the disappearing tail-lights, back at her, then down the road agian.

“A 2008 Nissan Sentra, green,” he squeaked and pointed in the direction Jimmy had taken off. Joe stared after the car as well. So much for having her back. Figures he would take off when faced with the Sheriff’s son. Paranoia and all. “Who-”

“It’s a long story,” Joe said to deter Stiles from asking questions. Besides, he had seemed ready to dive into his own Jeep and take off after Scott, who was God’s know where. She gestured to Scott’s bike. “What do you mean have I seen Scott? Isn’t he home?”

“Uhh...” Stiles rubbed harshly at the back of his scalp. “Long story. Gotta go!”

“What? Stiles? Stiles!”

He apparently did not hear her, or more accurately, ignored her calls and threw himself into his Jeep and took off in the opposite direction of Jimmy. That left her standing alone outside the house, with an apologetic note in her hand and a newly cleaned car beside her. Someone had stolen her car when she was out, gotten it professionally cleaned, and returned it. It obviously hadn’t been Jimmy and who else could possibly know the interior was covered in blood anyway? That’s right, alleged killer Derek Hale.

Not that she needed logic to work that one out. She could smell he had been in her car.

The full moon seemed to make all the shadows darker and Joe withdrew slowly into the house, scanning the hopefully empty streets for any movement. She made sure to lock the door firmly behind her and went through the house to lock the windows too. That had to be his preferred way of entry the other times he’d broken in. Should she call the police?

She scoffed at herself. And say what? Derek Hale, currently on the run from police, took the time to have her car cleaned. She’d be dismissed as a prank call before she could name her location. No, lock down and arm herself until someone else came back. She could take him. Probably.

In Scott’s room, she stumbled over heavy chains spread across the floor. The window stood wide open and she hurried to slam it shut. She took a deep breath through her nose. If she could smell he’d been in her car, she should be able to smell if he was inside the room. Nothing. Satisfied with that, she knelt down to inspect the chains. They were really heavy, almost hard to lift, and still some of the links had been busted open. It had the look and feel of some boys-will-be-boys-stuff, so she left it intact and went to get her taser.

It had been a compromise when she left for college. Her dad insisted she kept it charged at all times. If school policy had allowed, he would have preferred for her to keep a gun on campus. When they’d fallen out and she moved back to Aunt Mel’s, he hadn’t brought it up again. He probably knew better than to try and pressure his sister into doing anything at all she did not want to. Besides, as a nurse she had a pretty firm and opposing stance on gun control.

Joe had a horrible aim anyway — it was hard enough to get a good shot in with the taser and then she would be standing less than 12 feet away. Unable and unwilling to relax, she sat perched in the kitchen — with the back door as a potential emergency exit — and waited.

An hour later she still waited and had beat her own personal high score on the Snake-game of her old Nokia. Scott should have been home a while ago, but neither he nor Stiles picked up their phone when she tried to reach them. Fifteen more minutes, she told herself when the clock ticked closer to midnight. Fifteen more minutes and she’s reporting them missing.

Ten more minutes.

Five...

“Oh thank God,” she breathed out when she heard a key being inserted into the front door. Taser in hand, she went to both hug and berate Scott as he came in. The door swung open as she came out from the living room. Her emerging smile turned into a grimace at the sight of Scott being supported by none other than Derek Hale outside the door.

She did not know where to fix her gaze, darting it between Scott and Derek and back again. Scott looked exhausted and hung limply onto Derek, who held the younger boy up by his arm. Alleged killer Derek Hale. With her baby cousin, half unconscious.

Derek’s muscled neck flexed as he swallowed, as he could smell her adrenaline raising. “Joe-”

Her arms raised automatically and squeezed the trigger.

50,000 volts shot through the stun gun into Derek’s chest — both he and Scott crashed to the floor in an instant. The power was enough to stun a 300 lbs man for at least 30 seconds and apparently enough to make Joe drop the gun when the power somehow backfired into her.

“Ahh!” she yelled and clutched at her chest where the current of electricity struck her muscles. It had been years since she last tested it, just her luck it turned faulty when she needed it. When her finger released the trigger, Derek stopped spasming immediately.

He was down, but with his groaning and cursing he was obviously not completely out of commission yet. She acted quickly and darted forwards to grab Scott’s arm.

“Ugh,” Scott groaned from his close contact with the hardwood floor and Joe dragged him fully into the house. Jesus, the guy weighed a frickin’ ton! Inside, he managed to get on all fours, even grimacing in pain. Joe began to worry some of the voltages had passed through Derek to Scott as well, but did not have time as a low growl from the front door made them both raise their gaze.

Derek rose to one knee, head bent forward, emitting a steady, low growl.

“Oh no,” Scott mumbled, now struggling to his feet. “That’s bad.”

Joe didn’t take her eyes off Derek, but hissed: “What?”

Scott never answered. Instead they watched Derek dig his hand into the doorstep, somehow clawing his fingernails into the wood itself, sending splinters flying. The growl became louder and every muscle on his body flexed, as if he struggled to remain sitting down.

“He’s losing control,” Scott whispered hoarsely.

“What?!”

“Full moon!”

“WHAT?”

“RUN!”

Joe barely caught a glimpse of bright blue eyes as Derek roared. Scott grabbed Joe around her waist and practically threw her over his shoulder. They bounded up the stairs, with Derek sounding like an enraged animal close behind them. Something had flipped a switch in him and with the noises he made, Joe had no qualms believing he would tear a bus driver to pieces with his bare hands.

They dashed into Scott’s room and slammed the door shut. Joe dove to Scott’s dresser, searching for any kind of weapon he might have, settling on the trusty baseball bat and a pair of knuckledusters from their grandpa’s days in the army. Joe tried to hand the bat to Scott so she could call 911, but Scott did not even acknowledge her. He stood wide legged in front of the closed door, breathing heavily, arms out to the side like he was ready to tackle anything and anyone coming through.

“Scott?”

“Shh!”

Her mouth shut as something thumped against the door. If he threw his whole weight at it, it would never hold. The repair bill for Aunt Mel would be huge too, not that it was important enough to think about right now, but Joe couldn’t help it. She held the bat in one hand and tried to get hold of her cell-phone to call for help.

The growl on the other side subsided. Scott turned his head a bit, listening, and to Joe at least it sounded like Derek was moving down the hall. Another door opened. It made no sense, he had to know where they were! Unless...

“Cover the window,” Scott said in a hush, apparently thinking the same as Joe. She did as told, foregoing her cell-phone to get a better grip on the blunt weapon. Scott’s voice strained as he spoke: “He’s in your room.”

Joe nodded, filled to the brim with adrenaline and not paying enough attention to ask how he knew that. The growl, now even darker, seemed to penetrate Joe’s spine, sending sparks up and down her rib cage and settling into a hot pool in her lower abdomen. They held their breath, waiting for the ball to drop, for him to burst through the door.

Nothing.

Gradually, slowly, the growl subsided to silence. Scott’s brows furrowed and twisted, as if he was trying to make out a faint sound. When Joe thought she would pass out from lack of oxygen, Scott’s shoulders relaxed and he stood up straight.

“He’s gone.”

Joe’s grip on the bat did not loosen a fraction. “Are you sure? How do you know?”

“I just do, okay, Joe?!” Scott snapped at her, face twisted in a scowl. He shook his head and rubbed his forehead. “Sorry, I...I’m pretty sure he’s gone.”

In a silent agreement, they opened the door and stalked down the hallway, ready for an ambush. Nothing. They cleared the whole house and locked the front door again. In Joe’s room, the window was opened wide, his obvious escape route. Casting a dark glance at the outside yard, she shut the window with a bang and pulled the curtains tight.

Scott stood forlornly in the middle of her room. He rubbed the back of his neck and now Joe realized his gaze was fixated on those damn three packs of condoms she never bothered to put away.

“Grow up,” she muttered and pushed the bat into his chest to wake him up. “Where were you? What happened? You looked half-dead! Did he do that to you? Did he hurt you? Threaten you?”

Scott swatted away the bat she poked him with to emphasize each question. “No, no, and no. He...he helped me.”

“Helped you? Alleged killer Derek Hale _helped_ you? How?”

Scott slumped as he leaned against her door. “Derek’s not the killer.”

“What?” Joe dropped the bat to her side. “But you said-”

“It’s a mistake,” Scott muttered and rubbed his head again, like a massive headache threatened to split it open. “He didn’t kill the janitor. He’s trying to find out who did it.”

Jimmy’s massive board of conspiracies opened up behind her eyes, but she blinked it away. “You might wanna tell the police that. The entire state’s looking for him!”

“I know, Joe, we just don’t have any proof yet.”

“Why did he just attack us?”

“Because you tried to electrocute him?”

“Because I thought he was a deranged killer! Because you told me he killed an innocent person at the school!”

“I know, Joe! I know! I...I thought I was doing the right thing and now I realize that everything I’ve been doing has been wrong and I probably ruined Derek’s life and I can’t be with Allison because she hates me and-”

He broke off, staring miserably at his shoes and fiddling with his fingers. Joe made another face, heart breaking at the sight.

“Allison doesn’t hate you,” Joe murmured and hugged Scott, who seemed to be fighting tears. “She might be angry with you or disappointed, but she doesn’t hate you.”

Scott’s muffled voice came from somewhere in her hair: “How do you know?”

“Well, I talked to Kate, and according to her Allison’s been playing sad love songs and moping in her room the last few days. That doesn’t sound like hate.”

His warmth disappeared as he pulled away to look at her. “You talked to _Kate?_ Kate Argent?”

“Yeah, I met her while looking for you when you were playing hooky with Allison, why?”

Scott was not a good liar, but he tried anyway. “Oh. Uh, nothing. No reason.”

Joe raised her eyebrow, but decided not to push it. It was a school night, after all, and she sent him off to bed after he assured her Derek would not be coming for them. Despite his promises, Joe doubted she would manage to sleep that night at all. She deadlocked the front door, which they never did, and knew she had to stay awake anyway to let Aunt Mel back in the house when she got off her shift.

The splintered wood in the doorstep caught her attention and she knelt to run her fingers over the deep groves. Derek must really be getting his calcium in, his nails had to be like iron to make marks like this. No blood or indication he had hurt himself. On a whim, she dug her own fingernail into the wood to check if it was rotten or soft, but she could hardly make a dent before her nail threatened to break.

Deep in thought, she picked up the taser and rewound it. When she tasered Derek, and effectively shocked herself, she had thought it had to be a loose wire sticking out or something to hit her skin. The plastic handle seemed intact though. Derek’s words from the other night, how she supposedly felt him get hurt, came in the back of her head. Right, like she felt the shock she impacted upon him in her own body.

Get a grip, Delgado, she thought and put the taser back to charge. She could test it tomorrow — or get Stiles to do it, he was always a willing lab rat.

Back in her room, the computer gave off a cold glare when she turned it on. She had missed Professor Kane’s deadline at midnight, but she was owed one extension after years of turning everything in on time. Besides, work sounded better than sleep right now. She glanced at her bed when she thought it, but paused at the sight. Joe, a messy sleeper, did not usually make her bed in the morning, but it had not looked _that_ bad when she got up that day. The covers and sheets were thrown everywhere, like someone had rummaged in it.

Derek _had_ been in her room. Had he been in her bed? A quick smell check confirmed it. Her covers were coated in that pungent cologne he wore. Why and what and how and _why?_ She tases him, he goes into an animalistic rage, chases them upstairs, _then_ goes into her room, rolls around in her bedsheets and leaves? No matter how logically she tried to put it, there was no clear cause and effect here!

Maybe nothing made sense because she was trying to apply rationality to an obviously deranged man. Nothing made sense because he obviously had some sort of mental disorder that she triggered with her stun gun. He seemed so normal when she talked to him, apart from the mysteriousness and lack of facial expressions of course.

Did she have a stalker on her hands? With the bed and the car and the many chance meetings, it seemed like she did.

Joe realized she was clutching the covers up to her face, still inhaling Derek’s lingering scent. She dropped it like it burned her. Okay, maybe she wasn’t completely normal either? Leaving her computer alone, she stripped the entire bed and dumped the sheets into the washing machine in the basement. Extra dose of detergent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Jimmy, more Derek...Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please leave a comment if you did or didn't!


	12. The Sportscar III

One bright side of having her car back in business was finally going back to Berkeley. There she could receive Professor Kane’s utter disappointment in person instead of via e-mail. Some parts were okay — the literature survey and points of future interest — but the background chapter? Joe’s shoulders tightened, even though she was well on her way back to Beacon Hills. Complete re-write. Professor Kane had underlined the parts that was worth keeping, and it was not much.

“Lose the drama and focus on the facts,” Professor Kane had said while handing back the printed copy of Joe’s newest draft. “Remember that this need to touch upon something _new_ , not just re-telling of events then and now. Remember your angle. Internet, mass-media, hysteria.”

Professor Kane still felt confident they could make their initial deadline, but it required more focus from Joe. Focus she did not have to spare these days. She had resisted the urge to add in that all the victims had relations to previous arsonist crime cases, because it took away too much of the animal attack-angle. Professor Kane had been dismissive about the hunt for Derek Hale — she viewed the janitor’s murder completely unrelated to the string of animal attacks.

Two more bodies found, obviously torn to shreds by what the authorities were still claiming to be a mountain lion. It did not take much research to deduce it was the two last arsonists who went missing last weekend. Beacon Post had an article about how a zoologist was working with the Beacon Sheriff’s station to perform an autopsy of the mountain lion Chris Argent shot in the parking lot. It might be a form of rabies that caused these normally shy and secluded animals to venture into populated areas and kill.

Joe found herself driving the highway rather than the deserted forest road. For once, she viewed the throng of other cars a comfort rather than a stressfactor. She still found herself checking her mirror all the time, as if just waiting for Derek’s black sportscar to turn up behind her. Jimmy and Scott both claimed Derek was not involved in the murders, but even if he wasn’t, he was the center of so many other weird stuff that had happened to her lately. Nothing added up.

Despite his stalker-ish tendencies, he did not _seem_ obsessed with her whenever they actually met. At best, she would describe him as stand-offish, barely tolerating her presence. He was just always...there. Too many times for it to be a coincidence.

“Holy shit!”

Joe slammed on her brakes coming into an intersection. Inches in front of her, a black sportscar sped past at neckbreak speed closely followed by a light SUV. She gripped her steering wheel and tried to breathe again. She was pretty sure she had the way of right here! And she was pretty sure that was Derek Hale’s car.

In the distance, she could hear sirens, but not from the car chasing him. That had just been a civillian SUV.

“All of the Argents drive pick-ups or SUVs,” Joe mumbled to herself, repeating what Scott had said that night Jimmy chased them into the Preserve. Why would Argents chase Derek Hale instead of the cops? Why would Argents chase Derek at all?

She left the car running in free and called Jimmy himself. If she knew him correctly, he was somehow monitoring the dispatch central. He picked up on third ring.

“Jimmy? It’s Joe,” Joe explained hastily, still watching the now empty road in case of more incoming traffic. “I’m down by warehouse district, there’s a bunch of sirens. You know what’s going on?”

“ _Cops are chasing Derek Hale on foot. He’s on foot.”_ Jimmy did not hesitate when laying out what he knew. “ _Heading into the iron works.”_

On foot?

“Okay, but there’s an unmarked car chasing him too. Or at least his car,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Any reports on that?”

_“No, no plainclothes responded to the call,”_ Jimmy said and she heard rustling in the background. “ _What car was it? Can you follow to get a picture?”_

“I don’t have a camera phone!” Joe exclaimed, but revved her Ford back into gear anyway. “I don’t know what car! Light colored SUV!”

“ _Light is not a color!”_

“I’m following it, goddamnit! I’ll keep you posted!” she barked into the phone and cut the call before he could answer to focus on driving. With the speed those two cars had, she would never catch up with her old-time Ford Fiesta. She gambled they were heading for the iron works to intercept Derek Hale. She just needed to get close enough to see who was driving both cars.

Up ahead, blinking lights and several police cars spread out in front of a large container building. She slowed down and dimmed her headlights to avoid detection. The cops were focused the other way and she managed to make a turn without being seen. It was a maze down here, and she had to be careful not to get stuck in a dead end.

Three turns later and she was pretty sure she was lost. Large steel buildings towered over her on either side and she slowly let her car roll forwards, hoping it would open up to one of the wider alleys in here. The Ford’s old spring shock absorbers groaned every time the car dipped into one of the railway tracks they used back in the day when everything shipped by trains.

Of all the stupid things, she chastised herself, this was the stupidest. She was getting so stuck on solving all these mysteries, no doubt a bad influence from the severely paranoid Jimmy Carter. The only way to justify any of this was by blaming Scott and his not-really-friendship with wanted killer Derek Hale. A wild notion that _Scott_ had been the one driving Derek’s car while the cops chased Derek himself on foot struck her and she dismissed it with a scoff. With the speed Derek’s car had when it passed her, it could never be Scott. He didn’t have the nerves for a car chase.

Joe reached another T-intersection. She vaguely remembered some maze-rule that if you kept turning right, you’d find your way out, and she did just that.

Just as she turned the corner, another pair of headlights met her from the other side. Joe’s lights were dimmed down, but this car had to have some sort of extra snow plow lamp because she could not make out the make, size or color of the car. She grimaced and tried to shield her eyes with her arm.

The car sat idle ahead of her, just like her own, no indication of backing away. With the intersection behind her, Joe had no chance of reversing either. Too narrow to turn around.

Her breath caught in her throat when she heard a car door open and close. She couldn’t see a damn thing! It could be a cop, Derek Hale or the freaking fire brigade for all she knew. Probably a cop, she justified, who else would be driving around inbetween the warehouses at this time of night? Well, Derek Hale, probably, and whoever was chasing him.

Argent.

Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Joe fumbled with her seatbelt. Her only chance was making a run for it, but it was too late. With the bright light still glaring in her eyes, she had missed that a figure approached her car and thumped against her driver side window. Instead of a face, she looked straight into a single-barreled shotgun.

The person’s voice was muffled: “ _Get out!”_

Joe’s breath came in tight small bursts. Gun. No matter how trigger happy the cops seemed these days, this was not the correct police procedure to get a driver out of the car. You don’t aim a weapon you’re not prepared to use.

“I’m unarmed!” she said, scouring her brain for any pointers her father had given her on these things. No sudden movements, no arguing — don’t give the shooter an excuse. Stay calm. “I’m coming out!”

Slowly, she opened the car door and tried to exit with both hands up. The silhouette with the shotgun moved behind the door as soon as she got out, forcing Joe to face the harsh light from the other car. The second most of Joe was out of the car, the figure grabbed hold of her shoulder and slammed her against the side of the car chest first. Dots and sparks danced across her vision, briefly reprieved from the intense glare of the headlights.

The person — cop? — held her in place and did a frisk search down Joe’s body. Side of the chest, looking for concealed gun holster. Waistband of her pants, checking for hidden weapons. Down the side of her legs, top of her socks, and up again. Her assailant worked methodically, this was muscle memory.

Joe gasped when the hands moved back up her legs and grabbed hold of her buttocks to squeeze appreciatively. She recognized the perfume when the person leaned forward, still with her hands on Joe’s ass.

“Hi, Joe,” said Kate Argent and her warm breath fanned across Joe’s cheek. “What’cha doing out here?”

“Get off me!” Joe barked and shoved with her back shoulder to get Kate’s body away from hers. She span around, mind reeling, not keeping up with the events. Kate. Shotgun. Kate with a shotgun. “What the hell, Kate?!”

“Oh, this?” Kate said with a mischevious smile and brandished the semi-auto shotgun. She shrugged. “Just for protection.”

Joe straightened out her clothing that had shifted during Kate’s ministrations. “Yeah, and the frisk search? That for protection too?”

Kate pursed her lips thoughtfully and gave Joe a once-over. “Girl can never be too safe.” Whatever glimmer of humor that had been in Kate’s eyes disappeared. “What are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing here?” Joe countered immediately, using one hand to shield her face from the headlights of Kate’s car.

“Helping the police catch a killer on the loose,” Kate said evenly, studying Joe’s every movement. Joe tried to shake off the blush that had crept up at being groped by Kate Argent of all people. The embarrassment laid in her stomach like a black pool of lava, waiting to be acknowledged.

“What are you, some kind of part-time vigilante?” Joe spat and gestured to the shotgun. No way, no way in any universe would the police hire someone like Kate to drive around with a loaded weapon to catch anyone.

Kate winked, like she often did, almost like she appreciated the increase in Joe’s blush. “Something like that.” Using her car-key, she killed the lights of her car, and Joe could take her hand down and actually open her eyes without wincing. Kate raised her immaculate eyebrows. “So, I answered your question. You gonna answer mine?”

It was probably the Catholic in Joe, but she hated lying. At record speed, she ran different versions through her head, each more implausible than the next to what she actually was doing here. Not to mention that she now recognized Kate’s car as the one in close pursuit of Derek Hale’s.

“I heard the sirens,” Joe said, still looking at Kate’s silver-colored Kia, knowing full and well it wasn’t an explanation. “And I got curious.”

She finally dared to look back at Kate, who at least had the shotgun pointing away from her now. Disbelief laid evident on Kate’s perfectly symmetric face. “Right. Then you thought you’d do a bit of joyriding inside the ironworks?”

Joe shrugged. “I guess.”

“Wow,” Kate said and laughed. She cracked her shotgun to empty it of its shells, letting Joe breathe a little easier. “Oh man. Those puppy-dog brown eyes, you and Scott have so much in common. You’re both really shitty liars, first of all. And you’re both really cute. I’ll give you that.”

The compliment fell on deaf ears as Kate put the open shotgun over her shoulder. Something in her stance indicated she was still plenty dangerous without it.

“Where’s Derek Hale?” Kate shifted so she rested her weight on one hip, sizing Joe up.

“I don’t know,” said Joe, which was the truth at least. “Why would I know?”

Kate did another one of her insincere shrugs. “Dunno. A little birdie told me you and him’s been spending some time together.” She sighed theatrically. “I’m really disappointed at you, Joe. First you won’t even admit how absolutely gorgeous his body is and then I find out you’ve been running around with him on the down low?”

Joe grimaced. “I don’t know who your source is, lady, but you got it all wrong.”

“Mm, well, maybe I should ask Scott instead?”

Shotgun be damned — Joe pushed off from the car to get up in Kate’s face, snarling. “You stay the hell away from Scott!”

“Oh, there’s that fire I was waiting for,” Kate cooed, not relenting an inch. She was taller than Joe and stared at her down her nose. “That’s the Spanish in you, right?” Joe opened her mouth to tell her off, but Kate continued: “We French got a bit of a temper in us too, you know. You got any French in ya?” Her voice dropped to a sensual whisper. “Do you want some?”

“You got a permit for that shotgun?” Joe bit out, swallowing the creeping blush as best she could. “If the cops search your car, how many unregistered firearms are they gonna find?” Her fists clenched by her side, itching to let loose. “Back the hell off, Kate, or I’ll tip of the PD.”

Kate scoffed. “Beacon County PD couldn’t find their own ass with a map and a flashlight.” She took a step back though, leisourely turning around. “How many more people have to die before they catch this psycho? What are we at now — five, six dead? When’s it gonna end?” Kate’s face turned cold and calculating again. “He came after _my family_. And yours. If you had half the balls I thought you had, you’d be out for blood too.”

“There’s no proof he did any of those murders,” Joe said weakly. She could understand Kate’s motive. But the US Justice System existed for a reason. Mob justice was the way you got innocent people hanged.

“Proof?!” Kate spun around again, halfway between her and Joe’s car. “What kind of proof do you need? He’s an animal! A predator!”

Joe couldn’t help herself. Her forehead wrinkled. “What?”

“Oh jeez, you don’t even know, do you?” Kate threw her head back and laughed loudly. “You have no idea!” She scoffed and continued walking backwards, tilting her head at Joe in a condescending manner. “Go back to your books, Berkeley. Go hide in that safe little house in the safe little street in the safe little town. With your books and papers and frickin’ academic journals. You can read until your eyes bleed and you’ll never find your answers, trust me.”

With a last contemptous wink, Kate got in her car and Joe flinched when the bright light came back. Through her fingers, she could make out Kate’s car as it reversed out of the alley, made a half-turn at the next intersection, and then sped off in the opposite direction. Joe watched until she was sure the lights were gone and she was alone in the alley.

She swallowed the first sob and bit her lip hard to keep the second one down. Her throat tight, she clutched at her chest, trying to keep it in, keep it together. The hands on her ass, the shotgun in her face, everything designed to make her feel worthless and helpless. God, she had the _worst_ taste ever! Joe thumped the roof of her car to let out some pent-up energy, gritted her teeth to stop the tears, and finally calmed down enough to get back into the seat.

10 missed calls from Jimmy Carter. She stared at her phone for almost a minute before putting it back in her pocket. It was his fault she was even out here to begin with. Apart from that she called him first. Joe grimaced at her treacherous mind, but did not take the phone back out. She drove the same path Kate had taken, hoping it would get her home.

* * *

Joe scrubbed her hair, her face, her chest, arms, legs, stomach — all with furious concentration, scrubbing until it turned pink and raw. When the water became too cold to bear, she finally switched it off and rested her head against the shower wall, unable to get out just yet. Even in her darkest thought, she made a mental note to chip in extra towards utilities this month. Long showers were for rich people.

When she did get out, she avoided the mirror the best she could and got dressed in the bathroom. Even with the curtains pulled shut, she felt watched all the time now. Every safe haven she knew of had been violated somehow lately. Her car, her room, the coffee shop — only Berkeley remained untouched.

_Go back to your books, Berkeley._

Joe tried. She really did. Professor Kane had extended her deadline with a few days and the work-pile was sky high. Every time she tried to buckle down on reading, transcribing, drawing conclusions, her mind whispered treacherous thoughts. Folklore was just that: lore. Professor Kane taught that in every myth is a grain of truth, but now it felt like a boulder instead.

Second guessing every word, every theory, and every fact got her nowhere. No amount of coffee or music or even jumping jacks — a trick she had picked up from her dad when he was stuck in a rut — seemed to help. The night passed and the document remained as empty as ever, the blinking insertion point mocking her from the bright screen.

Avoiding both Scott and Aunt Mel, she snuck out of the house at dawn and made her way back to Berkeley. She knew Professor Kane’s schedule and that she used the early mornings to catch up on e-mails.

“Miss Delgado!” Professor Kane exclaimed after Joe knocked and was let into the office. Professor Kane’s bright gray hair framed her face like a halo and was only subtly deflated when the Professor pushed her glasses up from her face. “Back at campus so soon? Did your schedule change? You don’t normally have any sessions on Wednesday.”

“No, my schedule’s still the same,” Joe said and sat down after the Professor gestured at the available armchair. “I just, uh, I wanted to tell you I want to drop the paper.”

Now Professor Kane took of her glasses completely, using the edge of her tunic to clean them while staring at Joe. “Drop the paper? Now? Why on earth would you consider that? I realize my feedback was a tad harsh yesterday, but it’s coming from a place of belief that you have it in you to make it perfect!”

“It’s not that...” Joe hesitated. She’d rehearsed this over and over in her car, and nothing could describe her feelings about the matter. “I’m just questioning the ethical aspect. With six people dead...”

“Ah.” Professor Kane leaned back in her own chair and regarded Joe over steepled fingers. “I was worried we would end up here.”

Joe’s chest dropped. She thought she had managed to lead the multiple lives well enough lately, but she should have known her performance had been lacking for a while now. “You were?”

“Yes. That was why I was trying so hard to make you steer away from the detective-work. You’re trying to solve murders that are, essentially, unsolvable. Do you see the analogy here?” Professor Kane leaned over her desk and focused those laser sharp eyes at Joe. “Animals attack in fear, self-defence, for preservation. It might be hunger, it might be a perceived threat, it might be a string of coincidences that can not and will not make sense to the only intelligent primate on the planet. _We_ see patterns. We see connections. We _want_ to see these things.”

The Professor took a deep breath and gave Joe a wane smile. “And even when there is no patterns, no connections, we fill in the blanks. This does not make sense, what is missing to make it logical? It does not make sense for it to be an animal, it does not make sense for it to be a man, what is the missing link?” The bangles on the Professor’s arm glittered in the sunlight as the Professor leaned her head on her arm. “That is how you get werewolves, Miss Delgado. By looking for things that aren’t there. Oh, don’t look so forlorn, Miss Delgado. You are the living proof that no matter how enlightened we feel as a species, how much more developed we feel than those superstitious cavemen or peasants or settlers, we are still the storytelling ape. Things _must_ make sense, and if they don’t, I will make them do so.”

“It’s just like Bedburg,” Joe whispered to herself, but apparently loud enough for the Professor to hear.

“Exactly! It _is_ like Bedburg. Like Toledo, like West Milford — like all the other tales undocumented and unremembered. People get scared, then they get angry, then you find the town’s outcast and string him up to hang for crimes he physically could not have committed. Oh, the neighbor saw him elsewhere at the time of the murder? Well, he must have split his soul in half! Oh, the body was torn apart beyond human strength? Well, he must have shapeshifted into a bear! And so on, and so on.”

Joe let her words digest. It made sense. This was what the Professor taught, what she had devoted her entire career to. Maybe if she had not been so involved, she would not have been sucked into the same line of reasoning as those 15th century Germans. Still...

“Have you ever had doubts, Professor? Like, have you ever come across something in your research that just _could_ not be explained?” In her mind, she pictured the infected bullet wound in Derek’s arm disappearing in seconds. “Something that might, you know, actually have been something...”

“Supernatural?” the Professor finished for her with an all-knowing eyebrow raised at her. “Sure. There have been times I doubted the validity of my own eyes. However, I find that whenever I have come across things science could not explain, it is due to the infancy of the science, and not anything beyond it. A thousand years ago lightening was attributed to the anger of the gods! Today we know it’s because of a static imbalance between two charges in a cloud.”

The Professor waited for Joe to reply, but Joe could not get her thoughts sorted out. Eventually, Professor Kane sighed again. “Just because we can’t explain it doesn’t make it magic, Miss Delgado.” She sat up straight again with a business-like shrug and began typing on her computer. “Take a week off, Delgado. I’m extending your deadline further. Complete your TA work, get some rest, and if you still want to drop the paper then, we’ll talk again.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Joe said earnestly and got up from her chair. “I’ll try to get some fresh perspective.”

“Get some rest too,” the Professor said sternly, scrutinizing Joe over her glasses. “You look tired.”

Joe assured her that she would and left the office feeling a hundred pounds lighter. Time off sounded nice. Just focusing on the TA-stuff still meant more real free time than she had had in a while. Maybe she’d follow Aunt Mel’s example and veg out in front of the TV to take her mind of things. She needed to get her own head straight first before she sat down with Scott to have a real heart-to-heart. Maybe he really did believe Derek to be innocent, or he felt compelled to help Derek because of the thing with the steroids — either way, he needed to explain everything to the police. They were best equipped to handle this.

As she made her way back to her car, dodging incoming students left and right who were making their way to class, her phone beeped. A message from Stiles. It would not open, so probably another picture. She really needed to get her old phone fixed. She stopped on the sidewalk to text him back, saying she could not open it, when another text ticked in from Stiles.

‘Please help us! SOS’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can it be? Cracks in Joe's die-hard skepticism? 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and an extra big thank you to the ones who comment on every chapter! You're the reason I'm already twelve chapter ahead in my writing compared to what I'm posting :)


	13. The Fear

Of course it went straight to voice-mail when she tried to call Stiles. Of course Scott only gave a busy signal. Of course both the landline at the McCalls and the Stilinskis just rang and rang and rang until she got paranoid Stiles wouldn’t be able to reach her, so she cut the call. Driving well over the speed limit, she tried the school — they were let out early, something related to the match later that day — and the Sheriff’s station, who only informed her that all lines were busy, please call 911 in case of emergencies.

It was not until she zoomed past the Beacon Hills-welcome sign that the landline at the Stilinskis finally picked up.

“ _Noah Stilinski speaking_.”

“Sheriff Stilinski?” Joe burst out, at this point more surprised someone actually picked up the phone. “It’s Joe. McCall. Uh, I don’t mean to worry you, but have you heard from Stiles?”

The Sheriff seemed to hesitate on the other end. “ _If I’ve heard from Stiles?”_

“Yes! Do you know where he is? For certain?” she pressed on and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Without seeing the actual picture Stiles had tried to send, she had no way of knowing if this was a life-threatening emergency. The vision of Kate Argent with a shotgun crept into her mind over and over and she could not take any chances. That said, she would prefer not to get the National Guard involved over nothing.

“ _Uh, yeah, I know for certain he’s in his room,”_ the Sheriff said calmly.

“Are you sure?”

Another silence, as if the Sheriff was trying to work out the reason for Joe’s panicked voice. “ _Uh, yes, I saw him less than thirty seconds ago. And now I see you’re parking outside our house, what ex-”_

Joe cut the line and jumped out of her car. The Sheriff opened the door as she stormed up the driveway. He was dressed in plainclothes, but had the definite attitude of being at work. His brows furrowed.

“Hi,” Joe said with a wide grin as she caught her breath. She was going to kill Stiles. “Scott asked me to pick something up, something about a school project...” She drifted off, still grinning excessively, and the Sheriff eventually shrugged to let her in.

“All right. I’m headed for work. Guess I’ll see you at the game?”

Joe had no idea what he was talking about, but apparently there was a lacrosse match later that day. Aunt Mel worked a double, which meant Joe had to attend. Fine, she had the time anyway with the extended deadline. Joe gave the Sheriff two thumbs up and waved her hand vaguely towards the stairs. The Stilinski-home was in a different neighborhood, but reminded a lot of the McCall House with two stories and three bed rooms. The hallway was as far as she’d ever been in this house though, when she’d waited for Scott while picking him up.

“First door to the left,” the Sheriff said and nodded his head in a goodbye. Joe stormed up the staircase and thumped the first door on the left with her fist.

Stiles’ panicked voice came: _“Uh, aah, just a second, dad!”_

A split second later, Stiles threw himself out of the door and slammed his back against the doorway to shut it. The motion was enough to send a breath of air from inside his room to Joe. Her eyes widened with recognition immediately.

“Joe!” Stiles squeaked in hysteric surprise. He tried to grin, but the edges of his mouth never reached up before Joe pushed past him in the doorway. His skinny frame buckled when she shoved forwards. “W-wait!”

Too late.

“Whoa! Why are you- JEEZ!” Joe yelped and tried to shield her eyes with one hand and cover up Derek’s half-naked form with the other. “Why are you always shirtless?!”

Derek Hale stood frozen with what looked like one of Stiles’ t-shirts in his hands. The panic on his face was the most expression she had ever seen him emit. He had even stopped breathing, evident by how the muscles on his chest never moved a fraction. “Joe?”

“It’s Joe!” exclaimed Stiles who had bounced after her into the room.

Derek’s nostrils flared in barely controlled rage directed towards Stiles. “ _What_ is she doing here?”

“This idiot sent out an SOS!” Joe jerked her head towards Stiles, still trying not to look at Derek’s torso. “And then he doesn’t answer his phone! What else was I supposed to do?”

Stiles’s face split in a small smile. “Aw. You care.”

“Yes! I care! _You are a literal child!”_ Joe yelled while using both hands to emphasize the outburst, glad for the outlet. She turned to face Stiles, effectively putting Derek and his muscles behind her. Stiles’ incessant smile infuriated her further and she slapped at his shoulder with each word: “You - can - not - _do_ \- that! God! Save the emergency calls for an actual emergency!”

“Ow!” Stiles flinched from her light attacks. “But just to be clear, you also care about me becaus-”

“Aargh!” Joe shook her whole body, trying to shed all the excessive panic built up while driving here, and then turned to the final occupant of the room. Her voice turned as soft as she could make it: “Hi, sorry, I’m Joe. Scott’s cousin.”

“Danny,” said Danny, a tall and muscular boy of what she guessed was Hawaiian ancestry. He had remained by the computer when Joe burst in.

“You’re on the lacrosse team, right?”

“Yeah, I’m the goalie.”

“Nice to meet you,” Joe said earnestly and Danny nodded in return. She vaguely noticed Derek shrugging on the t-shirt in his hands, also just vaguely noticing how the muscles rippled on his abdomen at the movement. Every time he moved, a new waft of scent assaulted her senses, and she bit her teeth together to stay angry. Focusing on Stiles, she asked: “So, what’s the actual emergency?”

“You didn’t get the picture?” Stiles asked and practially radiated innocense.

“ _No,_ because my phone looks like this now.” She held up the old Nokia and Stiles paled in understanding. “Jesus Christ, Stiles, I called _you_ , Scott, the school, the hospital...”

Danny cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. He had apparently finished something on the computer and was rising with his backpack and jacket. “Uh, the text you wanted was sent from a computer. All the info’s on the screen. I, uh, I gotta get going.”

He gave everyone an unsure wave, said something about nice meeting you to both her and Derek, and Joe pushed Stiles out of the way to allow Danny a free exit. Stiles absent-mindedly said a good bye before he dove to the computer. That left Derek and Joe in the back and he was watching her warily, almost apprehensive. Like _she_ had been the one going on an animalistic rampage in _his_ house.

“What the hell, Derek?” she finally snapped and threw her hands up. “Is this some kind of reverse psychology? Figuring the last place the cops would search would be the home of the goddamn _Sheriff?”_

His gaze flickered to the side, as if he could not face her.

“Why is he here?” she demanded at Stiles’ back. “Stiles!”

“Because,” said Stiles in an exasparated tone. “Scott accidentally made him the most wanted man in the state and we’re trying to help clear his name.”

“Why are you not taking this to the police? Like, as in your _dad_?”

Joe groaned when Stiles shushed at her and rubbed her temples irritably. All this running around scared was starting to give her a headache. Professor Kane’s words about not playing detective echoed in her mind and she was tempted to just up and leave. If it hadn’t been for Scott...at least he was nowhere to be seen, hopefully preparing for his match later instead of running around with wanted fugitives.

“Fine, why am _I_ here? What picture did you try and send me?”

Stiles tore around and thrust a piece of paper into Joe’s hands. He must have caught some expression on Derek’s face because he blurted out with spread arms: “ _What?_ Joe’s literally our best source of knowledge. She’s writing a whole thesis about this stuff!”

“It’s not a thesis,” Joe mumbled, but absent-mindedly as she tried to make heads and tails of the drawing Stiles had handed over. It looked to be sketched out of memory on a legal pad and showed some sort of crest. It had absolutely nothing to do with her field of research, but it did look familiar.

Derek kept a respectful distance, but still tried to peer over her shoulder. “You’ve seen it before?”

“I think so,” Joe replied, lost in thought. “Or at least something similar. It looks like it’s a family crest.” It might have been a pendant of some sort — the drawing included a border around the different symbols. “You see here, that’s the most obvious one, right? A wolf. Now wolves, lions and bears are probably the most common animals used in coats of arms, because they’re fierce and whatever, but this one’s different. Look at how the wolf is positioned.”

Joe pointed to the drawing and both Stiles and Derek craned their necks to see. “It’s not in a, uh, threatening position, right? It’s showing us its entire side. That’s how you typically see boars or deer portrayed when they’re hunted. This part here,” she pointed again, “looks like a spear. These two on the side represent arows. And the chains are obvious.”

Derek and Stiles followed her cues to the different parts of the crest. “The less obvious part is the sun and the moon. Since this is obviously a coat of arms for a family that takes pride in hunting wolves, I think the celestials could represent how they hunt both day and night. These lines up here are actually alchemist’s symbol for silver and the rugged part here is probably meant to be tracks, as in tracking a prey.”

Joe gave the drawing back to Stiles. “That’s all I can deduce without actually seeing it in real life.”

“Wow.” Stiles put the drawing on his desk and then put both hands behind his head. He looked at Joe for a few seconds, as if gauging her reaction. “You’re pinning all the dots and still not making the connection.” At her furrowed brows, he shrugged widely. “Joe, you are officially the stupidest smart person I know!”

“It’s symbolism,” she exclaimed and tried to smack Stiles, but he dodged. “Not meant to be taken literally. Anyway, I know where I’ve seen it before. It’s from the legend of The Beast of Gev- _au_ -dan.” She winced at her own butchered French. “That’s the first written account of werewolf hunters.”

A long silence followed and Stiles’ eyes twitched as he stared at her. When she just shrugged back he threw his hands out and adressed the stoic Derek Hale. “She’s saying all the words, but still not getting it.”

“Shut up,” Derek shot back immediately. His normally sunny disposition was one of dark thoughts now. “It doesn’t help us.” She saw his jaw flex and relax several times before he managed to look at her. “I mean, you _did_ help us, but it doesn’t tell us anything new.”

Joe cocked an eyebrow. He was acting spazzy. “Whatever.” She looked at Stiles. “Why was this important enough to warrant an SOS?”

“It was one of the clues left behind by- ow! Jeez!” Stiles croaked as Derek’s hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder in a hard warning. Stiles brushed of Derek’s hand and retreated a few steps before looking at Joe again. “Fine! It’s just a clue. Left by no one.”

The only one in any position to leave clues for them would either be the real murderer — or Laura Hale. Joe bit her lip, tempted to reveal Laura’s work with Jimmy, but decided against it for now. Despite Jimmy’s insistence that Derek wasn’t the murderer, he did not seem keen to take up the same kind of allegiance with Derek.

“What about the text?” Derek finally asked Stiles, after they finished glaring at each other.

Joe looked between them. “What text?”

“Well, uh...” Stiles began and gestured towards the computer screen that Danny had left open. “You better see for yourself.”

Keenly aware of Derek’s intoxicating scent surrounding her now — this was probably the longest she’d been in an enclosed space with him — she tried to keep Stiles between them as she also leaned forwards to look at the screen. The page showed a bunch of computer mumbo-jumbo, but the last line was the interesting one. The text originated from a specific user at the Beacon Hills Memorial: Melissa McCall.

“Aunt Mel sent a text?” she asked, not seeing the significance.

“No way,” Stiles muttered and slammed himself back in his chair. “It couldn’t have been her.”

“What text are you tracing anyway?” Joe said and tried to get a better look. The motion accidentally brushed her shoulder against Derek’s and she could have been convinced she’d been tasered again. She jolted away from him, the edge of her shoulder burning, and thanked God he didn’t appear to have noticed. He focused on the computer, neck muscles tense.

“Uhhh...” said Stiles in a drawn out way that was the most surefire way to know he was planning to lie. Joe squinted and looked at the time stamp. It matched with the night of the janitor’s murder.

“Aunt Mel is connected to the dead janitor?” she exclaimed, looking between the pair of them in case either of them budged. “Come on! I just broke a dozen speed limits getting over here to look at your stupid crest, the least you can do is answer me!”

Stiles faltered and made a bunch of inquisitive expressions at Derek. The latter seemed to finally make up his mind and pushed himself up to stand tall in front of Joe. This was the first time today he had straightened up to full height and she was reminded just how big he was.

Derek’s jaw was tight and he seemed to struggle to say the words: “Go home, Joe.”

“Excuse me?” Joe had bent backwards to save herself from his alluring scent that gave her body all the wrong cues. Her brows were drawn tightly together. “If Aunt Mel is involved, I-”

His nostrils flared and he grabbed hold of her arm to steer her closer to the door. He cast a dark look towards Stiles, who did his utmost to pretend he was neither seeing or hearing them. Derek’s voice was still tight, but surprisingly gentle. “I can’t protect the both of you. You need to go home. _I_ need you to go home.”

Both of them looked at his large hand clasped around her wrist and he let go immediately. His breath came heavy, like he struggled to be in control, and Joe could imagine him flipping out again, growling and clawing up the woodworks.

Derek shut his eyes, squeezing them together. “I’m sorry. I don’t...I’m not trying to... I...” He let out a low growl of frustration. The hair on Joe’s arm rose in response to the sound, and especially with the last word he forced out without looking at her: “ _Please_.”

Joe’s eyes darted over to Stiles, who sat poised and obviously listening in on them. Derek’s voice was so low she couldn’t imagine Stiles heard a thing. Derek opened his eyes briefly and she swallowed at the disconserting feeling of being caught in his stare. He closed them again in defeat when she shook her head.

“I’m not going home if Aunt Mel is involved!” she protested. Derek’s mouth twisted downward and the muscles on his body shifted as he breathed heavily. “So either tell me what’s going on or I’m gonna go ask-”

“ _Damn it!”_

Joe jumped as Derek slammed his fist into the wall. The impact sent several of Stiles’ posters flying to the ground.

Stiles piped up: _“Hey, hey, hey, easy with the property damage.”_

She hardly heard him, full focus now on the absolutely livid Derek Hale. His breath came in long even draws that made his chest rise up and down, showcasing all that muscle, all that strength, that could do some serious damage. His eyes were open and wild, almost glowing, and her breath halted when he shouted:

_“GO!”_

Legs moving on their own, she stumbled backwards to the door, desperate for an exit. Her eyes never left Derek, his face twisted in an awful grimace, as he came towards her. She paused, trying to think, trying to be rational, and he slammed both hands to the doorframe next to her and let out an animalistic roar in her face.

_“LEAVE!”_

Her heart beat so fast she was sure she would suffer a stroke. Unthinking, unseeing, she fled out of the Stilinski House and dashed to her car. Hands shaking, she struggled to get the key in the ignition and instincts had her checking the front door she just came out in case he was after her. It was not until she stopped the car again outside the McCall house that her breath came back.

Joe sat stiffly in the driver seat, both hands still locked on the steering wheel, even if she turned off the engine several minutes ago. She could feel her heart thumping hard against her ribcage, see the goosebumps lining her arms, taste the wild panic of short labored breaths.

What just happened? She looked wild eyed around the car, suddenly unfamiliar and strange. The McCall House outside almost made her sick. Her mind swam. Dizziness made her sway in her seat. Her head slumped back against the headrest. What just happened?

Never in her life had her whole body filled to the brim with such primal raw fear. She’d been skeptical of Derek before, anxious, worried, apprehensive, but not scared like that. Even the other night at their house, she could not really believe he would hurt her. Now she could. And she’d left Stiles alone with him. The thought of going back made her squirm. He hadn’t threatened Stiles though. Just her.

Her eyes fell on the digital clock display on the dashboard. Almost match time. Stiles would be there, Scott had said something about Stiles making first-line. Scott would be there. If she went to the match, it’d be okay.

At least that’s what she managed to convince herself.

* * *

The carpet in the living room would have deep furrows by the end of the night if Joe kept up this pacing. After returning from the Stilinskis, she had found it impossible to relax. She’d locked the doors, checked the windows, charged her taser and she still felt like the shadows were going to jump up and attack her at any time.

She’d called the hospital, asking for Aunt Mel, and the conversation lasted all about fifteen seconds before Aunt Mel had hurriedly informed her that it was a busy night and she needed to work. She sounded okay. She did not sound at all like she had anymore inside information about the dead janitor at the school, not that Joe could pinpoint how that would sound anyway.

Scott had finally texted her back and confirmed when the match began and that he would go directly there. No hints of where he currently was. Joe gnawed on her lip. She felt like she needed another shower, but going out in the winter night with wet hair did not sound tempting. With all the clothes she’d bundle up in, no one would notice how sloppy she looked.

The clock ticked ever closer to match start and Joe paced in tune with the ticking. This was not the first time she went alone to these games. After all, Aunt Mel often had to work. So why was this spiky pit in the bottom of her stomach churning at the thought of going alone tonight? Scott would still be there, although on the field. The Sheriff was gonna be there.

The Argents...

The thought of Kate made her shudder again. No reason for her to attend the game as far as Joe knew, but it was the sort of thing that happened in small towns. You sort of showed up to whatever was happening. High school lacrosse games included. She wished now that her old gang from her undergrad years were still at Berkeley, they would definitely go with her to keep her company. Almost definitely at least. If she paid for their gas.

They usually had a reunion in the Spring. The closest one of them lived in Seattle, hours away even if she suddenly decided to drop everything at Joe’s call.

A knock at the front door made Joe stop pacing. She made no inclination of moving to answer it. What if it was Kate? Or Derek? Or Mister X? The mystery person knocked again and she saw the silhouette move through the hallway window.

_“Delgado! Joe!”_

Joe’s shoulders relaxed and she opened the door to see Jimmy Carter out on the doorstep. He wore surprisingly normal clothes, if you counted black and white checkered pants normal. It contrasted with the red tip of his nose, a byproduct of the outside chill.

“Hey,” she said and let him into the hallway. It was getting colder every minute now that nightfall approached. “What’s up?”

“What’s up? You never returned any of my calls!” Jimmy exclaimed and stamped his feet inside to get some warmth back. Joe peered outside, but couldn’t see his car. He must have parked down the street and walked over. “I was going to wait the normal twenty-four hours before reporting you missing, but thought I’d better check your house first.”

“Right,” said Joe and now guilt joined all the other bad feelings pooling around inside her. Last he heard from her, she was pursuing the unmarked car chasing Derek Hale.

“Right!” Jimmy looked around the house in disdain. It was a stark contrast with his minimalist style. “So, what happened?”

Joe paraphrased the events of last night, revealing Kate’s identity, but leaving out the part about the shotgun and frisk search.

“Kate Argent...” Jimmy mused aloud. He took out a notebook and apparently wrote it down. “I’ve seen or heard that name somewhere. I’ll have to cross-reference my notes.”

“Her niece was one of the girls at the school the night the janitor died,” Joe explained, hoping to deter Jimmy from any more supernatural theories by giving Kate a real motive.

“Argent means silver in French, you know that?” Jimmy said absent-mindedly and Joe felt a tingle in the back of her neck. Silver, like the symbol on the crest for a family of wolf hunters. Silver, like the most common werewolf deterrent in all folklore. Wolf hunters. Werewolf hunters.

“Filling in the blanks,” she mumbled and rubbed her temples. She was doing exactly what Professor Kane had warned her about. Before, she had always viewed the culprits of folklore myths as simple people with simple theories. Now that she was smack in the middle of it, she could sympathize a little more. Letting her limp curls fall back, she became aware that Jimmy was giving her the same disdainful look he’d given the house.

“You doing okay, Delgado?” he asked with a bushy brow raised high. “You’re looking a little worn.”

Joe hugged herself, self-consciously folding the hoodie to hide her frame even more. She usually wore at least a minimum of make-up when leaving the house, but could not be bothered the last few days. It probably made her look worse than she felt.

“When was the last time you slept? Or ate something?” Jimmy scrutinized her in her oversized outfit. “Or had anything to drink other than coffee?”

Her mouth opened to answer each of the questions, but she found that no words came. She did not know. Instead of admitting that, she shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“You sure? You’re taking this whole overworked grad-student look a bit too far.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry I didn’t get all made up before you dropped in unannounced!” Joe snapped and marched back to the door. “You’re free to leave if my appearance offends you that much!”

Jimmy gaped at her with an angry frown on his lips. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but then closed his eyes and took a deep breath like a meditating monk would. The hairs of his beard vibrated as he exhaled. He caught her disturbed look and shrugged. “Anger management classes.” Joe’s eyebrows rose, but he continued before she could comment. “I was not trying to offend you. I was simply expressing my concerns about your welfare, and I apologize for the lack of tact.”

That left Joe hanging by the door, unsure of where to look. “Oh.” She nodded awkwardly. “Uh, okay.” He seemed to be waiting for more response so she shrugged while studying the sand left behind by Scott’s oversized sneakers on the floor. “Apology accepted, I guess?”

It apparently did the trick, because Jimmy nodded. “You want to go grab some food? Not as a date, obviously, just...food.”

“Yeah, that’d be okay,” Joe admitted, finally allowing herself to feel her body’s hunger cues. “Oh, shit, I can’t! I gotta go to this lacrosse match...” A thought struck her and she sized Jimmy up. “You wanna come with me?”

“I’m not really a sports fan,” Jimmy said and his expression confirmed it. He looked like he had a permanent bad smell in his nose.

“Please?” Joe asked and hated how desparate she sounded. Accompanied by Jimmy Carter beat showing up there alone. “We can pick up food on the way!”

“Sitting outside on some freezing bleachers watching high schoolers run around on a fake grass field is not my idea of a good time.”

Joe shifted her weight from one foot to another. Desperate times, desperate measures. “How would you like to get your hands on all the police files for Laura’s murder up until Derek’s arrest?”

His face blanked in shock. “All of them? How?”

“I’ll give you both the files and the backstory if you come with me to the game.”

She could practically see the inner war going on in his head. His hate for jocks vs. his curiosity in the case. In the end, he nodded and struck out his hand.

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not easy being Joe.   
> As always, thank you for reading. Please leave a comment if there was anything you liked, disliked or think I got wrong. In general, anything at all :)   
> By the way, the interpretation of the Argent crest is my own, I never found any official explanation of the symbols in canon. Hope it's not too far-fetched.


	14. The Date II

Jimmy complained the entire time they made their way to the bleachers furthest away from the rest of the crowd. The chill, the noise, the sickly smell of whatever sweet treat they were selling at the booth, everything offended him. Joe had to threaten to pull back her offer of the police files to make him shut up. They carried with them two takeout boxes with whatever deep-fried goodness Jimmy had ordered at the local diner and perched them on their knees after finding some seats.

“I still cannot believe you did not divulge that detail earlier,” Jimmy muttered as he delicately dipped each individual fry in ketchup before eating it. He was referencing the police files, of course, and the anonymous delivery. “I get why you’re so paranoid now.”

Joe glared, but the irony seemed completely lost for him. Shrugging it off, she scanned the fields for the two players she cared about. She actually wasn’t sure of Stiles’ number — he’d never been on the field before, usually chilling on the bench with the other replacements. At least she saw Scott, thank God, and she waved in his direction hoping he would see her. He seemed busy looking for someone else though and Joe let her hand drop back.

She recognized Danny, of course, taking up his position as goalie. And the captain, or co-captain or however they were organized now, but still could not see Stiles.

“You see anyone with the Stilinski-name on his back?” she asked Jimmy and he also squinted at the players in red. They both came up short.

“Maybe he’s running late,” Jimmy suggested and kept eating his fries with infuriating meticulousness. Joe hadn’t disclosed what had transpired earlier that day at the Stilinskis. She had problems wrapping her head around it. It sounded lame that she’d left a teenager alone with an alleged murderer because said murderer _shouted_ at her and it made her scared.

Joe bit off her glove and sent a text-message to Stiles. Maybe his Jeep had stalled in the cold weather and he needed a ride. The reply came instantly.

‘on my way!’

The downside of text-messaging was that it was difficult to confirm identities. Anyone could have written that text from Stiles’ phone. Just like anyone could have written that other text from Aunt Mel’s account. The only comfort she could find was that Derek Hale did not seem like the kind of guy to throw in an exclamation mark.

She put her phone in the pocket of her jeans — Jimmy had made her change into actual clothes and not loungewear — knowing she’d feel the vibration at least if someone called or texted. If he did not get her soon, the game would start without him.

It did. Without Stiles, the Coach made some rearrangements and brought Danny out from the goalie-position. Joe watched in silent fascination when Scott dominated much of the playing time, but passing the ball to Danny at every chance he got. The bleachers on the Beacon Hills-side exploded with each new goal, slowly putting Beacon Hills in the lead. Joe and Jimmy clapped politely — neither felt compelled to jump up and down, even with people around them chanting and hollering.

Jimmy nudged Joe when they reached half-time. He leaned back and smiled, something she could not remember if he had ever done before. When he spoke, he kept his mouth in that same smile: “Don’t look, but is that woman over there staring at you? I said don’t look!” He waited until Joe focused on him instead of spinning around to see what woman he was talking about. “Look down at your phone, she won’t see you with your head bent. There, you see her? Blonde, conventionally attractive, sitting next to the dark-haired girl.”

Kate Argent. Who else? Joe could make her out between her eye-lashes from the stupid position Jimmy had her in. Seated on the bleachers diagonally across from Joe and Jimmy, Kate sat squashed between her brother and niece. Instead of watching the players doing their second warm-up of the night, she had leaned forwards and studied Joe intently.

Joe shook her head a bit, putting away her phone, hoping to keep her face mostly hidden. “That’s Kate Argent.”

“Figured it might be,” Jimmy murmured, took out his note book, and wrote down a brief physical description of Kate. Joe raised her eyebrow at this. “Just in case.” He wrote medium-tall, athetic build, long dark blond hair. It was accurate, but not nearly enough to cover the bombshell she actually was. Joe swallowed and found it hard to fix her gaze on anything now, as if she could feel Kate’s stare bore into her.

Half-time and still no Stiles. No reply when she texted him. Damn it.

“I think Stiles is in trouble.” She kept her voice to a whisper, just in case Kate Argent had developed super hearing.

Jimmy let his contempt for police shine through. “Stiles...is that the Stilinski kid?”

Joe rolled her eyes and was going to berate him for focusing on that instead of the fact a high school boy might be in actual danger. She never got that far. Instead, she bent over her knees and grunted at a sudden jab of pain in her stomach. “Ugh!”

“Joe?”

“Ah!” Another round of hurt, now in her face. She hissed. Gut again. Twice. “God!”

It was like menstrual pain, sharp cramps appearing from nothing at random places in her body. It was like that near heart-attack from the other night, the one that she had tried her best to push to the back of her memory.

“Ow, shit!” she swore and now people were turning towards her. She tried to grin through the pain and grunted: “Time of the month, ya know.”

“Are you hurting?” Jimmy asked and Joe widened her eyes, silently calling him out on what a stupid question that was. He seemed to catch on and hurriedly helped her stand. Joe flinched every time a new jolt hit, most centered on her chest, a few to her face. She touched her cheek, wondering how it wasn’t swollen or bruised, while Jimmy aided her down the bleachers.

“Hospital,” she croaked to Jimmy who helped her lay down in the back of her own car. “Please.”

“I don’t think they can help you.” Jimmy sounded sincerely apologetic and he got in to start the car, leaving it in idle to get the heater running.

“What?” Joe bit out, now laying in a fetal position, clutching her aching abdoment. The jabs had stopped, at least temporarily. Was this what a burst appendix felt like? Did you get face cramps then?

“I think...” Jimmy drummed his hands on his knees, looking at her through the rearview mirror. “I think this means that Derek’s in trouble.”

_You felt it, didn’t you?_ Derek’s question after last time. When she thought her heart would burst before finding him in a pool of blood. His pain, her pain. Her pain, his pain?

“That makes absolutely no sense,” Joe said through gritted teeth, as much to herself as to Jimmy. Another crash hard against her back and she bent over. “AAAH!”

Like someone had thrown her through a wall, she felt her bones ache and burst, then the opposite when they pieced themself back together again. Her jaw strained as she tried to keep from crying out again.

“Look, I really don’t know much about this.” Jimmy was talking fast, almost too fast for her to catch everything. “This is really rare, on the border of mythical. I mean, I never thought I’d get to see it for myself. True mates, it’s just, it’s-”

“Shut up!”

Jimmy didn’t stop, but Joe tuned him out in favor of writhing in agony. It was like being hit by a car or getting a beatdown by a whole gang of people. It’d been a while since she’d been on the receiving end of one and she had not exactly missed it.

A long while passed before she felt she could breathe again without her ribcage constraining her lungs. She groaned and pushed herself up to a seated position. The pain lessened gradually, subsiding back to whatever faulty organ had spurred it on. She twisted and turned, feeling if any of her bones had actually cracked or if it had just felt like it. Nothing induced excruciating pain, so she figured she would be fine.

She glared at Jimmy through the mirror who was still talking. “Would you please shut the hell up! I got enough problems without you and everyone else trying to fill my head with all this supernatural nonsense!”

He rolled his eyes and waved his hand at her. “Then how do you explain this?”

“I don’t have to!” Joe claimed and fixed her shirt that had ridden up when twisting on her seats. “I’ll leave that to the doctors.”

“Your GP won’t be able to help you!”

“Well, at least she can prescribe painkillers!” Joe shot back immediately. She glared out the window towards the lacrosse field. “Shit! We missed the second half.”

Jimmy gave a feigned look of disappointment and said in a deadpanned voice: “Oh, no, how awful.”

“Jimmy, I swear, please shut up!” Whatever good the meal had done her seemed to have evaporated after this last round of...whatever the hell it was. No amount of transfat in the world could substitute actual sleep and she was running pretty low on it these days. Maybe she’d check herself in the ER anyway, just to get some rest. Too bad the medical bills would bankrupt her.

“Car.”

Joe’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Car,” Jimmy repeated and nodded towards a pair of headlights approaching rapidly. They sat high on the ground and when it parked carelessly in the middle of the lot, she confirmed it to be Stiles’ Jeep.

Joe was out of the car in an instant and ran to intercept Stiles. His eyes were wide and his shirt stained with sweat, but looked unharmed when he almost ran her down.

“Joe!” he exclaimed as she said: “Stiles! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Well, no, I’m not. Like physically, I’m okay. Emotionally I can’t even begin to list the damage,” he rattled on while his whole body shook. Stiles turned his head this way and that. “Where’s Scott?”

“He was playing...” Joe gestured towards the field, but they were shutting off the lights now. Party over. People were beginning to trek back to the parking lot. She turned back to Stiles, but found him gone. The top of his buzzcut zig-zagged between the crowd, making his way towards the school. Joe swore and dashed back to her car.

Jimmy sat where she’d left him when she tore open the passenger door to root through the glove compartment. He was infuriatingly calm. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know!”

“Was he hurt?”

“No, I don’t think so. Damn it, where is that goddamn-” she muttered darkly and rummaged through the contents. She’d left her best taser at home, but there should be a smaller backup here somewhere.

“What about Derek, is he okay?”

Joe snapped her head up to glare at Jimmy. “Who the hell cares about Derek?!”

Jimmy made a half-shrugging motion. “Well, you probably should.”

“Arggh!” Joe, too angry for words, let out a guttural growl and clasped her hand over the smaller stun gun. Finally! She barked at Jimmy. “Stay here!”

Jimmy was already scrambling out of his seat. “Where are you going?”

“To find Scott!” Joe had already started running over the parking lot. She dodged people left and right, and happened to catch a glimpse of Kate and Allison just in time to dive behind a larger pickup truck. Smiling at the confused driver, she skulked alongside it and darted up on the other side to keep running. Stiles had been frantic in finding Scott and now she was too.

She made her way over the field to where she’d seen the players retreat after the game. The double doors opened to a hallway that laid darkened without even the emergency exit sign being on. Outside, the large spotlights on the field still shone. Not a power outage then.

Her winter boots squeaked on the lineloum in the empty hallway. She’d expected it to be full of players, but the game must have ended longer ago than she thought. No one was here. No one but her.

“The locker-”

“Ah!” Joe hollered and spun around with the stun gun out. Jimmy jumped back and barely avoided electrocution by her hands. “Jesus Christ, Jimmy!”

Jimmy held his breath until she let her thumb of the trigger. “Okay,” he said in a calming manner. “Like I was trying to tell you, the locker rooms are down this way.”

“I thought I told you to stay in the car!” Joe hissed, but went in the direction he indicated.

“I don’t see how that would be helpful in any way,” Jimmy retorted and Joe swallowed the response where she wanted to ask how he was planning to be helpful by coming along. At least it made the deserted school less creepy and Jimmy knew his way around here, not surprising at he’d spent at least four years roaming these halls. Based on his physique, she doubted he had spent too much time in the locker rooms though. If so, it was probably in an actual locker.

When they got closer, they heard the voices of Scott and Stiles. Joe let out a deep breath and switched off her stun gun to put it in her pocket. Whatever they were discussing, Stiles was doing most of the talking and it sounded like a vivid reenactment of some kind of fight.

“... _then he was just suddenly there, like BAM, with his face all...”_

“ _Shh.”_

_“No, with his face all-”_

_“Stiles, shh, I think I hear something.”_

“You two are going to be the absolute death of me,” Joe exclaimed when entering through the doors to the boys’ locker rooms. It smelled just as bad as expected and she idly wondered if her nostrils would shut down in protest. At least she could avoid inhaling all of Derek Hale again. Scott and Stiles were lounging on some benches — Scott’s wet hair hung flat on his head, the obvious aftermaths of a shower. Like the hallways, the locker rooms bathed in darkness.

“Joe, what are you doing here?” Scott asked, but instead of answering, Joe trudged up to him and gave him a tired hug. Satisfied that he seemed alive and well, she turned to Stiles and gave him the same kind of exhausted embrace.

Stiles seemed happy enough when she let go, but the expression faltered at the sight of Jimmy in the doorway. “Who’s he?”

Joe looked over her shoulder at the checkered pants, messy haired, bushy bearded Jimmy Carter. “Oh, that’s Jimmy.”

Stiles did a dancing motion with his head. “Oh, that’s Jimmy, my best friend? My boyfriend? My dance partner? What?”

“Just Jimmy,” Joe murmured, knowing Jimmy probably would prefer to leave his last name out of it. He hovered in the doorway, not coming in, and just nodded in greeting to Scott and Stiles.

Joe tried to look Scott and Stiles over. No apparent injuries, and the emotional damage on Stiles was probably all on the inside. The adrenaline crash made her feel like a five day old balloon. No air left.

“Are you okay?” she asked Scott, who nodded a bit uncertainly. She turned to Stiles. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, well...”

Joe accepted Stiles’ hesitant answer and nodded to herself. “Okay. Good. We’re all okay. Everything’s okay. Okay. I’m gonna go home now. Okay? And sleep, if that’s okay.”

“You do not look like you should be driving.” It was Scott who pointed this out, a lucky fact, because he was tough enough to withstand her glare.

“I’ll drive,” Jimmy said from the doorway. He held up her keys as proof.

Stiles mouthed: “Who are you?”, but everyone ignored him. Joe waved a hand at them over her back and trudged after Jimmy, already half asleep.

* * *

“... _continued police presence as the intensified search for Derek Hale continues. For sports, we are proud to announce that the Beacon Hills Cyclones are heading for the state championship after beating fellow Beacon County high school...”_

The kitchen radio, tuned into a local station, summarized last night’s surprising triumph for the local high school team after a report on how main suspect in the murder of George Hall remained at large. Joe nursed a strong cup of coffee, listening with half an ear, but mostly just staring out the window. She was trying, she was really trying, to take Professor Kane’s advice, but her mind seemed to work against her.

True to his word, Jimmy had driven her home last night. Unfortunately, by the time they got back, Aunt Mel was home from work and had given Joe all kinds of knowing smirks after Jimmy left. She’d caught on that Joe was too tired to talk, but Joe figured there was another uncomfortable conversation looming ahead.

True to her word, Joe slept through the night and most of the following day. No new assignments waited for her in her inbox, and she tried to remember what she actually used to do when not working or running around after Scott. Right now she settled for bird watching, a suitably boring activity to contrast the last few weeks. Outside, Aunt Mel’s beat up car swung into the driveway and seconds later the front door opened.

_“Hi, I’m home, I’m late, I need to shower!”_

Aunt Mel ran through the hallway, shouting over her shoulder to whoever listened. Joe did not have time to turn before Aunt Mel slammed the upstairs bathroom door shut again. Looks like that uncomfortable conversation was postponed a little longer. Fine by her.

Scott should be home any second now too. That was her main reason for lounging in the kitchen instead of her room, so she could confront him the second he got home. She needed some answers. She deserved some answers.

Coffee cup now empty, she rinsed it absentmindedly in the sink. She had thought — no, hoped — that a good night’s sleep would make her feel better again. It hadn’t. After yesterday, she just felt...hollow. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see Derek’s face contorted in a furious rage. Roaring at her to go, to leave, to _get out!_ The clatter of the coffee cup hitting the bottom of the sink snapped her out of her thoughts. Her fingers trembled so hard she’d dropped the cup and she flexed them to get them back under control.

“Get a grip,” she mumbled and slammed her hand against the tap to stop the water. Sighing, she put both hands on the counter and leaned forwards, bending her head to ease out some tension in her neck. Sleep, food, coffee — why did she still look and feel like a deflated old football?

Something prickled the back of her neck. Humans could not actually sense being watched — several experiments had disproved it — but Joe could not shake that exact feeling. Slowly, trying to breathe evenly, she craned her neck up again to look out the window. In the still bright afternoon, the sun glittered on frozen dead leaves on the ground. On the sidewalk, Derek Hale stood with both hands in his pockets, looking right at her.

Instinct had her take a step back and she bumped against the kitchen table. She did not dare break eye contact, afraid he would skulk back in the shadows only to reappear somewhere else if she did. The radio continued prattling on about the new low front approaching the county, upstairs Aunt Mel hummed in the shower, and in the kitchen she could hear her own quick breaths.

Like a cornered prey, she remained rooted in front of the window. Even from this distance, she could tell something was off. He looked fine — hell, he always looked fine — but there was not a scratch on him. Nothing at all to indicate he had been hurt yesterday, if she was willing to lend even a half a thought to Jimmy’s theory. Her phone lay behind her on the table and she reached for it slowly, hoping the counter cut her bottom half from his field of vision.

Derek shrugged his head in the direction of their backyard. His eyebrows were slightly drawn together in a soft expression; suggestive, inviting. Joe found herself nodding in consent and he disappeared from sight towards the back.

Keeping her hands concealed behind her, she exited through the back door. The last rays of sunshine highlighted the deep black of his hair and made his already bright eyes glow. Like through the window, he kept his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. More importantly, he stayed more than twelve feet away. Out of range from her taser.

“You got exactly ten seconds before I call the cops,” Joe said and the grass crunched under her sandals she wore around the house. The fresh air and the distance dilluted his scent, making it easier for her to think.

Derek’s eyes flickered to her hands hidden behind her back before returning to her face. His soft eyes did not match the authorative stance. “You okay, Joe?”

Was she okay? No. Was that something to admit to a psychotic stalker slash murderer (alleged)? No. Instead, she bit out: “Nine.”

“We should talk.” The edges of Derek’s lips lifted slightly, a carefree and casual expression. His eyes did not follow. Fake. Liar. He even shrugged, and compared to his usual low-key body language it looked theatrical. “I’m sure you have questions.”

Too many. Too many questions, but her problems laid in too many answers. “Eight.”

“You feel it too, right?” Derek took a step forward and her fingers tightened around the plastic handle behind her. Something had happened, he was...different. “This connection between us?”

“Seven.” If he took one more step closer, he was in range. Problem was he would expect it. She had one shot. It wasn’t a gun where she could empty a magazine at him, she only had the single chance to get him. If she missed... “Six.”

He tilted his head a bit, again appearing to listen to something. Derek gave her a half-smile and this one actually did reach his eyes, as if in relief. “You’re not scared. You’re angry.”

Joe’s lips lifted in a grimace. One more step. One more step and she had him. She drew out the word, trying to stay calm, not waste the shot. “F-i-v-e.”

Just as she thought he was going to take the last step towards her, he stepped back instead. The light in his eyes dimmed and all that was left was his usual blank expression. No softness, no edge, nothing. “There’s gonna be a lot happening now, Joe. You should consider staying indoors until we’re done-”

“Done with what?” she snapped. Her arms ached from clutching her phone and taser behind her, poised and ready over two different triggers. “Getting your revenge? Killing people?”

His nostrils flared and he seemed to resist the urge to take his hands out of his pockets. The leather creaked at his bulging biceps. “You know I haven’t killed anyone. Otherwise you would have called the cops the second you saw me.”

“Trust me, _I_ don’t even know what I know these days!” Joe’s thumbs were cramping, if she pushed down, she’d call 911 immediately. Unable to take it, she released her arms forwards to emphasize her words. “Now get out! Get out of my yard, of my house, of my car, of my room, of my bed, of my nose, _of my life_!”

He took a step back at her outburst, eyebrows slightly drawn together again, unsure, nervous. Gaze flickering, scouring her face, looking for something she was obviously not giving him. “Your n-”

“ _911, what’s your emergency?”_

Their eyes met — his wide, hers narrowed. He had not thought she would actually go through with it. The dispatch operator repeated her question and Joe put the phone to her ear, never taking her eyes off Derek.

Her voice shook. “My name is _Josefina_ Delgado, I live in 821 Williamson Road, Beacon Hills. There’s a strange man in my backyard, he looks like that police sketch-”

Derek let out a harsh growling noise in disbelief. He gritted his teeth, turned on his heel and took off straight into the forest. The bushes rustled in his wake, moving fast away from the house.

“-of Derek Hale,” Joe finished into the phone. She struggled to breathe, as if the guilt suffocated her from the inside. She did not have a choice though. He did not give her a choice. She had to do it, to protect her family. Whatever Derek was mixed up in — he might not be the murderer, but he was too deep involved to be innocent — she wanted no part of it. Not for her, not for Scott.

“ _Ma’am, I’m dispatching a patrol car to your location. Can you still see the individual?”_

“No.” Joe slumped against the backdoor. Not even the scent of Derek lingered. He was long gone. “No, he took off.”

“ _Okay, I understand, ma’am. The police is on their way, please hold the line.”_

She stayed outside until the police car finally arrived, sirens blaring, and the 911-operator signed off. The deputies took her statement (“You sure he was on foot? No sign of a vehicle? Where did you first see him?”) and trekked maybe twenty yards into the forest, looking for tracks. They pressed her if she was sure of the identity, showed her the rough police sketch several times. No picture, she noted to herself. How could they not have a picture of him?

“Did he say anything to you? Did he have a weapon on him?”

Joe answered no to all of their questions. Just as they were packing up to leave, after noting her name and contact information in case of any follow-ups, Aunt Mel appeared by the open backdoor. That had to be an excessive shower, Joe thought, she’d been in there for ages. Dressed in just her bathrobe and slippers, Aunt Mel froze at the sight of the deputies.

“Ma’am,” the older of the pair said to her with a respectful nod. Aunt Mel clutched her bathrobe shut and nodded stiffly in return. Grimacing, she tore off her towel turban and gave Joe a look of worry and irritation mixed together.

“Why are the police here?” Aunt Mel hissed when she ushered Joe back into the warmth of the kitchen. Aunt Mel plodded to the hallway window to peer out at the police car driving away again. “Did something happen?”

“I called them, I thought I saw that guy from the news outside,” Joe mumbled, not in the mood for lying. Her brows furrowed as she studied her aunt. “Did you shave your legs?”

Aunt Mel had a thin line of blood running from her ankle, as if she nicked herself with a razor. Aunt Mel tried to cross her legs the other way and struggled to get the bathrobe to cover even more of herself. “Yes, Joe, occasionally I, too, fall victim to the anti-feminist societal standards, like all others.” Satisfied that the cops were gone, she tried to look sternly at Joe. “What guy from the news?”

“The one wanted for the school-incident.”

“Derek Hale? Here? In our backyard?” Now Aunt Mel flip-flopped to the backdoor again to make sure he wasn’t lurking back there.

“I’m not sure, he looked similar.” Again, Joe’s brows furrowed when Aunt Mel passed her. She wrinkled her nose. “Are you wearing perfume?”

“Yes, Joe, yes, I’m wearing perfume,” Aunt Mel said in an exasperated tone. She turned away from this window too and her brows were knotted in an uncertain smile. “Is it too much? Like, overpowering in any way? If it is, I can take another shower. If I just do it right now, I can still make it.”

“No, I like it,” Joe said as earnestly as she could. “Just, uh, why are you wearing perfume?”

“Well,” said Aunt Mel as she wrung her hands together. Whatever it was, it was enough to take her mind off the fact that a known fugitive could possibly have strolled through her backyard. She smiled again, nervously, excited. “I got a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope everyone remembers who Melissa McCall has a date with and why Derek was getting a beatdown when everyone else attended the game. Joe is getting tired of all the mystery, poor thing. Also, name reveal! Joe is actually Josefina. It's meant to have a Spanish pronunciation: "ho-se-fi-na" :)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Thank you all so much for reading and especially thank you to the commenters. I really look forward to hearing your thoughts about the chapter <3


	15. The Stalker III

The girl in front of her smiled nervously. Even though she reached several inches taller than Joe, she hunched her shoulders in an attempt to make herself smaller. Her long dark hair was halfway pulled away from her face — Joe had no trouble seeing the family resemblance. She had the same strong jawline like Kate had. Joe also had no trouble seeing why Scott was head over heels for this girl.

“So, uh, is Scott home?” Allison Argent smiled with closed lips and raised her eyebrows in a hopeful expression.

Joe considered her options. Normally, she would have given Scott a heads up that there was a young pretty teenage girl heading for his room unexpectedly. Normally, she would without a doubt have checked with Scott first if she should invite his ex-girlfriend — who had dumped him — into their house. Normally, though, she wasn’t pissed off at Scott.

He’d arrived home and much like his mom, sprinted upstairs while shouting “Not now, Joe!” over his shoulder when Joe tried to call his name.

“Yeah, he’s in his room,” Joe said with a friendly smile and opened the front door wider to let the girl inside. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

“Thanks,” said Allison with another tight smile and fidgeted with her long necklace that reached halfway down her chest. First Joe just noticed it briefly, but recognition sent alarm bells ringing in her head. Joe stared at Allison’s necklace, the pendant especially, and a tight core of ice began forming in her stomach.

“That’s a really interesting necklace,” she said, hoping it would come of as normal girl talk. She gestured for Allison to ascend the staircase.

“Oh, thanks.” Allison smiled and grabbed the larger pendant to hold it up as they walked. “It’s a family heirloom. My aunt gave it to me.”

The hunted wolf, the spears, the arrows and the silver. Joe licked her lips and nodded. “It’s very...unique.” The drawing she had seen of the crest hadn’t shown its strange shape. It almost looked like it had been made out of impure silver, maybe re-melted at some point. Of a silver bullet, maybe?

The storytelling ape, Joe reminded herself. But her own mind wouldn’t listen to her. That used to be Kate Argent’s necklace. Stiles and Derek had called it a clue, but a clue to what?

“It’s the last door on the right,” Joe said when they came upstairs. Allison thanked her and seemed to steel herself before knocking on the door to Scott’s room.

Joe rolled her eyes when Scott yelled: _“Not now, mom!”_ She went back downstairs to give the teenage lovebirds some semblance of privacy. Aunt Mel probably had not heard the doorbell, too busy changing outfits every three minutes in between doing her makeup. To be fair, Joe could not even remember the last time Aunt Mel had gone out on a date. Between her work and Scott, there wasn’t too many hours in the day left for herself. Hopefully this sales representative who’d smooth-talked her today would show her a good time.

Aunt Mel used to joke that she wouldn’t mind living vicariously through Joe, but Joe’s own love life had never been exciting enough to warrant any attention. After that disastrous first year at Berkeley with Alex, she’d stayed away from the dating scene. If she tried to, she could convince herself that it was on purpose.

Back in the kitchen, after making sure the rest of the household remained upstairs, she called Jimmy’s cell-phone.

_“Delgado, you’re alive.”_

Joe rolled her eyes. It was less than twenty-four hours since they last talked. After he had driven her home, she’d given him the entire stack of case files for Laura Hale’s murder. She’d thought that would be enough to occupy him for a while at least.

“Hello to you too,” she mumbled into the receiver. “Listen, did you find anything on Kate Argent?” The deafening silence on the other end was answer enough. “Jimmy?”

_“Not really, but that’s the interesting part. She has absolutely no online presence. No social media accounts, no current address, no listed vehicles — nothing. So what does that tell you?”_

“She doesn’t want to be traced,” Joe murmured softly. Only undercover cops or criminals took such care in covering their tracks. “She said she went to college in Portland. Art history major.”

Some rustling on the other side, as if Jimmy shook his head. _“Not in any enrollment records.”_

Of course she’d lied about that. There was probably nothing Kate had told her that would stand the light of day. Except the part about Derek. It was a strange thing to lie about. Joe almost got the impression Kate was bragging about it.

“When was the last time Derek lived in Beacon Hills?”

_“What?”_

Joe repeated her question slowly. “When was the last time Derek was in Beacon Hills?”

_“Uh...Hang on.”_ More rustling, shuffling of paper, tapping on a keyboard. _“I can’t be positive, but I don’t think Derek’s been back here since the fire. He moved cross-country from what I’ve been able to find.”_

The lump of ice in Joe’s stomach grew in size. That meant that if Kate had a _thing_ with Derek when he was last in Beacon Hills, she would have been here at the time of the fire. And the clue...

“Jimmy, did Laura ever mention anything about a crest to you? Like a coat of arms, with a wolf-”

He interrupted her before she could finish the sentece. _“And the spear and arrowhead?”_

“Yes! Jimmy, listen, that crest is an Argent family heirloom. Previous owner: Kate Argent.”

Another long silence with only Jimmy’s breathing coming through the earpiece. When he spoke, it was in an awed whisper. _“Mister X.”_

“More like Miss X,” Joe corrected and went to the hallway to get her coat. “I’m heading over to yours, we need to gather what we have and take it to the police.”

She barely heard the beginning of a protest from his side, but already cut the line. He would just have to get over his paranoia. If Kate had conspired to kill an entire family, she deserved justice at the hands of her peers. Jimmy could write his book about it afterwards. Hopefully, in-between his research and the latest events, they could gather enough circumstantial evidence that would convince the police to look further into it. Maybe even get a search warrant for Kate’s car, Joe was sure she had plenty of firearms stocked after their last run-in.

The doorbell rang as she was in the middle of lacing up her winter boots.

Aunt Mel shouted downstairs: _“Can someone get that please?”_

“I got it!” Joe called back. It had to be her date and Aunt Mel was running late because of her many dress-changes. Trying to put on a normal smile for her aunt’s sake, she opened the door.

“Hi,” said the handsome middle-aged man on their doorstep. He had slicked back dark hair and wore a sombre, but respectable outfit in a mix of gray and black. His voice was really soft. “You must be Joe.”

“Yeah,” she said and furrowed her brows at the sight of the man. “Sorry, have we met? You seem kinda familiar.”

“I suppose I would,” he said in an almost excessively sweet voice. She kept squinting to see if any of his features stood out enough to place him. “Did Derek have the talk with you today?”

Joe’s smile slid off her face. “W-what?”

Behind her, she heard the rumble of Scott throwing himself down the stairs. He pushed Joe to the side in order to slam the door shut. Or at least he tried. The man outside shot his foot out to stop it and pushed it back open with seemingly little effort despite Scott keeping his whole weight on it.

“Really?” the man said and gave Scott a pitying look. “Slam the door in my face? Come on, Scott. Take a second to think that through.”

“You need to leave or I’m calling the police,” Joe said and tried to step in front of Scott, even if he wouldn’t let her.

The man tilted his head. “And tell them what? That I’m taking your aunt out on a date?”

They all turned as Aunt Melissa appeared at the top of the stairs in the middle of putting on ear-rings. “Just-just half a second. Sorry!” She disappeared from sight.

“You have really smooth skin,” the man said to Joe and she found herself taking a step back. “I bet a bit of sun really brings out those freckles.” He smiled again, a sardonic expression that never reached his eyes. “You know, I read that all skin-types benefit from using SPF all year round.” Joe leaned backwards as the man leaned forwards to whisper: “Just a little _F Y I_.”

He pronounced the three letters with dark intention. FYI. For your information. Unable to form any words, she stared at what had to be the benefactor behind those police files. Scott looked seconds away from throwing a punch and Joe wondered if she should stop him or help him. Who - was - this -guy?

“ _Joe? Joe, can you give me a hand?”_

Aunt Melissa’s voice rang out and Joe stared wild-eyed at Scott. He gave her a pleading look. While he nodded his head for her to go, he also mouthed: “Don’t say anything.”

_“Joe! Please!”_

In a daze, she stumbled up the staircase, moving backwards to avoid turning her back on the doorway. The man seemed relaxed in his posture, unlike Scott who’s shoulders were tensed through his sweater. He had not exactly threatened them, not directly, but nothing about the man gave her any semblance of good vibes.

She found Aunt Melissa in the bathroom where it looked like a makeup case had exploded over the sink. Aunt Mel stood hunched over grasping at her left ear. “Oh thank God, hi, please, help!” Joe wordlessly helped her untangle her dangling ear ring that had caught in both her top and her hair. Scott hadn’t wanted her to say anything.

“Okay, how do I look?” Aunt Mel said breathily when her ear was free and she’d switched to a pair of studs instead. “Does it look like I’m trying too hard? Or is that not necessarily a bad thing, right, it could be a compliment.” Joe stared blindly as Aunt Mel twirled in a brocade suit that accentuated her womanly figure. “Oh God, you’re not saying anything. Is it that bad?”

“No, no,” Joe said through the lump in her throat. “No, you look great.”

“Thank God.” Aunt Mel clasped her hands together. She checked her watch that was a permanent fixture on her wrist, a side-effect of her profession. “Okay, we need to leave if we’re gonna make that reservation.”

In almost juvenile giddiness, Aunt Melissa bounced down the stairs to where Scott and the man stood in an obvious impasse at the door. Joe drifted down after them, almost tempted to shout out a warning, but Scott shook his head behind his mom’s back.

“I’m ready, I’m ready,” Aunt Mel said triumphantly while snatching her purse from the dresser by the stairs. “Sorry again.”

Her date smiled amiably and made room for her to exit the door while simultaneously offering her his arm. Joe gripped the bannister so hard her fingers were straining white. Scott felt the same tension, he had to, as he made a last ditch effort:

“Mom!”

Aunt Mel turned with raised eyebrows and bit out: “Yes, sweetheart?”

Joe slumped back to sit on the steps and Scott’s courage failed him. “Have a good time.” Aunt Mel nodded and her date gave Scott a last look before swinging the door shut. Scott stared at it like an abandoned puppy and Joe tore down the stairs to glare at him.

“Who the-” Joe let out a choice selection of curse words “-was that?”

“Derek’s uncle,” Scott said, not looking away from the door.

“What, the catatonic one?”

Scott’s puzzled expression snapped to face her. “How do you _know_ all of this?”

“Nevermind that,” she mumbled, churning over this new revelation. Derek’s uncle. No wonder he’d looked familiar. “That explains where Derek gets his creep-gene.” Joe blinked and hit Scott in the shoulder. “Wait, he’s the only survivor from the fire!”

“How do you... _How_ do you know this stuff?” Scott stuttered at her while throwing his hands up.

“Scott, is he...” Joe couldn’t bring herself to say it. Apart from Laura and Derek, who else had any kind of motive for going after the arsonists? Laura had a solid alibi in being dead, and Derek...okay, Derek didn’t really have any alibis, but he had been right about one thing earlier. Joe really did not believe he was the killer.

“I need to go,” Scott said, not acknowledging her question.

“Scott, your mom is on a date with-”

“I know!” Scott shouted at her. His eyebrows were drawn high, obviously stressed out and in a hurry. “I know, Joe. Don’t worry, I got a plan!”

“We should call the cops!”

“No!” Scott stopped halfway up the stairs. “If we don’t have solid proof, Mom is gonna think I’m sabotaging her date. She deserves to be happy, for just a little while at least.”

“Okay, fine, but what’s your plan then?”

Scott made a face. “I’m gonna sabotage her date.”

* * *

Rain poured onto Joe’s windshield. Her wipers went berserk back and forth, trying to clear it enough for her to drive. For once, she parked in front of Jimmy’s apartment building and ran to the front door, hitting his buzzer repeatedly.

Scott had promised and pinky-sweared to keep her posted on Aunt Mel. He seemed to have a plan of getting her home discreetly without letting on that the first date she had agreed to in the last few years was with a probable mass-murderer. Joe kept wondering about Derek — if Scott knew about his uncle, Derek had to too, right? So why wasn’t he trying to clear his name and get his uncle arrested?

“I don’t think we have enough to go to the police,” was Jimmy’s first words when she entered his apartment. He gave a pointed look to the puddle of rainwater she left on his carpet.

“We don’t need to have enough to get her arrested, just to re-open the case,” Joe argued and stalked to his conspiracy-board while shrugging off her coat. More notes and pictures were pinned up, many of them from the police file. Why had Derek’s uncle given her those? It was like he wanted her to look into Laura Hale’s murder for some reason.

She relayed the information about Derek’s allegedly catatonic uncle walking around like nobody’s business. Jimmy prodded her for questions before he disappeared into some filing cabinet in deep thought, sometimes whispering to himself.

Joe focused on the red yarn linking the different parts of Jimmy’s map together. Motive, opportunity and means. That’s what you needed to get someone convicted. Derek’s uncle’s motive was easy as ever: revenge. She was a bit iffy about means or opportunity, if he actually had been comatose or somehow faked it since the murders began. Also, many of the murders were ruled as animal attacks — how had he made them be so convincing?

And Kate...She had a gang of arsonists as her means and her past with Derek revealed an opportunity. But what was the motive? Jealousy, maybe? If Derek broke things off with her, could she have snapped completely and suffered a pychotic break? Kate definitely seemed like the kind of girl to key a guy’s car over the slightest misunderstanding.

But it was a big leap from ruining someone’s paintjob and committing homicidal arson.

Joe checked her phone every few seconds. Finally, Scott sent her a confirmation that Aunt Mel was back home, without her date. Thank God. One less thing to worry about. Why had he even bothered to go after Aunt Melissa? Did he know Scott and Stiles were looking into the murders and using Scott’s mom as blackmail?

Jimmy finally looked up from his notebook that was filled to the brim with inserted photos and post its. “I think Peter killed Laura.”

“Who?”

“Peter Hale, Laura and Derek’s uncle,” Jimmy explained and Joe raised her eyebrows. First time she’d heard the name. Jimmy came over with the book, pointing at his own crooked handwriting. “If you can try to keep an open mind for half a minute, I think I can explain why.”

Joe squeezed her eyes shut. She knew where this was going. “Fine.”

“Okay, from what I’ve researched, the Alpha-title is passed down in succession.” He saw her expression and rolled his eyes. “Open mind, Joe, please! Okay. So this means that the old Alpha has to die for the new one to inherit its status. This can either be done by choice or...force.”

“Suppose for the sake of argument that I’m willing to spend half a brain cell on this,” Joe said and shrugged off the dirty look Jimmy sent her. “What exactly is an Alpha?”

“Pack leader. Stronger, bigger, mysterious powers-”

Joe rolled her eyes.

“-probably including full shapeshifting.”

“As opposed to the regular run-of-the-mill _partial_ shapeshifting?”

Jimmy glowered until Joe mumbled an apology for interrupting him. “I have every reason to believe that Laura inherited her Alpha status from the original Hale Alpha.” Joe closed her eyes to suppress the urge to roll them again. Jimmy talked about this stuff like other people discussed pizza recipes. “Peter might have killed Laura to gain her Alpha-powers.”

He delivered the final line like he was Sherlock Holmes revealing the murderer’s true identity and awaited her reaction. She had pushed her palm against her mouth to avoid making any faces at Jimmy. He had just used the words ‘Alpha-powers’ completely without irony. “Okay, yeah, I guess that makes as much sense as a motive as anything else.”

If you subtracted the part about it making no sense at all! Wolf packs did not even have that hierarchical system of alphas, betas and omegas — the theory was debunked by the same man who first came up with it! And Jimmy apparently thought that Derek, Laura _and_ Peter Hale were all werewolves! Did they vouch for the family special at some point?

She was going to comment on this, just as she found the right words without offending Jimmy so much he kicked her out, but then her heart stopped.

Without any pre-warning, the sensation of a skeleton hand _squeezing_ her heart filled her body. Unable to even scream, she toppled forwards on her knees, then her face with limbs shaking. “ _Nngh!”_

_“Oh no! Not this again!”_

Joe barely heard Jimmy’s panicked words through the buzzing of her own pain. Face down on the floor, she spasmed and shook as harsh tendrils of agony crunched at her nervous system. Her body flopped around on Jimmy’s carpet, teeth gnawing together, eyes rolling back in her head. Fingernails tried to find grip in the carpet fibers, to find any solid holding point, to confirm she was actually still alive and not already dead, burning in the flames of Hell itself.

Her head lolled sideways as Jimmy turned her over, trying to get her twitching limbs laying in a stable recovery position. For some reason, she focused on Jimmy’s dining table, while the seizures made her jerk around without control. Through a haze of pain and fear, the dining table was something real, tangible, harmless.

Then, as suddenly as it came, it stopped.

Already lying sideways, Joe pulled together in a fetal position while taking such a big gulp of air it sounded like a scream. She whimpered and now trembled — not from pain, but from fear of the pain returning.

Jimmy wordlessly put a blanket over her body and she dug her fingers into the fabric while pulling it closer around her. “What’s happening to me?”

He sighed and sat down next to her head. She was grateful he refrained from touching her, her insides still felt raw and sore. “I think the correct question is, what’s happening to Derek?”

Derek. Even the thought of him made her shut her eyes, trying to prevent a tear from escaping. Derek. The name brought some semblance of comfort and her primal brain, in charge of emergencies, shut down any misgivings of how it simply did not make sense. Derek. Derek with the sun in his hair. Derek with a light reflected in his eyes. Derek with the edge of his lip pulled slightly upwards.

“What...what did it feel like?”

Jimmy’s voice sent her daydreams crashing again. Her throat tight, she asked: “What do you mean?”

“Was it like a gunshot? Arrow wound? Poison?”

What did it feel like? What _had_ it felt like? It felt like fire inside her skin, burning at her nerve endings, scorching her lungs and heart. Joe swallowed, not wanting to think about it. “It felt like being struck by lightening. Over and over and over again.”

Just as she said it, it came again. She had just enough breath in her lungs to scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if I'm bombarding you guys with updates, I'm just so eager to move the story ahead. And finally Peter is here!   
> Let me know if there's anything in particular you liked or disliked in the chapter. We're getting close to the finale and I'm honestly really excited!


	16. The Chains

The bouts of pain came rolling through the whole night. Jimmy helped her into his guest bedroom, hoping she could get some sleep in-between the seizures. Sometimes it could go hours until it started again, a sophisticated form of torture that left Joe wide awake, praying fervently that it was over.

No hospital. Jimmy refused to take her — he claimed they would not be able to find anything physically wrong with her and suggest it to be a mental breakdown. Best case, they would just turn her away. Worst case, she would be locked up. When her mind cleared long enough at a time, she hated him for that. She theorized he was the one doing this to her. Every time it happened, it had been in his presence. She screamed at him, cursed him, begged him to stop. Just please make it stop.

Eventually, she drifted off due to complete exhaustion. She woke to voices, speaking in hushed tones around her.

_“...just didn’t know who else to call...”_

_“...made the right choice...”_

“Doctor Deaton?” Joe murmured and tried to blink her eyes open. It was hard and he slipped in and out of focus. Sweat laid heavy on her skin, coating her face and chest. She thought she saw Doctor Deaton smile at her in a calm manner.

“Rest now, Joe. You need to recover,” he said and her eyes rolled backwards, either sleep or some kind of sedative forcing her back into darkness. Doctor Deaton turned to Jimmy again and she only caught a few words of the conversation. “...mountain ash...not much time...find Derek.”

Derek. Find Derek.

Joe slipped into an uneasy sleep. She knew she was sleeping; she knew she was dreaming. No pain here, no hurt, no fear. Just...Derek? Her brows furrowed. His head hung limp towards his bare chest, slumped forwards, only held up by his shackled arms. Trapped, like an animal, and put on full display. This was a dream, she knew that, and still she tried to look around. What was this place? Low ceiling, no windows — underground? Cage. Dungeon. Basement?

Dream-Derek jolted awake at the sound of a slamming door. Someone was coming. His eyes opened, bright, ready, wary, staring over Joe’s shoulder. She tried to turn around to see who was doing this to him, but she could not look away from Derek. His eyes were...glowing. Not like when he stood in the afternoon sun and the light hit his eyes to make them glitter, but like he had literal laser beams coming from inside his skull. At the sound of the newcomer walking into the room, he opened his mouth too and _roared_.

Joe bolted up in the bed with a harsh gasp. The unfamiliar bedroom panicked her, before she recognized the minimalistic style of Jimmy Carter. She clutched the bedsheets to her chest, but should not have bothered —they clung to her sweatslick skin like glue. The whole bed was damp and she guessed it was lucky Jimmy lived above a laundromat.

In a chair next to the bed sat Jimmy himself, head tilted backwards in a deep slumber. He’d pulled one of his armchairs from the living room in here. Jimmy always looked mildly dishelved, but now he looked like a complete mess. His hair and beard both stuck up at odd angles and dark circles made his face look hollow. How much time had passed since she...since the first episode? The curtains were drawn shut, leaving the room in complete cool darkness.

Her body ached, like she had climbed a mountain. All that involuntary flexing of her muscles probably. Gingerly she got out of the bed, borrowed Jimmy’s bathroom and then tip-toed back to the room to wake him up.

“ _Aah_!” was his response when she tapped his shoulder and he flailed around in the chair. “AA- oh, you’re up.” He gave her a wary look. “Are you done screaming at me?”

“Yes,” she said and rubbed her face. “Yes, I’m sorry, I don’t know...I don’t know anything. Thank you for helping me.”

Jimmy just nodded. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Sort of,” she mumbled. Physically she felt nothing out of the ordinary, other than the assumed DOMS. Mentally was another story completely. To cope, she pushed away all the questions, theories and vivid memories for now. The image of Derek Hale strung up in some kind of torture chamber refused to go away however. She licked her lips, parched and dehydrated from sweating and crying throughout the whole night and probably most of the day. “We need to find Derek.”

* * *

Jimmy agreed with her plan that they needed to find Derek. It was easier said than done though. The police had been trawling the entire county for weeks now looking for him without turning up as much as a tire track. No known address, no next of kin, no convenient paper trail giving up his location. After much harassment from Jimmy, after he had exhausted his probable police source for any updates, she even called Scott. It took several tries, but she eventually got hold of him through Stiles’ phone.

_“If I’ve seen who?”_ he asked through the phone in a shaky voice. _“Derek? No, not since...uh, not since the night at our house. Uh, have_ you _seen Derek?”_

Joe paused and weighed the pros and cons of revealing Derek’s afternoon visit the other day. On one hand, she hated lying to Scott. On the other, it had been a _weird_ visit and her chest filled with embarrasment just thinking about it. He hadn’t wanted anything but to talk about their _connection_ , and she was not willing to discuss that with her male teenage cousin.

“No,” she said eventually, holding her fingers crossed behind her back. “No, I haven’t either.”

“ _If you see him, can you let me know?”_

Joe’s brows furrowed. “Why?”

“ _Uhh...”_ Improvising was not Scott’s strongest point. She heard someone whisper in the background and could imagine Stiles trying to give Scott the clues for stringing together a believable story. “ _He’s wanted by the police?”_

“Then I should call the police if I see him. Not you,” she pointed out and the same half-silence followed, as if Scott had put his phone to his shoulder and conspired with Stiles again. “Listen, Scott, worry more about that dance you’re going to instead of Derek Hale right now.”

They ended the phone call on an awkward agreement that neither of them should actually look for Derek. She let Jimmy know it had been a dead end. The only other person she could imagine knowing something about Derek’s location was his uncle, and even if she knew how to contact him, she really did not want to. Groaning, she leaned forwards over Jimmy’s dining room table and let her forehead thump against the polished wood. How did you lose a 6 foot, 200 lbs man in the first place?

Jimmy seemed to make endless cups of tea in times of chrisis and Joe’s mood had not improved when it turned out he did not even have instant coffee in his apartment. Something about avoiding substances that stimulated his central nervous system. He stirred some honey into his cup, the clinking of the spoon the only sound in the kitchen. “Can I implore you for another round of an open mind?”

“Ugh,” Joe grunted and thumped her head against the tabletop again. Not looking up, she relented. “Fine.”

“You and Derek are connected-”

“Bleh.”

“- as made evident by the events of last night. You are feeling his pain. I’ve been thinking and — please shut up,” Joe had made another disgruntled noise, “and the reason you’re feeling his pain, and presumably vice versa, is to alert each other of the other’s situation. You’re feeling his pain so that you know he needs help. You’re _supposed_ to help him.”

Joe let out a slow breath. “Open mind is due to close in ten seconds.”

“Can you at least give it a try? Try to strengthen that connection, establish a link with him. Just...try and feel if you can sense something, anything, about his location.”

Her groan lasted for as long as she pushed herself back up from the table. Jimmy sipped his tea with a raised eyebrow, daring her to start an argument again. As much as she hated to admit it, she knew deep down he had nothing to do with the pain riding her body like its own personal plaything. In fact, he’d done what he could to make her comfortable and keep her safe. He might not have taken her to the hospital, but that was because he really, really believed the source of her ailment was something that normal medicine could not explain. He had called Doctor Deaton instead, claiming him to be an insider — insider to _what_ she never got full explanation of — and he’d given her a shot of something that would dampen the pain for a little while.

Joe blew her cheeks up and let out the air in a long breath. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” said Jimmy tersely and watched her through the steam of his fresh cup of tea.

Connection. Connection to Derek. Derek Hale. Derek ‘Hell, he’s fine’ Hale. Derek who seemed to go to great lengths to avoid making her uncomfortable, but failing so explicitly miserably at it each and every time. Derek Hale who stole her car to have it cleaned. Derek Hale who caught her from falling into an open grave. Derek Hale who forced her to slow down to avoid hitting a full pack of deer.

Joe scrunched up her face, concentrating so hard on Derek Hale to the extent where she forgot to breathe. Finally, her body let up and she sucked in a loud breath. “Nope, nothing.”

“Were you really trying or just pretending?” Jimmy demanded with a scoff and Joe shrugged excessively.

“I don’t know the difference!”

Her phone rang and put an effective stop to the rest of the conversation. She briefly glanced at the unknown number before answering — a California-registered cell phone as far as she could tell.

“Hello, this is Joe speaking.”

The voice on the other end came bright and friendly, sending shockwaves of terror down her spine. _“Joe! Hey, this is Chris Argent calling.”_

Jimmy must have caught her panicked expression. He put his tea cup down and leaned forwards, mouthing. “Who is it?”

“Uh...hello?” she answered, while her head reeled at how he even had her number. She got her answer immediately.

“ _Hey, hope you don’t mind, I got your number from your aunt.”_ He sounded so insincerely happy, contrasting wildly with the dark scowl he usually sent her whenever their paths crossed. “ _Listen, I was wondering if you’d seen Kate anywhere? I know you and her...uh, I know she talked about seeing you. I’ve not been able to reach her and I was worried something was wrong with her phone.”_

Missing Kate Argent. Missing Derek Hale.

Apparently she spent so long thinking about it that Chris Argent prompted her again. “ _Joe? You still there?”_

“Uhm, yeah,” Joe said and rubbed her face with her palm to alleviate the stress wrinkles. “Err, sorry, I haven’t seen her in a few days. I’ve been swamped down with work and...stuff.” Scouring her brain for what normal innocent people would say in these situations, she came up with: “Did you check with her magazine? Maybe she got called in for a last-minute gig.”

_“Magazine,”_ Chris Argent repeated slowly. Another lie from Kate, probably, another cover story. “ _Yeah, of course, that’s probably it. Thanks, Joe, I’ll give them a call.”_

“I’ll let you know if I see her.” Joe’s voice sounded thin and hollow. Hopefully he wouldn’t be able to notice it through the phone. “Hope nothing’s happened...”

“ _No, no, don’t worry about it. Sometimes her cell phone has really bad reception, it’s this provider she’s got through the...magazine. She’s probably on her way back by now. Thanks again, Joe, really appreciate it. Sorry for bothering you.”_

_“_ No problem,” Joe managed to say before returning his good bye. Her hand clutched the phone to her chest after terminating the call. Jimmy stood on the other side of the counter, obviously waiting for an explanation. “That was Chris Argent. Kate’s MIA.”

“Argent! Of course!” snapped Jimmy, stalked over to his mood board and returned with the drawing of the crest. He slammed it on the counter top and tapped his finger harshly at the chains underneath the wolf. Chains equals capture, not killing. “You said it yourself, she was after him at the iron works.”

Joe’s mouth moved, trying to find words in a sea of horrible thoughts. “And what, she’s got him chained up somewhere, torturing him?”

He shrugged. “You tell me. Does she seem like the kind of person who could do something like that?”

She quickly recalled all her encounters with Kate Argent, all the good-natured winks, the flirty smirks, the innocent questions laced with dark intentions. The shotgun in her face, the groping, the mocking. Apparently her silence was answer enough to Jimmy.

“We find Kate Argent, we find Derek,” he said and dashed over to get his laptop. “She’s probably not on foot. You got her registration plate number?”

Joe did, and then was forced to go into the bathroom while Jimmy called his police contact to check if anyone had reported seeing the silver colored KIA Soul anywhere. Joe rolled her eyes, but heeded his request, and spent the time trying to get herself looking somewhat presentable. She washed her face and tried to wrangle her curls into submission using water, but it frizzed up even more. Her usually tan skin looked pale and sick now, and the freckles Peter Hale commented on were starting to pop out.

She scrubbed harder, as if she could scrub them completely off, and left her skin pink instead. Needing a shower, but not comfortable borrowing clothes from Jimmy, she settled for trying to shut down her sense of smell. Presentable? No, but it would have to do.

Staring at herself in the mirror, she did the same exercise she had done a million times. Her nose and jaw was from her father’s side. The eyes and mouth from her mom. At least that’s what she assumed, she hadn’t even seen a picture of the woman who (presumably) gave birth to her. There was some studies that suggested a child would resemble the parent that raised them the most, and it might hold some truth, because she looked a lot like her dad.

Her dad that she hadn’t even talked to in over two years. Their relationship had been strained since Joe was in high school, but it had blown up completely when she went to college. Aunt Mel still had regular contact with him, but she respected Joe’s wishes to keep him out of her life. At his insistence, she had memorized his phone number several years ago, so she would always be able to call him for help. She wondered if it was still the same. Two years was a long time.

Would he even pick up if she called?

Jimmy knocked on the bathroom door. One of the patrols had reported a lone vehicle in the Preserve that matched the description of Kate Argent’s car. It was within walking distance from the Hale House.

* * *

“You realize we’re trying to get Kate arrested for murder and kidnapping, not picking her up for a date?”

Jimmy did not even look up from stuffing a wad of purple flowers into his tactical backpack. While Joe opted for a taser, night vision binoculars and the trustworthy flashlight, Jimmy went with a few alternatives that did not make much sense to anyone but him. Purple flowers, an old dusty book, a silver cross, a necklace he claimed to be a ‘werewolf amulet’ and, finally, a taser like Joe. He scoffed at her insistence that this was a stake-out, not a vampire slaying.

“You ready to go, Buffy Summers?” she asked and he hefted the apparent heavy backpack onto his back with a grunt. Joe did not exactly frequent the gym these days, but at least she knew what they looked like from the inside. Jimmy had as much upper body strength as a pre-schooler. “Really? We’re going for the camouflage paint?”

“I don’t _have_ to help you, you know,” Jimmy pointed out while smearing dark grease paint around his eyes. With his dark beard and hair, it made him look like a literal bear.

“You’ve been working to bust this arson case for half a decade.” Joe leaned against his counter while he was getting ready. “No way are you going to miss the chance of getting the truth out.”

He glared at her, knowing full and well she was speaking the truth. Whatever Doctor Deaton had given her, it seemed to do the trick. No rounds of mind blowing agony and trembling on the floor. Somehow it was a little disconcerting. If — and this was a big medically impossible if — she shared the pain of Derek Hale, this meant she did not really know if he was still being tortured in a gruesome manner.

They chose Jimmy’s car, figuring Kate would have the least chance of recognizing it, and drove the dark roads to the Preserve. Jimmy seemed to know his way around and chose a backroad that would take them close to the location of Kate Argent’s car. They bickered the whole way over — Jimmy did _not_ agree with Joe’s plan of getting Kate arrested.

Creeping through the nighttime forest, Jimmy’s face obscured by the night goggles, they found Kate’s car sitting desolately in the middle of nowhere. They were half a mile away from the Hale house. Joe had them stay in a thick underbrush and watch the car’s surroundings for a while, until they were sure they weren’t walking into an ambush.

“Looks clear,” she finally concluded and they skulked forwards. Jimmy dropped to his knee next to the car, scouring the leaf-covered ground. Joe raised her eyebrows, impressed. “You know how to track?”

“Uh, no,” Jimmy admitted and she rolled her eyes. “I can’t see shit with these goggles.”

“You’re just messing up your night vision,” said Joe. It wasn’t even that dark in the forest, even with the moon almost waned to nothing. She had him follow her to the Hale house, on the assumption that there was nothing else out here. When they reached the looming ruin of a building, they crouched down at a safe distance. She breathed out an admission. “I really hate this place.”

“This used to be a mansion,” Jimmy mumbled, keeping his voice low, and checking over his shoulder all the time. “The Hales were really rich.”

“That’s a motive right there,” Joe murmured and took up her binoculars. No movement, not even wind fluttering the remains of curtains. “I think it’s empty.”

“Doesn’t make any sense to keep him here either, the cops are bound- hey, hey, what are you doing?”

She ignored Jimmy’s hiss and crept towards the house. Not that she would ever admit it to him, but she was getting this _feeling_ that something was off. As she reached the front door, she let her fingers trail the old construction. Several new holes in the woodwork. She used her fingernails to pick at one of the holes and a small metal bullet fell out into her palm. Assault rifle, not shotgun.

Jimmy kept hissing at her to get back, but she went inside anyway, taking a deep breath outside first. The air inside still smelled of smoke and...something else. Derek’s lingering scent, but it was faint, and not that noticeable compared to the metallic tang of blood. Her night vision adjusted slowly, but she could make out some dark stains on the walls and floor near the stairs. Turning on her flashlight, she studied the sticky substance. It felt like blood, but was almost completely black...like the goo she had slipped in at the vet clinic.

The bloodstains smeared towards the back of the house, a dripping trail, as if the wounded had been running. It could have been Derek, but...but what, Joe? The blood didn’t smell like Derek? God, this was so messed up.

“Joe, come look at this.”

She followed the sound of Jimmy’s voice to the front door again. He had a smaller flashlight trained on the ground. Kneeling, she let her fingertips touch the disturbed earth. It looked like drag marks.

“Don’t need to be a tracker to follow that trail,” Jimmy said and Joe agreed. Kate was not that much smaller than Derek, but he was still a hefty size. If she had ambushed him here, as evident from the bullet holes in the door, she would have struggled to transport him and settled for dragging his lifeless body away.

“She couldn’t have gone far,” Joe said and stood back up. Her car was still here, so wherever she had Derek, it was nearby. “And she’s probably alone.”

Kate knew better than to leave a trail like that if she could help it, Joe thought. Unless it was a trap, of course.

In unspoken unison, she and Jimmy turned off their flashlights. A last glance at the deserted remains of the Hale house before they walked slowly to avoid losing the trail. It took a special kind of twisted mind to trap a man in the same house where his family burned to death. Judging by how the trail went in a wide turn and ended in an overgrown grate, the underground location was somewhere directly under the house itself.

“Keep quiet,” Joe whispered to Jimmy, who seemed to be trembling in anticipation. “We get proof, then we get out! She’s armed and probably hostile. No engagement!”

Jimmy nodded frantically and brandished his phone with the video camera ready. Joe’s dumb phone was less useful, but still not useless.

The gate opened with a faint squeak that made her wince. They both froze and waited anxiously for the sound of footsteps. Nothing. Inch by inch, they snuck inside the dark tunnel. Jimmy put his goggles back on, while Joe just fingered the taser in her hand and tried to get used to the darkness.

Drops of water hit the back of her neck, condensation from the temperature difference between the tunnel and the earth around it. Their breath came out in small fogs when they went further inside. No sound of anything yet, just her own heartbeat thudding in her ears and gentle shuffling of their feet.

Their slow progress made it feel like an hour had passed when they finally heard voices. Or a voice. Kate Argent’s husky words drifted down towards them.

_“...if you're not gonna talk — I'm just gonna have to kill you.”_

  
  
The playful tones sent chills down Joe’s spine. She gestured at Jimmy to move even slower, to keep quiet and out of sight above all else. He nodded in the dark next to her. Joe’s pulse was so fast and powerful she worried Kate would hear it. Her voice grew stronger the closer they got — up ahead they saw a small sliver of light peeking through a doorway.

_“So say hi to your sister for me. You did tell her about me, didn't you? The truth about the fire? Or did you? Did you tell anybody? Oh, sweetie — that's just a lot of guilt to keep buried.”_

She cooed at Derek, presumably, while he did not make a noise. At least not that they heard. The words cut shards into Joe’s heart. At her side, she saw Jimmy mouth the words: “Mister X.”

Tears in her eyes, she struggled to see anything, but crawled forwards. Proof, they needed proof! Kate was a full-blown psychopath and there was only one way to stop her. Jimmy seemed frozen in his tracks — she thought she saw streaks in his camouflage paint, also crying at the insane mocking. Joe grabbed his cell phone and crept even further, trying to hold it to the doorway to get footage. She pushed her taser into Jimmy’s hands instead, asking him to cover her.

_“Is that ironic? Is it — ironic — that you're inadvertently helping me track down the rest of the pack — again? Or just a little bit of history repeating.”_

Her wrists burned from spending so long on her hands and knees, but she persisted and pushed the phone to the doorway. It caught the glimpse of Kate stalking around the dimly lit room and the shirtless Derek Hale hanging by his arms in chains. Just like her dream. It looked just like her dream. His head turned sideways, away from Kate’s mocking face.

Kate’s footsteps echoed as she strolled over to some sort of device on a small table. Wires connected the machine to a patch stuck on Derek’s torso. Lightening...it had felt like lightening. She was basically electrocuting him! Joe’s breath came harder and harder, if Kate turned the knob, she would shock Derek again. The pain he felt, she could not let him go through it again. No one deserved that much pain!

Fortunately, Kate paused instead of turning on the device. “History repeating. It’s not Jackson, is it?” She abandoned the machine and went back to stand too close to Derek who tried to turn even further away. “Oh, no, no, no, he’s got a little scratch on the back of his neck, but...he’s not in love with Allison.” The next words made Joe want to throw up. “Not like Scott.”

Too much in shock and terror to even think, Joe missed the warning that flashed on Jimmy’s phone. ‘Memory full.’ It ended the video tape on its own and she just noticed when the built-in playback function kicked in.

Kate’s tinny voice rang out in the hallway: _“...if you're not gonna talk - I'm just gonna have to kill you.”_

_“Shit,”_ Joe hissed under her breath and pounded on the stupid phone to stop it. Too late.

With a loud creak, the door next to her slammed open. Kate Argent, illuminated from the lights inside the room, stood above her with a thick baton in her hands.

“Jimmy!” Joe shouted before rolling to the side to avoid Kate’s first strike. The baton hit the ground instead and she saw the flashes erupt. That was not a normal baton. Behind Joe, Jimmy fumbled with the taser gun, and Joe cried out again. “Hurry!”

He finally got the taser aimed at Kate and fired. Time seemed to move in slow motion — Joe saw the two strings shoot out and Kate bending away. It missed and the two probes embedded themself in the doorframe.

“Well, if it isn’t Nancy Drew and her useless side-kick,” Kate said with a laugh. “Speaking of _kick_.” Joe cried out as Kate shot her boot-covered foot out and hit Jimmy straight in his mouth.

Inside the room, Derek roared at Joe to get out of there!

Jimmy’s head snapped backwards at the impact, a trail of blood hanging in the air behind him. Joe sprang up, grabbed Kate’s arm that held the charged baton, and slammed it against the wall with both hands. Two times, three times, until Kate’s wrist gave up and the taser wand clattered to the floor. Kate snarled and used her other forearm to hit Joe in the face.

Flashes erupted behind Joe’s eyes, her nose spurting blood. She let out a harsh noise and dodged Kate’s next blow, her knees protesting at the fast movement. Using the momentum, she shot back up and planted her fist squarely in Kate’s left eye.

Kate grunted while small bolts of lightening embedded into Joe’s arm from her fingers. Kate recovered too fast, caught Joe’s attempt at a left hook, forced Joe’s block wide open and slammed an upper cut straight to Joe’s chin. On her way down, Kate’s knee hit her windpipe before the other foot swung around to take care of her shins.

Joe landed on her back, knocking the last air of her lungs out, and Kate laughed wildly above her. No strength to get up, Joe groaned and tried to crawl, something Kate quickly put a stop to. “ _Oof.”_ Kate pushed her boot onto Joe’s sternum, holding her in place by applying pressure. Joe gritted her teeth to avoid crying out, but somewhere above her, Derek let out a harsh grunt.

Kate’s head snapped up — blood from her forehead plastered strings of hair to her face. “Now that is interesting.” The pressure on Joe’s chest increased and Derek could not hide his obvious pain, even though he seemed to try. “Aww, would you look at that?” Kate kicked down with her heel and both Joe and Derek coughed at the blunt throb shooting through Joe’s rib cage as a bone snapped.

“Is that not downright romantic?” Kate’s voice had a deranged loudness, losing the calm mocking edge she had taken with Derek. Joe’s eyes squeezed shut as Derek let out a furious roar in response, the chains rattling, but holding. He was not coming loose. Kate smirked. “Ah, ah, ah!” She pretended to kick Joe again and Derek fell back, snarling, trembling of rage.

“The innocent schoolgirl coming to the rescue.” Kate sniggered and bent down to take Jimmy’s phone out of Joe’s hands. “Oh no, such incriminating evidence.” She held the phone over Joe’s face to show that the video was being deleted. Joe breathed hard and bit back a reply, not going to waste air on calling her a bitch, however tempting. “Aww. It’s gone. Sorry.”

Kate pocketed the phone, tossed her hair back and rubbed her temple. “I gotta say though, I’m impressed.” She wiped off some blood of her forehead and popped the thumb in her mouth, letting Joe watch her lick it off. “You throw a solid punch!” Kate leaned forwards and gave Joe a wink. “Where’d ya learn to fight, Berkeley?”

“Juvie hall,” said Joe, grabbed both hands around Kate’s knee and _twisted_. Kate screamed and stumbled to the side, giving Joe space to get up. She sprang at Kate, throwing herself at the woman, and they both crashed into the the table.

There was only two rules to street fighting: Go all in and if you get your opponent down, don’t let them get back up. Joe let out inhuman shrieks, landing hits with her elbows and knees where she could, not giving Kate a chance. Most martial arts relied on keeping distance, if Kate got that, Joe was dead.

Joe pushed her knee into Kate’s abdomen and used both her hands as a sledgehammer to slam down on Kate’s face, chest, wherever she hit. Joe did not know how to fight, she just knew how to survive. No technique, no strategy, just relentless punches, kicks and jabs.

_“Get me loose! COME ON!”_ Derek roared somewhere behind her, through a cloud of her own labored breaths and Kate’s painful gasps. She turned to look at him — Jimmy was back in business, struggling with the shackles on Derek’s arms. Her brief lapse of attention gave Kate a chance.

In a heartbeat, Kate had them flipped on the floor. They writhed like an organic mass of flying fists and jabbing elbows, screaming and snarling at each other. Joe got a full hand of Kate’s hair and yanked hard.

“You fight like a girl!” Kate barked while Joe forced her head backwards. Kate hit Joe in the broken rib with her elbow to get loose. Joe saw white and red spots dance in front of her vision, gnashing her teeth together at the insane agony, and Kate crawled on her stomach towards the fallen taser wand.

Derek growled darker and shouted at Jimmy to undo his chains!

“Oh no you don’t!” Joe flung herself ontop of Kate’s legs and climbed until she sat on her back. Kate tried to flip them again, but Joe was ready this time and ended up on her back instead of her stomach. Her knees squeezed around Kate’s torso and their arms wrestled for control. Joe tried to get Kate in a choke hold, but Kate broke her grip.

Instead, Joe closed her arms around Kate’s left one, pushing her knee behind Kate’s shoulder and pulling with everything she had. They both screamed, Kate from pain, Joe from effort, until Joe heard the sickening _pop_ of Kate’s shoulder dislocating.

The shriek Kate let out echoed inside Joe’s skull. Thinking it was over, that Kate would be down, Joe loosened her grip — a mistake. Kate somehow kicked her leg up and hit Joe in the mouth. Joe swore, her lip splitting open, while Kate struggled out of the hold. Joe barely saw Kate’s good hand close around the electric baton before she struck Joe in the abdomen with at least 50 000 Volts.

The shock felt the same as it had before — her body jerked uncontrollably, teeth mashing together, eyes rolling back. When the current stopped, Kate was gone, her footsteps bounding from the hallway.

_“Is she...”_

_“Joe!”_

The sound of the two panicked men — Derek Hale and Jimmy Carter — brought her somewhat back to consciousness. Every breath came with a fight, her muscles protesting at the incessant abuse. The light disappeared and Jimmy Carter’s head popped up in her vision, the grease paint spread down into his beard, mixing with his own blood.

“Joe, are you okay?”

Instead of trying to say something, she gingerly put up both her thumbs. The movement rubbed against her broken rib and she winced again.

Derek’s roar prevented her from blacking out: “Get me down _now_!”

“Can’t you see that she’s hurt?!” Jimmy shouted back, prodding at Joe’s swollen face, checking for any more fractures.

“Of course I see that! But you need to get me down! There’s another hunter!”

“I’m okay,” Joe croaked at the ashen Jimmy. “Just gotta catch my breath real quick.”

An understatement of the year, but it left Jimmy free to go back to Derek. They argued about the chains — they were strong enough to hold Derek in place, and Jimmy could not seem to find any keys. Hissing through her broken lip, she squirmed to get her phone out of her pocket. The old Nokia had of course survived any onslaught and it showed that the phone call was still active.

“Her name is Kate Argent,” she spoke into the microphone. “A-R-G-E-N-T. She drives a silver KIA Soul with Washington plates.” The effort to speak strained her lungs and she took a small break. “Last seen at the Hale house in the Beacon Hills Preserve. She will be armed.” Aware that Derek had shut his mouth to listen to her, she grimaced at the last part she had to add: “So, uh, anyways. Call me when you get this. Again, this is Joe. Bye.”

She ended the long voice mail to her dad and slumped back on the floor again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joe and Jimmy save the day! Sort of. It's not over yet and there's one more chapter to wrap up first season before we move right on to the second one. 
> 
> Specific question: fight scene. Too detailed, too rushed, too technical? Like, I love writing action, but sometimes I find myself writing more like a script for a movie scene rather than describing what's actually happening and I'm not sure how it portrays to someone outside of my own head. So please let me know what you think of the fight or any of the other stuff in the chapter. I really love your feedback!


	17. The President III

The door to the torture chamber opened and a burly man with a bald head stepped through. If Joe had been asked to describe a stereotypical biker, he would have been almost too obvious. He went straight for the construction light aimed at Derek’s face and lit it. Derek blinked his eyes open, as usual his blank expression not revealing much, except from a suppressed anger just beneath the surface.

“Ready to have some more fun?” the man asked and Joe squeezed herself further into the corner. The contact with the wall sent a pang through her ribcage again and she thought she saw Derek wince, even though he hid it well. The man seemed to have all the time in the world and sauntered up to Derek, flexing his fingers. “To be honest, my knuckles are kind of hurting.” Chicago-accent, not local. He produced a bat from somewhere on his person. “So I brought some help. But I need to warn ya. I used to play in college.”

“AAAAH!”

Jimmy let out a horrific war cry and emerged from the shadows like a vengeful spirit. He gripped Kate’s taser wand with both hands and swung widely. It hit the man in his chest with a frizzling sound; the man flopped to the ground like a dead fish. A big man, the initial strike only took him down temporarily, but Jimmy howled again and pushed the taser wand into the man’s exposed neck.

He wriggled and trembled much like Joe imagined she had until his eyes rolled back and he was out.

The taser still emitted small sparks, but the room filled with the sound of Jimmy’s labored breathing, his skinny chest rising up and down.

Derek growled darkly from where his chains still held him in place. “Great. One less problem. Now get me down from here before that psycho bitch comes back!”

Only one psycho bitch he could be talking about. Jimmy helped Joe up from the floor, her teeth gritting at her broken rib. They went to each side of Derek, trying to find a way to break the chains or open the shackles. Derek’s muscles glowed in the construction light and it was not fair that he looked ready for a photo shoot after twenty four hours of captivity and torture.

“Why are you always shirtless?” Joe mumbled to cover up her rising blush. He smelled so nice she wanted to stuff her nose into his chest and she questioned her body’s priorities at a time like this. Derek glared at her the best he could over his shoulder as she studied the wall mounts where the chains were fastened. They were as thick as her arms, apparently strong enough to hold him in place.

Before the other hunter had returned, Jimmy tried to help Derek break them by brute force. He’d braced his legs against the wall, pulling with his entire body weight, and Derek actually looked away in second-hand embarrassment.

“This is useless, we need keys!” Jimmy declared and went back to the unconscious man on the floor. He nudged him tentatively with his foot.

“He’s out,” said Derek and Joe could feel the rumble in his chest.

“Just making sure,” Jimmy mumbled, but bent down to start searching the man’s pockets.

Joe, left alone a little too close to Derek, swallowed and tried to focus at the task at hand. “Maybe if we can find something to unscrew the mounts in the wall...”

“Can you...can you at least get the wires off?”

It seemed to take some effort for Derek to refrain from barking at her, the softness and vulnerability in his voice catching her off guard. He referred to the patch on his lower abdomen connected to the device Kate had used. It laid smashed on the floor after her and Kate’s wrestling match.

Joe could feel his body heat before her fingers even touched his skin. He flinched when she prodded at the thick tape holding the wires in place and she withdrew her hands hurriedly.

“Sorry, sorry,” she murmured, afraid a leftover current had shocked him.

“It’s not that, it’s...” Derek began softly, but noticed Jimmy had stopped searching for keys in favor of listening in. He bit in another harsh remark. “Just get them off me. Please.”

She peeled it off, aware of his twitching and scorching hot skin under her fingers, and studied it with amazement how something so simple could cause so much pain. Tossing it away, she looked at his shackles again, because it was easier than to look at his face. Pain, shame, anger — his eyes held a mixture of it all.

“I’ll, uh, see if there’s anything useful over, uh, there.” Head bent, she turned to the remains of the table, wondering if her neck looked as red as it felt. Trying to lighten the mood, she said: “I mean, you’d think a professional torturer would have some kind of power tool at hand.” She laughed at her own joke, then winced when her broken rib let her know that had been poor tact. “Ow.”

Jimmy sat back on his haunches and held up a switchblade and some large tweezers recovered from the unconscious mman. “He looks to be a traditionalist.” Sighing, he put the items away. “I’m not finding any keys. Kate probably has them.” They both winced as Derek let out a yell of frustration. “Okay, can you please refrain from doing that? You are being very rude to your saviors.”

Joe watched Derek’s expression morph into disgust, he turned to Joe instead and snarled. “Who _is_ this guy?”

“Wait, you don’t know?” Her brows furrowed. “I thought you guys went to high school together?”

“What?” Derek squinted at Jimmy and his lip lifted in tentative recognition. “ _Slim Jim_?”

Joe took a sharp inhale and grimaced. That sounded like a high school nickname Jimmy hadn’t chosen for himself.

“Thank you, Hale, I have gone almost exactly six years without hearing that name.” Jimmy’s face had reddened underneath the paint and blood. Pulling himself up from the floor again, he held his head high when adressing Derek. “You know what, your sister was right about you. You _are_ emotionally stunted.”

Derek threw himself forwards in his chains — they creaked as he tried to get loose again. “What the hell do you know about my sister?” When Jimmy made no motion to answer, he twisted his head to put Joe in focus instead. “Did you know about this?”

“Uh, yes,” Joe admitted slowly and watched the pure indignance that settled on Derek’s face. His nostrils flared and he looked away from her. “Sorry, I didn’t know I was supposed to tell you! Did _you_ know your psycho uncle was taking my aunt on a date?” His expresion blanked even further and she gasped. “Are you serious? Asshole!”

Not one to hit a chained up man, she disgustedly made her way back to the mess on the floor. His jacket, wallet and car keys were among the items she found. She picked up a suspiciously familiar shotgun hidden under some debris and checked the barrel — two cartridges. Joe eyed the chains again, unless the choke was magically small, she’d be more likely to blast Derek’s face off than cut the chains.

Lastly, she picked up a phone, which had no less than 21 missed calls. “Hey, is this Scott’s phone?”

“Shut up,” Derek said sharply. Turning around with eyebrows raised, she saw Derek with a faraway look on his face, as if listening to something.

Jimmy twirled to face the door, picking up the baton again. “Is someone coming?”

“Be quiet!”

“Can you hear something?” Joe asked Jimmy, who shrugged in answer. “I can’t hear anything.”

“Shut up!” Derek snapped and shook his shackled arms again in frustration. “It’s Scott!”

Joe peered out into the hallway. “What, here?”

“No!” Derek’s frustration rolled off him, but he seemed to bite it in. “Cover your ears. Do it! Now!”

Jimmy of course immediately slapped his hands over his ears, while Joe theatrically placed her own fingers inside her ears with a sardonic look towards Derek. He rolled his eyes at her and drew a deep breath.

The sound that followed was not supposed to be made or heard by humans. The howl — in lack of better words — shook the earth itself. The walls trembled, pieces of dirt falling lose from the ceiling, Joe’s teeth vibrated so much she worried they would fall out. The insane pressure penetrated every fibre of her, her ears popped, her eyes strained. Jimmy fell to his knees, even with his hands pressing over his ears. Joe thought ear wax would pour out of her ear canals.

Derek slumped in his chains and it ended. Jimmy got up from the floor, gingerly removing his hands, staring wide-eyed at Derek. “Holy shit!” He looked at Joe, as excited as a toddler over ice cream, and repeated the praise. “Holy shit!”

Joe only had eyes for Derek. His chest rose and sank slowly, as if whatever had just happened cost him what little he had left of strength. Somehow, the sound he had made, the howl, had been laced with despair, longing, loneliness. It was a call for help.

Apparently aware of her staring, Derek snapped his eyes open and Joe took a step back at the sight of the glow again. Bright, unnatural blue. Not human. His nostrils flared and Derek squeezed his eyes shut again — when he opened them they were normal.

“Did you signal for Scott?” Jimmy asked, the excitement still evident in his body language. “Is he coming?”

Joe’s brows furrowed a bit — had she told him about Scott’s continued insistence he was...he was like Derek?

“Unless the hunters get him first,” Derek muttered in response to Jimmy. They had all heard Kate when she figured out Scott’s identity, even without Derek’s verbal confirmation.

“H-he’s at the Winter Formal,” Joe stuttered from where she had retreated to the back of the room. She at least hoped he was. “How are they gonna get him in a gym full of high schoolers and their chaperones?”

Derek’s tired eyes landed on her and she resisted the urge to dart out in the hallway just to escape his gaze. “Because he’s an idiot.”

“He’s sixteen, of course he’s an idiot.” Joe realized this was not as good a defence for Scott as she had intended. There would be increased police presence at the school anyway, because of Derek’s wanted status. They wouldn’t be able to get him. They couldn’t.

“He must have some potential,” Jimmy insisted. “Otherwise, why would the Alpha choose him?”

Derek did not answer that, just hung his head forward. Joe realized she was trembling — the construction lights down here emitted plenty of heat, so it was not because of the cold. It was the thought, or even idea, of Scott being hunted by an animal and _turned_ somehow. The Lore had plenty of theories on how someone would turn: pact with the Devil, sleeping with an actual wolf, cursed, but...but the one thing that she’d seen over and over again was the bite.

She let out a breath she hadn’t noticed she was holding at the sound of a familiar voice down the creepy dark hallway.

“ _Derek_?” It paused, then added: _“And Joe?”_

“Scott!” Joe’s heart thought it would burst at the sight of her teenage cousin stumbling through the doorway. She ran towards him and crushed him in a bear hug, ignoring both the pangs from the broken rib and the grunts from Derek. Scott clutched her back like a lifeline, hugging her until she felt she could not breathe.

“Scott, help me with this!” Derek shouted, making Scott pull away from Joe. Derek shook the chains to indicate what he needed assistance with. “Together, we’ll be strong enough to-”

“No,” said Scott in a dark tone. “Not until you tell me how to stop Peter.”

“Peter is not the one you have to worry about, it’s Kate!” Jimmy shot in from the side-line and Scott gave him a puzzled look. Scott looked at Joe as if to ask why Jimmy was there and she just shrugged — not time for that explanation.

“I don’t care about Kate, but I care about Allison. Peter’s going after her and her family, he’s going to kill them!”

Derek’s face twisted, the light on him casting deep shadows. “So what?”

“So tell me how to stop him!”

“You can’t!” Derek snapped and the chains rattled again. “All right? We’ve wasted enough time, we don’t know when Kate’s coming back with reinforcement and you’re not strong enough to keep Joe safe by yourself! So get me out right now!”

No one moved and Derek repeated the motion of tearing at his shackles. “ _Get me out right now!”_

Joe took an automatic step backwards, the intensity of Derek’s rage getting to her, while Scott tentatively stepped forwards. “Promise you’ll help me.”

“You want me to risk my life for your girlfriend? For your stupid little teenage crush that means absolutely nothing?” Joe thought she could see fangs glinting when Derek snarled at Scott. “You’re not in love, Scott, you’re sixteen years old. You’re a child!” Joe pushed herself into the wall when Derek happened to look at her. “You tell him! You said it yourself!”

“I never said...” Joe stuttered when Scott tore around and fixed her with a disbelieving gape. Joe shut her eyes, hoping to distract herself from Derek — should she be able to feel his rage as well? — and shook her head. “I agree we have to stop Kate, but I don’t want anyone to die.” She swallowed and raised her voice to cut Derek’s budding outburst off. “ _Anyone!_ Enough people are dead already, it doesn’t fix anything!”

“Kate killed my whole family,” Derek bit out through gritted teeth, the light made his eyes glitter — or they were pooling with unshed tears. “And she’s gonna do the same to yours. Peter is the only way to stop her!”

“Did he tell you that?” Scott demanded. “Like he told you he didn’t know what he was doing when he killed your sister? But guess what? He lied! Remember this?” He held up a folded piece of paper. Joe and Jimmy each took a step forward to get a better look — a photo copy of what looked like a dead deer with a spiral on its side.

“Symbol for revenge,” mumbled Jimmy, as if he couldn’t help himself.

“Where did you get that?” Derek’s voice was tight.

“My boss told me three months ago someone came into the clinic asking for a copy of this picture. Do you wanna know who it was? Peter's nurse.”

Joe looked between Scott and Derek incredulously. She thought she and Jimmy had done a pretty thorough investigation, but this was all news to her.

“They brought your sister here so that Peter could kill her and become the Alpha, and that's why you're going to help me.” Despite Scott’s brave words, Derek just looked disgusted. Hurt. Angry. Joe tried to ignore the pit in her own stomach, aching on Derek’s behalf. Scott faltered and his voice reduced to a sullen murmur — he did not have it in him to just leave Derek behind. “Just say you'll help me, and I'll help you unlock your other-”

With tremendous effort, Derek tore both arms downwards with a crash. The shackles on his wrists snapped before the wall mounts gave out and Joe felt the twinge in her own wrists in response. Whatever Doctor Deaton had given her was starting to wear off. Derek rubbed the raw skin while his muscles flexed at his arms finally coming down.

He gave Scott a dark look, such pure fiery anger that Joe had never seen before. “I’ll help.”

“Why couldn’t you have done that an hour ago- HEY!”

Derek had grabbed Jimmy by his tactical sweatshirt and shoved him up against the wall. He growled and Joe could see the strands of Jimmy’s hair move by the force. “Why are you here?”

“Are you serious?” she snapped and dashed forward to force herself into Derek’s line of vision. “He’s here with me! He’s been helping _me_!”

“Laura never said anything about him.” Derek did not look at Joe, despite her attempts. “He was a little creep in high school and he smells like a little creep now.”

“Laura didn’t think you could be trusted,” Jimmy managed to croak out, the neck of his sweater cutting into his throat. For some reason, this did not seem to make Derek ease up his hold. “Some of us moved on from high school, Hale. But you’re obviously still thinking more with your fists than your brain.”

“Will you let _-_ him _\- go!”_ Joe finally grabbed Derek’s shoulder and pushed. He must have been running on fumes, normally she shouldn’t have been able to move him an inch. Derek stumbled back, still glaring at Jimmy, who look rattled, but not hurt.

“Why is the actual high schooler the only one acting like an adult?” Joe snapped and gestured to Scott, who smiled awkwardly at the praise. She turned fully to Derek, effectively shielding Jimmy with her body. “Jimmy wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me, okay? Chill out.”

Snorting, Derek bent down to pick up his t-shirt that laid in the clutter on the floor. With a harsh shrug that enhanced all his sculpted external obliques, he got dressed while ignoring them.

“Let’s just get out of here first,” Scott suggested. His face lit up. “Hey, is that my phone? How did that get here?”

Derek watched Scott excitedly pick up his phone. He met Joe’s gaze and mouthed: “Idiot.”

* * *

“I guess you finally believe now,” Scott said conversationally as he helped Joe out from the small incline at the gate. The nighttime dew made the ground muddy and slippery.

“Believe is a strong word,” Joe said and held the gate open for Jimmy to struggle up too. Derek came last, and Jimmy cast several nervous glances over his back at the fuming Derek Hale. Out in the open, Joe put the unloaded shotgun over her shoulder. It gave at least some semblance of protection. “I’m willing to accept that whatever’s going on is slightly more complex than a mental disorder.”

Scott gestured back to the gate where they came from. “Are you serious? Did you not- how can- are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“But the chains!”

“What about the chains?”

“And the howl?!”

“Not gonna acknowledge it.”

Scott let out a series of exasperated noises and shouted: “What’s it gonna take for you to accept what’s going on?”

“ _I don’t know, Scott_!” Joe snapped and threw her arms out, shotgun waving wildly. The volume of her voice made some nighttime birds take off with rapid wing flutters. “You tell me! What’s it gonna take for me to accept that- that- that,” Joe stuttered and fought to get the words out. “That I have wasted the last five _years_ of my life? That I have based my future career on what appears to be complete bullshit? That the only thing I thought I _knew_ — like _knew_ , deep in my bones, without a doubt to be true... isn’t?”

The tears streamed down her face, cooling the swollen jaw and stinging the broken lip after Kate’s assaults. She tried to blink them away, but it was useless. “I don’t know, Scott. What do you think it’s gonna take?”

Ignoring both Derek and Jimmy who were trudging up the small hill to the Hale house behind her, she turned and took a few steps off to the side. Her bruises and scratches ached as she tried to wipe her face with the rough fabric of her sweatshirt. It felt like her lungs were close to collapsing again and she hated herself for shouting at Scott, and still...She hated herself for even beginning to admit the world as she knew it wasn’t anything like it at all.

“Joe, I...”

“Scott, don’t.” Derek’s low baritone put a stop to whatever Scott was trying to say. Joe loved her cousin, immensely, but he had a teenager’s tendency to make things worse when trying to apologize. Derek muttered something more to Scott, sounding like: “It’s not you, it’s stress.”

Joe tore around, going to demand who Derek was making that call for her, but an arrow shot out of nowhere and hit Derek in the chest. He went down without a noise.

“Son of a bitch!” she grunted in his place at the sharp piercing sensation striking her heart, bending over, clutching at her sternum. The shotgun slipped from her fingers and was lost in the dim light. Jimmy threw himself to the ground, concealed in the dark, while Scott stood motionless furthest ahead. “Scott, get down you-”

She followed his stricken gaze to a pair of figures up the hill. Kate and Allison Argent — the first one with her arm in a sling, the second with a compound bow, cocking another arrow.

“Shit!” Joe swore loudly as the second arrow hit Derek in the thigh, but it might as well have struck her. Her muscles gave out and she tumbled down next to him. “Motherf-”

“ _Nngh_ ,” Derek grumbled and shifted around on the ground. He tried to yank out the arrows, but the thick velts of blood made it too slippery. “Scott, your eyes!”

Joe instinctively squeezed her eyes shut at a third arrow. This hit a tree next to Scott and exploded with an intense flash. Scott dropped like the arrow had hit him. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear up her vision, groping around on the dead leaves and dirt to get the shotgun back.

“Arrows,” Derek grunted from her side. He indicated her to grab hold.

“It’s gonna hurt!” she said, as much to herself as to him. No use denying it now! Derek shook his head, at least she thought he did, still working half-blind.

“It’s not gonna hurt you. Not if you do it.”

“How do you know that?” Joe hissed, grabbed the streamlined projectile and pulled. No arrow head, but it was several inches deep into his chest. Derek let out a low rumble, obviously holding in a scream, but as he said, she did not feel it. “Is there a rule book I don’t know about?”

“Second arrow!” Derek bit out and this time he did scream as she tugged the bolt out of his thigh. The blood still gushed out, but he fought himself to a halfway stand. “Run!” He grabbed Joe’s shirt and threw her to the side before clambering over to Scott.

Joe landed almost ontop of a quivering Jimmy. He clutched the shotgun with both arms, eyes trained at the approaching figures of Allison and Kate. Even in the night with her vision impaired, Joe could see that Kate’s swollen eye and the messed up shoulder did not seem to deter her the slightest. She should have gone for her gun arm.

“Give me!” Joe hissed as Jimmy would not relent the shotgun, nor did he seem inclined to get up and help Scott and Derek. She eventually kicked Jimmy in the stomach to make him release his grip. “Jesus!”

Derek had half carried Scott up to the Hale House, but he was already running on low capacity. The bloodloss had Derek falling forwards while using the last of his strength to push Scott forwards. “Scott, go!”

Scott didn’t go. Scott, obviously still blinded, fell onto his back, making feeble attempts to push himself backwards as Allison approached, bow in hand. Joe blinked too, barely making out Kate’s silhouette slowing down nearby Derek.

Shotgun in hand, she tried to push up, struggling with balance after the flash bolt. Even if she could aim, they were out of range for the shotgun — she needed to get closer.

Whatever Scott told Allison, it did not seem to work. Kate made some offhand comment that at least made Allison pause instead of outright shooting Scott point blank.

“You - you said we were just gonna catch them?”

“We did that. Now we're gonna kill them.”

Joe screamed as Kate shot Derek in the heart with a handgun. She flopped back on the ground, choking on blood that wasn’t even there. Through a haze of agony, she could still hear Kate: _“See? Not that hard.”_

She gasped for breath, rolling around on her back, clutching her chest that felt torn apart at the seams. Adrenaline replaced her pain, Derek unmoving on the ground.

“Psychopath,” Joe choked out, clawing her way up again. Her vision cleared enough to see Kate approaching Scott with her pistol by her side.

_“Oh, no - I know that look. That's the ‘you're gonna have to do it yourself’ look.”_

“ _Kate? Kate, what are you doing?”_

Kate shoved off her niece and trained her aim on Scott, who looked helpless and lost on the ground. “Oh, I do love those brown eyes.”

“ _Drop the gun!”_

Kate paused, but did not make any moves to drop the weapon. She peered over her still dislocated shoulder, at Joe who had the shotgun raised and pointed straight at her.

“Look who finally grew some balls.”

“ _Drop_ the gun, Kate!” Joe spat, voice harsh and broken from the still agonizing pain. She fought to keep the trigger finger discipline intact as her dad had taught her. “It’s too late! It’s over!”

Kate scoffed, her hand not moving a fraction. “It’s obviously not over.” She did a half-shug. “I deleted the tape, remember?”

“We had two phones,” Joe said and tried to keep her voice from wavering. She did not want to shoot. But goddamnit, she would. “Okay? Now _drop_ the gun!”

“You better work on your threats, babe.” Kate peered at her over her shoulder again, eyes narrowing at the obvious strain. “Do you have any idea how many cops we have on our payroll?”

“This wasn’t the local PD, Kate! It went straight to the Special Crimes Unit in the FBI! It’s _over_!”

“ _Kate!”_

Both she and Kate turned their heads, neither letting their weapons waver from their original target. Chris Argent, gun raised, came towards them. Joe’s initial reaction was defeat, but she realized he was aiming at Kate!

“I know what you did,” he said with a grim expression. Joe tried to spot if he was followed, if there were more coming. He was alone. “Put the gun down.”

At last, Kate hesitated. “I did what I was told to do.”

“No one asked you to murder innocent people. There were children in that house, ones who were human.” Joe’s blood ran cold and she fought the initial response to just pull the trigger.

Chris continued:“Look what you're doing now. You're holding a gun at a 16 year old boy with no proof he spilled human blood.” Joe could not bring herself to look at Scott, focusing on Kate, on her hand, if she made even the slightest twitch. “We go by the code — _Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent_.”

It sounded like French, and Allison translated breathlessly from her position on the ground. “We hunt those who hunt us...”

“Put the gun down,” Chris repeated. “Before I put you down.”

Kate glanced between Joe and Chris. She’d lost. She had to know she had lost! Joe did not relent — desperate people did desperate things.

“Hey, Joe,” said Kate and winked at her over her shoulder. “Think you got the balls to pull that trigger?”

Joe did not waste air responding, but shoved the shotgun closer to her, ready to fire. At that exact moment, the front door of the Hale house burst open and a dark shape whisked past.

Joe pulled the trigger and the butt kicked against her shoulder. At 20-gauge, the tight clusters of lead pellets had less chance of hitting its mark. The dark creature still let out a yelp of pain and next thing she knew, Joe fell flat on her back as the animal swiped her feet from under her.

Her head reeled, but she saw the others also being knocked to the ground. It moved like a flash! Scott crouched, tried to prepare, but the creature still managed to toss Scott down. Joe ignored all warning twinges of pain and flopped to her belly, crawling over to the shotgun that she dropped several feet away.

“Come on!” Kate screamed, the only one still standing. Her good hand holding the gun, her bad one cradled against her. She was not wasting any shots yet. She span around and tried to get the monster in her sights. “COME ON!”

Joe froze when the dark blur stopped by Kate. She thought it had been an animal, but instead Peter Hale calmly grabbed Kate’s gun arm and twisted. Several loud shots penetrated the night, each and every one hitting nothing but air.

“AAAH!” Kate yelled and Peter forced her to drop the gun. One arm in his vice like grip, the other cradled uselessly against her chest, she was disarmed completely. With inhuman strength, he threw her in the air so she landed with a crash on the front steps of the house. Moving like a nighttime predator, he stalked up the stairs, grabbed Kate by the neck and pulled her inside.

“No, no, no!” Joe almost shouted. Allison ran after her aunt, leaving Joe to swear and snatch up the shotgun while following, ignoring the harsh twinge in her ribcage. Someone yelled her name, but it didn’t register. Up the stairs, in the doorway, almost crashing into Allison who stood petrified and helpless in front of Peter and Kate.

“Let her go!” Joe yelled and aimed the shotgun at Peter’s face. He had Kate in a chokehold, fingernails — no, long sharp claws — caressing Kate’s exposed jugular. Joe at least stepped in front of Allison, as if she could offer any sort of protection against this...monster.

“You think that weapon can hurt me?” Peter mocked and Joe cocked the shotgun, making sure it was loaded.

“It already did,” she bit out. She nodded towards a spreading blood stain on his shirt. “You’re bleeding.”

“A scratch,” said Peter with a sneer. He focused behind Joe, on Allison, obviously taking pleasure at Kate’s squirming. “She is beautiful, Kate. She looks like you. Probably not as damaged.”

Kate met Joe’s eyes — the lack of oxygen made them bloodshot. She mouthed: “Shoot.”

“So I'm going to give you a chance to save her,” Peter said, not paying attention to neither Kate or Joe. At least until he squeezed Kate’s neck harder. “Apologize. Say that you're sorry for decimating my family, for leaving me burned and broken for six years. Say it — and I'll let her live.”

“Let her go, Peter!” Joe repeated, fighting to keep tears at bay, she could not lose her sight now. “The police already have her confession! Dying’s too good for her!”

“Shoot,” Kate choked out and Joe bit her teeth together, knowing the shot would most likely kill Kate before Peter. “Shoot!”

“Apologize,” Peter said again, almost sensually, but the wet eyes betrayed how close he was to losing his grip.

“I’m...” Kate began, twisting her face into a scowl, not able to look away from Allison. “I’m sorry.”

“ _Nooo!”_

Joe and Allison both screamed as Peter ripped his hand across Kate’s throat.

Warm, wet blood splattered across Joe’s face, the walls, the floor — Kate’s pierced artery flow stood high. Joe threw herself forward, to help Kate, to stop the bleeding, but Peter’s hand intercepted her movement and slammed her against the wall.

His large clawed hand forced her off her feet, cutting off her air supply, leaving her gasping and kicking her feet wildly.

“You want to know _why_ I did everything I could to put you in Derek’s path?” Peter asked, leaning towards her ear, the manic glint in his eyes even more obvious up close. “ _Leverage.”_ Her hands flopped against the wall, searching for a grip, but finding nothing. “To strengthen that bond between you...so that when I do _this-”_

He intensified his grip and Joe heard Derek’s grunt, meaning he was nearby and incapacitated. Tears sprang in her eyes at the lack of oxygen, her lungs screaming in her chest.

“I’m sure you get the gist.” Peter sighed and talked over his side. “Back off, Derek, or I’ll rip her throat out too.”

Behind Peter, something moved.

A dark clad figure picked up the discarded shotgun, only his eyes glinting in the midst of dark beard and camouflage paint. Jimmy. Jimmy! Joe pleaded with her eyes, to make him hurry up, before she passed out.

“There are more ways I can get my nephew under control,” Peter said and opened his mouth to reveal too many sharp canine teeth than he should have been able to fit. The bite. Joe squirmed harder, thumping weakly against his fist, begging Jimmy to shoot him! Like Kate had begged her. Like she had not had the stomach to.

Her eyes ran over with tears, almost bleeding from the strain. Please. Shoot him!

Finally, finally, Jimmy cocked the shotgun and Peter’s face returned to normal. Without turning around, Peter said: “Ah, Jimmy. I wondered where you were.”

No.

No, no, no! Joe’s eyes widened, darting between Peter and Jimmy, not believing, not wanting to believe.

“Gun please,” Peter said conversationally and held his hand out behind him to retrieve the shotgun. Jimmy trembled, the shotgun’s muzzle wavering several inches, but he refused.

“No.”

Peter finally turned around while raising an eyebrow. He held Joe against the wall with apparently no effort at all. “No?”

“I did everything you wanted,” Jimmy stuttered and now Joe worried he was going to blow her head off instead if he couldn’t stop shaking. “I deserve the bite. Not her.”

He actually was aiming at her.

Joe tried to speak, but her lungs were so tight and empty she imagined them filling with fluid. She did not want the bite! She could not imagine anyone wanting it!

“And you’ll get it,” Peter said with feigned patience, “once this is over.”

“I’ve been helping you for _years_!” Spittle flew out Jimmy’s mouth, landing in his beard. “I found all the names! I made that list! I did _everything_ you wanted? And you choose this- this- _teenage jock_ instead?”

Jimmy shifted the shotgun briefly in the direction she assumed Scott was, not daring to attack as long as the shotgun was up.

“Jimmy, as I’ve told you so many times...” Peter rolled his eyes, giving Joe a casual look of ‘can you believe this guy?’ even as her feet kicked down desperately to find foothold. Peter opened his mouth again, unnaturally big, teeth and jaw lengthening simultaneously. The words came mangled and guttural: “Survival of the fittest.”

Everything happened so fast.

Jimmy pulled the trigger as Peter dropped Joe and tore around, mouth agape. Something hit Joe in the side and tackled her to the floor. She coughed and sputtered, her lungs overcompensating with the sudden rush of fresh air. On the wall, a scorch mark indicated where her head had been.

A squelching, organic sound filled the room before Jimmy’s scream overpowered everything else. Joe struggled to get up, to help, to do _something_ , but Derek held her in a tight grip.

“No, no, no!” she groaned with what little voice she had. Another round of blood spatter hit the floor and a second later, so did Jimmy, wide eyes staring unseeingly at her. “ _Nooo!_ ”

Derek left her side and sprang up to attack Peter. As did Scott. Their growls, roars and snarls were inseparable and Joe slumped down without Derek’s support. She landed on her stomach, head facing Jimmy. His eyes were open. Unmoving. Dead.

She jolted everytime Derek got hit, the pain numb compared to what was in her heart. She had no idea. He must have been working with Peter all along. She had no idea. He must have known...everything! All along. It shouldn’t end like this. Peter had just tossed him aside like garbage. Disposable. Useless.

Her throat ached, her eyes burned, and the fighting moved on above her like she wasn’t even here. All meta-humans fighting, all humans discarded on the floor. Behind her, so faint she thought she imagined it, she heard the sound of struggling breaths.

Joe turned her head and met Kate’s pleading eyes. She was still alive!

“Ugh,” Joe groaned and pushed herself up. Around her, Scott and Derek fought with...it was no longer Peter. He had shapeshifted into a larger than life wolf who walked on two legs. With red eyes. _What glowing eyes you have, Grandmother. What big teeth you have._ This wasn’t Peter Hale. This was the Alpha.

Joe shrieked and pushed herself down when the Alpha threw Scott out of the one remaining window in the room. It seemed out of control now in its other shape and ignored both her and the gasping Kate as it followed Scott.

“Damn it,” Joe swore and wrenched off her sweater to push into Kate’s open wound. The blood continued to flow around her fingers. Scott would be okay. He could fight. He looked strong. Derek would help him. She hoped. “Damn it!”

Kate gagged and gasped for every breath, eyes open and pleading. Joe pushed harder, reaching into the wound to squeeze the blood flow. She hissed under her breath: “You’re not gonna die, Kate. I’m not gonna let you die. You don’t deserve to die!”

Trembling with pent up rage, Joe leaned closer to Kate’s face, to make sure the near unconscious woman caught her words. “You deserve to live, you psycho bitch, you deserve to _live_ with the knowledge that everyone’s gonna know what you did.”

Joe’s breath came as hard as Kate’s came weak. “They’re gonna know you’re a psychopath, Kate. They’re gonna know you killed innocent people, children.” The last part came out in an intense whisper through gritted teeth: “ _And they’re gonna think you did it because you’re a pathetic, old woman who raped a sixteen-year-old and couldn’t handle it when he left you!”_

There was no way of telling if she heard or understood, Kate’s eyes were wide and rolling back, but Joe did not release her grip on her blood vein. She meant every single word. She was not gonna let Kate get away that easily.

No random pains in her body now. Where was Derek?

Feeling watched, she looked up and Derek was there, unmoving, ready to spring outside. Had he heard-

Her body froze at the sight. It had to be Derek, but...his face was different. Wrong. Glowing blue eyes, forehead pushed together like the beginning of a snout, pointed ears, large fangs extending his jawline. It was not a face built for expressions. Her eyes trailed down his arms, to his hands that ended in the same kind of sharp claws that had ripped out Kate’s throat.

Outside, the Alpha roared. Both of them turned at the sight of tall flames, like a fire tornado spinning. Derek gave her another look, hesitating, and she just said: “Go!”

Stuck on the floor, knowing Kate would bleed out in a short time if they did not get help, she tried to get her phone out. Nothing in her pockets. Had she left it down in the underground dungeon? Or had Jimmy...

Jimmy. Joe let out a loud noise of pain and anguish, biting her teeth to stop the incessant sobbing.

Poor, stupid Jimmy.

She finally realized that the roaring had stopped. Trembling with anticipation, she watched the doorway, wondering if they’d lost. If Derek turned on them. If the Alpha would return to make good on his promise. Not a sound. Except...

Joe let out a shaky breath of relief. Finally!

Help was closing in and she dragged Kate’s body towards the entrance. She was losing a lot of blood, but if nothing else, Kate was a fighter. She still made ragged and gulping breaths.

_“Derek!”_ Scott sounded desperate. “ _If you do this, I'm dead. Her father, her family - what am I supposed to do?”_

Joe practically threw herself and Kate out the front door onto the porch. Allison and her father huddled together to the side, Stiles and another boy poised in front of a car and Scott — where was Scott?

Scott stood helplessly watching Derek crouched over something. Joe gasped and put her free hand over her mouth when she realized it was Peter Hale, back in human form, burnt beyond recognition. Tendrils of smoke still rose from his unmoving body, as did white plumes of hot breath in the cold air. Alive, still.

Derek pulled his hand back and Scott screamed: _“Wait! No, no! Don't!”_

Another gasp escaped Joe, now in complete shock, as Derek slashed his uncle’s throat. Peter twitched, almost like Kate was still doing, but Derek must have hit harder or Peter had less will to fight. The fog of his breath subsided.

No one moved besides Derek, who rose with some effort, breathing deeply. He turned and his eyes were red. An animalistic undertone laced his voice as he said: “I'm the Alpha now.

He looked at Joe, who automatically tried to shield the unconscious body of Kate with her own. The eyes, the posture — he was different already. Before he could say anything, the sound of helicopters drew closer and a search light lit up the nearby forest.

“Flag them down!” Joe screamed at Scott to be heard over the noise.

He didn’t need to. The Hale House and their cars were easily visible from above. The choppers circled over them, looking for a place to land, while a familiar voice came from a loudspeaker:

_“THIS IS THE FBI! PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND LAY ON THE GROUND WITH YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, so nervous to post this chapter after the feedback on the previous one. Hope it lived up to your expectations!  
>  I'm sorry about Jimmy! 
> 
> The story's not over yet, obviously, and I hope you will stick around for the next season as well. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and please comment any thoughts about the finale. Much love and appreciation to all of you!


	18. The Father

The weak liquid sputtering out of the machine looked more like muddy water than coffee. The warmth brought some semblance of comfort at least, even if it tasted like cleaning fluid. This was her third — or was it fourth? — cup. Aware of the front desk deputy’s eyes on her, Joe took the cup and trudged back to her chair without any detours. She wondered who was being interrogated now.

Not Derek, that’s for sure. Somehow he and Peter’s body had disappeared before the choppers could land and get control of the situation. Joe had not noticed this until afterwards. An all-points bulletin was issued for Derek statewide. No one even knew about the late Peter Hale. How could they? She wondered if Derek had buried him like he had done with Laura. She wondered where Derek was. She wondered if he was okay.

Kate Argent remained in critical, but stable condition at the hospital. By chance — or experience — one of the helicopters had a trauma surgeon onboard. He praised Joe for her effort in keeping Kate alive, even if they had to pry Joe’s fingers apart to make her let go off the woman when they reached the hospital. As much as she scrubbed, Kate’s blood still stained her hands. She wondered if Kate remembered what she had said to her. She wondered what would happen when she woke up.

Kate Argent alive and Jimmy Carter dead. It was not fair.

Joe thumped her head back against the wall. She knew some things about being bullied in high school. For some, it never left them. She tried to avoid thinking about how she had ridiculed him in her mind, thinking him a pathetic loser who lived his whole life in an online echo chamber. A conspiratorist who spewed supernatural theories that turned out to be at least partially true. Or sort of true. Whatever truth was. Joe had no idea what to believe anymore. It didn’t change the fact that Jimmy had gone from high school to college, never felt like he was taken seriously, not even by Peter Hale...

Eyes burning, she closed them and the tears slipped almost unnoticeably down her face and away.

A door opened down the hall and voices filtered out. She sat back up, huddled inside her father’s jacket. The Sheriff, some nameless agents and Chris Argent exited the interrogation room. They shook hands.

_You know how many cops we have on our payroll?_

Kate’s mocking tone inside her head made her scowl when Chris Argent passed her with a solitary nod as the only acknowledgement. They were separated after the FBI showed up in the woods. As Chris Argent was the only one holding a gun at that point, they’d descended upon him first, probably giving Derek time to slip away. After that, everything was a blur. Riding the helicopter to the hospital, barely aware of the ear muffs placed over her head as she refused to let go of Kate, as if the woman would slip away if she let go, only to reappear in her nightmares later. The quiet car ride to the Sheriff’s station. The five hour long interview with the Sheriff and the agents, trying to navigate a story completely devoid of anything...unnatural.

At least Joe had some experience there.

Aunt Mel was here somewhere, or had been at least. All the high school kids had the right to their legal guardian present for any interrogations. Somehow Stiles had showed up to the house too, towing the captain of the lacrosse team with him. She didn’t know anything else, they hadn’t been allowed to see each other.

“Here you go,” said her dad who had approached with an unseemly stealth for such a big man. He handed her a paper cup from the nearby coffee shop. “The machine stuff tastes like piss.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled and accepted it without looking at him. She scowled at the cup when her dad took the chair next to her, adjusting his dress pants so he could stretch out his legs.

“That’s it? No sarcasm?” he demanded in that familiar east coast accent. “I left myself wide open here, Josie.”

“It’s Joe. And fine, I suppose you’d know what piss tastes like.”

He laughed gruffly and the sound grated on the last of her nerves. “There she is.” Special Agent Delgado, her one and only parent, fell silent at her lack of response. Usually, they would be knee deep in a screaming match by now. “How you holdin’ up, kid?”

Ignoring his question, she nodded towards the cluster of agents and the Sheriff who were still talking down the hall. “Why aren’t you handling the interviews?”

“Well, there’s a little thing called conflict of interest,” her dad pointed out. “With my daughter and nephew as first-hand witnesses...I gotta tread careful so the case doesn’t get thrown out on a technicality.”

“You have her confession on tape!” Joe turned in her chair to fully look at her dad for the first time. His hair had thinned out a bit, but he had kept his crew cut and shaven face as she remembered it. In bad lighting, he could almost pass for Caucasian. Apparently, he had been handsome once. Or so he claimed.

“I know, I know,” her dad said calmingly, only infuriating her further. “And Chris Argent collaborated your story, at least to the point where he lost consciousness.” Joe tried to not let her relief show. “The high school kids are all over the place, as expected, it’s a hell of a thing watching a woman slit her own throat.”

That had been her story. Kate Argent, in an attempt to get the last surviving Hale, had been pushed up in a corner and tried to kill herself when the truth was exposed. She was taking the fall for the Hale house fire and the police were looking into her connection with the other murders. As far as motives went, tying off loose ends was at least a believable one. When she woke up, it could get tricky. The Argents probably could afford a pretty decent attorney. It sounded like Chris had been on her side though. She wondered what Allison had said when accompanied by her strict looking mother into the interrogation room. She wondered what Scott said, the only person a worse liar than herself.

“Sheriff’s a bit miffed. He already had a secret witness placing Kate Argent at the Hale house fire,” her dad whispered conspiratorially. “He’s working to keep the case indoors. Small-town cops hate when we snatch the glory out of their hands.”

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Sheriff Stilinski came up to them and nodded to Joe’s dad. “Rob, got a minute?”

“Sure,” her dad said and got up from the chair with more effort than she thought he needed. Maybe he really was getting old or he’d pulled a muscle when tackling Chris Argent to the ground. “I’ll be right back, kid. Drink ya coffee.”

She only drank it because she needed the energy. Not because he asked her to. It was an oatmilk cappucino and she glared at it. God, she was getting predictable. Joe watched the Sheriff and her dad talk. Her hands shook. Had Kate woken up? Had she told her own version of what happened? Had Joe’s desperate lie been exposed already?

Her dad returned thoughtfully after a brief conversation with the Sheriff and slumped back in the chair. She glowered at him — wasn’t he supposed to be working? Making sure Kate got what she deserved?

“Derek Hale just turned himself in,” her dad said conversationally and Joe choked on her coffee. Like a true single father, he absentmindedly slapped her on the back to dislodge the liquid. “Looks like you’ve saved an innocent man from conviction. Proud of ya, kid.”

“Son of a bitch!” Joe swore as the impact from his hand had shifted around her broken rib. “Dad!”

“Sorry, sorry, I forgot!” Her father sounded genuinly distressed as he took her coffee cup so she could bend forward in agonizing pain, wheezing through her gritted teeth. “Jesus Christ, I’m sorry, Jos- Joe.”

A medic had checked Joe out earlier. Broken rib, split lip, bruises and scratches — nothing that wouldn’t heal on its own. Apart from Kate, Joe was the only one sporting any injuries. All the werewolves were fully healed or gone by the time the feds flew in.

She could not believe she unironically used the word werewolf in relations to actual people.

She could not believe Scott was an actual werewolf. Whatever an actual werewolf was.

“So, what happens now?” she asked instead of adressing her own treacherous mind.

“Now we get you back home. We interro-” her dad raised his voice, already noticing her expression, “ _-interview_ Derek Hale. We wait for Kate to wake back up, interrogate her. DA takes out their charges, it goes to court in a couple of years, justice is served. Fourteen counts of murder, kidnapping, assaults sounds like the death penalty to me.”

He mistook her expression for something else. “Not that you did wrong keeping her alive, kid. The trial will bring out the remaining truth, if there is one.”

Joe swallowed thickly. It did not sound like a promising prospect. She should have let Kate die. She should have told the truth. What even was the truth? Her brows furrowed as her lips moved without speaking.

“It should be fifteen.”

“What’s that?”

“Fifteen murders. Eight in the fire, then seven this year.” Joe counted on her fingers, not trusting her own mind at the moment. “Laura Hale, bus driver, video store, janitor, two arsonists and Jimmy Carter.”

Her father furrowed his powerful brows. “Who’s Jimmy Carter?”

“The ot-” She stopped herself from saying the _other_ body, as they would never have found Peter Hale in the first place and it seemed too complicated to let them know about all that. “The body at the house. My-” _friend_ “-age, dark hair and a beard...” Judging by her dad’s expression, he had no idea what she was talking about.

Her dad pointed over his shoulder with his thumb towards his colleagues. “I can go check with Noah and the others, but...I’m pretty sure there wasn’t any body found at the house.”

Joe shook her head and let her dad lead her out of the police station. She had to have mentioned him during the interview to the Sheriff. Right? He had been dead, without a doubt, no life left in those open empty eyes. Derek must have taken his body too, maybe concerned the bite marks would be too hard to explain away. Derek. The new Alpha, whatever that meant.

Hugs were exchanged all around at the McCall-household. Aunt Melissa practically somersaulted off the couch when Joe and her dad got home and crushed Joe’s rib _again_. _Did Derek feel that?_ She then moved onto her brother while Joe clung to Scott. Judging by the cups of cocoa and cookies on the table, Aunt Mel had conducted her own interrogation/debriefing with Scott, hoping the added sugar would make him feel better.

_“Are you okay?”_ Scott whispered in her ear while Aunt Mel and Joe’s dad talked quickly and erratically in Spanish. Scott made sure not to squeeze too hard.

“ _I should be asking you that,”_ Joe whispered back, both smiling and crying at the same time. Scott murmured something about that he was, all things considering, okay. He looked fine, but she supposed someone who healed himself always would _look_ fine. Like Derek, after twenty-four hours of torture.

“How you doin’, champ?” her dad asked and did the weird man-hug-shoulder-pat thing with Scott.

“I’m okay, Uncle Rob,” Scott said with a laugh. “As confirmed by my mom, the nurse, several times now.”

“Come on, Mel, let’s give the kids some time to talk,” Joe’s dad said and lead his sister out to the kitchen, despite her protests. He winked at Joe and Scott over his shoulder. “You got any beer in the house?”

“Derek turned himself in,” Joe said and they both slumped down in the couch. Lethargic, Joe just stared straight ahead. That was the extent of consideration Derek Hale was getting in her mind at the moment. “Dad said they didn’t find Jimmy’s body at the scene. Did you see if Derek...”

“No, the lights were...” Scott trailed off and Joe understood. The floodlights from the helicopters must have blinded him. Not to mention, Scott had grabbed Allison when the feds went after Chris. Joe remembered Allison screaming, wanting to come with Kate to the hospital, and Joe felt her insides grow rotten at the thought of taking that spot.

“He must have, right?” Scott murmured and Joe nodded in agreement. He must have. There had been _nothing_ left in those eyes. Not even a glimmer of life. Too much blood hitting the floor, Peter had been more thorough when killing him than Kate. Scott turned in the couch to look at her. “Joe, are you okay? Hey, shhh.”

Joe, full on bawling silently in the couch, shook her head. Through quiet hiccups, she managed to choke out: “I’m not. I’m not okay. I’m so sorry, Scott!”

Scott kept on shushing her, probably concerned with their parents coming back, and he hugged her tightly against him. Strong. Stronger than she’d remember. Stronger than her. Tears ran freely down her face, layering onto his shirt. “It’s okay, Joe, I don’t know how, but it’s gonna be okay.”

“I was so stupid, I’m sorry, I should have believed you when you tried to tell me, but it was all so-”

“To be fair, I didn’t do a good job of telling you stu-” Scott snapped his mouth shut. Not because of her, but because of the two squabbling Delgado-siblings exiting the kitchen again. Joe wiped her face hurriedly, daring Scott to say anything about the momentary weakness, and accepted Aunt Mel’s offer of cocoa and declined her dad’s offer of a beer.

The talk centered around Scott’s lacrosse achievements, a sport her dad never fully understood, but supported on the general basis of being a sport. Joe gave monosyllabic answers whenever her dad tried to ask her anything. Studies were fine. Professors were fine. She was fine.

Cocoa finished, she excused herself from the happy family reunion to go take a shower. The bruises made her look like a psychedelic attempt at a human. Her rib cage was swollen and she winced out of her bra, inch by inch. _Did Derek feel that?_ Her face was like a purple beef cake, bottom lip at least three times its normal size. Only consolation was that Kate had looked worse, even before Peter-

“Get a grip,” she muttered to herself, leaning over the sink, letting her matted hair fall in front of her face. Every time she closed her eyes, the blood hit her again as the claw ripped open Kate’s throat. The desperate look, the last-ditch attempt at an apology to save Allison. Peter had to be as manipulative as Kate herself, preying on the weak spots, using Allison for what she meant to Kate.

The shower did not help, but at least she looked better. All the dirt and blood from her body clogged the drain, and she grimaced when she had to clean the filter to get the water to go down. Her wet tendrils of hair clumped together, forming corkscrews around her face when she wiped the condensation off the mirror to apply some ointment to her lip. It stung briefly. _Did Derek feel that?_

Brown eyes stared back at her. Same as Scott, as Aunt Mel, as her dad. Her skin was darker though, probably from her mom’s side. Not that she knew for sure. Could just be it skipped a few generations, if her ancestors were more true to their Argentinian blood.

Wondering how she could politely tell her dad to take off again, without ruining Aunt Mel and Scott’s reasonably happy mood, she trudged downstairs in a fresh set of pajamas. The mood seemed everything but happy, all three of them sitting in the couch with untouched drinks.

“What’s going on?” Joe asked thickly — her dad still held his cell phone in hand.

“The hospital called.”

_No. No way. Impossible._ Joe knew what was coming even before Aunt Mel rose to embrace her.

“Kate Argent is dead.”

* * *

“Woman tied to six year-old arson case behind Beacon Hills murders?” Joe read aloud from the newspaper headline the following morning. A scowling candid of Kate Argent was next to the article. Instead of being tried and convicted of at least eight murders, the case would be dropped. Posthumous trials were extremely rare, usually only in cases to acquit someone else. At least the article meant everyone learned the truth about Kate Argent. If not the whole world, at least everyone who read the Beacon Post.

She choked on her coffee when she saw who wrote the article. _James Carter._

Joe called the Beacon Post immediately, but Kim Wu said the whole story had been waiting in her inbox when she got in that morning. It delivered the inside scoop, but nothing supernatural or unsupported by the police, so she printed it. She was looking for Jimmy herself, trying to find where to send his check.

There was a chance Jimmy had the story ready on his laptop and had set an automatic e-mail in case he never made it back. He was the kind of guy to do stuff like that. The article did list Kate Argent as dead, which only happened last night, so either he knew of Peter’s plan in advance or...

Or he was out there somewhere, working.

“You sure you’re okay to drive?” Scott asked for the hundreth time as they made their way to Jimmy’s apartment. “I mean, I can drive if you want.”

“I’m fine, Scott,” Joe muttered once more. Somehow, after Kate’s death, it seemed less believable every time she said it. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing mattered. They reached the laundromat and buzzed all the buttons on the door, a trick that still worked, even if someone turned on the speaker to yell at them.

“So creepy to think that he was working for Peter this whole time,” Scott said when they went up the stairs. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that you saw the Alpha outside your window.”

Joe and Scott had sat up all night after their respective parent went to bed. Well, Aunt Melissa went to bed, and Joe’s dad went back to his government-funded hotel room. It was the easiest way to avoid arguments.

“How was I supposed to know you guys were color coded?” Joe muttered, referring to the red eyes she had seen that one night. Red eyes that Derek now possessed. “And don’t get me started on all the stuff _you_ didn’t tell _me_.”

The Argents hunting him, almost shapeshifting on the lacrosse field, the weird urges to kill his friends at the Alpha’s bidding...it pained her to think about. According to Scott, he would have killed someone if Derek had not interfered. That scared her more than she wanted to admit. Scott, her gentle and kind cousin, a slave to an uncontrollable bloodthirst. Even if Derek had been helping him — with control, not steroids as it turned out — Derek did not exactly seem like a patient teacher.

“I tried, remember,” Scott pointed out and she stuck out her tongue at his back. She refused to apologize for that. What sane person would fall over themself to believe their cousin to be a mythic monster just because he was acting shady? They reached the door with all the locks. “Is this it?”

“Yup, can you hear anything?” asked Joe, still a bit iffy on what exactly Scott could do now. Glowing eyes, sure. Partial shapeshifting akin to what Derek had looked like the other night, okay. Strength, speed, enhanced senses...it did not seem like an exact science. A genetic mutation, maybe? Hormonal imbalance? Excess adrenaline?

Scott put his normal, not pointy at all, ear to the door and listened. “No, it’s quiet.”

“Okay, hold on, I think I’ll be able to pick the locks,” Joe said and fished around in her backpack for the lockpicking kit. Another gift from her father, could you believe it, though she did not remember how old she had been. Around twelve, maybe.

“No need, it’s open.”

Scott proved his words by swinging open the door to Jimmy Carter’s apartment. That door had never been unlocked as far as Joe knew. They stepped through and Joe’s insides turned to ice.

Stripped completely bare. No furniture, no artwork, nothing at all. Leaving Scott standing by the entrance, she ran into the other rooms, but they were all as barren as the living room and kitchen. The only thing indicating anyone had ever been here was the marks after all the locks on Jimmy’s door — they were missing too.

“Scott, you did _see_ Jimmy, right? I didn’t just imagine his whole existence or something?” Joe asked, twirling around and trying to see _anything_ that he had left behind.

“I dunno, you _were_ kinda stressed,” Scott joked, but backtracked at her expression. “No, Joe, I saw him! Hard to avoid when he was trying to shoot your head off.”

Joe nodded in agreement to that. Things had turned since just last night. Now Kate Argent was dead and Jimmy Carter presumably alive.

“Have you seen Derek, by the way?” She tried to keep her voice neutral. “Thought he’d show up by now just to say ‘I told you so’ about Jimmy.”

“No, didn’t Uncle Rob say he turned himself in?”

“Yeah, and then he said his name’s cleared. Released from custody, exonorated and all.” She bit her lip in thought. _Did Derek feel that?_ “He probably left town...” She caught sight of her own reflection in the window and frowned. _And how do we feel about that, Miss Delgado?_ Should she care?

Scott shrugged. “Maybe.” He toured the apartment, sniffing his nose until he caught Joe’s weirded out expression. “Can’t smell anything. It’s almost...chemically clean.”

“Sterile,” Joe agreed. “He’s not here. And his parents haven’t heard from him in months.” She’d called them the other day, but they had no idea what she was talking about. It did not seem like they had too much contact with their son. “Okay, so, if Peter bit Jimmy-”

Scott looked up from the fridge he had opened to check the contents. It was empty. “If?”

“Did you see it? Like for certain? I was dump tackled by Derek and only saw the blood...” Joe rubbed the bridge of her nose, the image of blood splatter and Jimmy’s dead eyes flashing in and out. She jumped at Scott’s hand on her shoulder and peered up at his worried frown. “I’m okay, just...did you actually _see_ Peter bite Jimmy?”

He kept his hand on her shoulder, but mulled the question over. “No. It all went by really fast. But the bite’s the only thing that makes sense. If you’re sure he was...gone after, the only way he could have survived would have been through the bite healing itself.”

Joe sighed. Scott’s theory made sense, as much as anything else that didn’t. Were they supposed to heal beyond death? What decided the healing factor rate? Why were they healing at all? Why did she feel Derek’s pain? Why did he feel hers? Nothing made sense. _Just because you can’t explain it, doesn’t make it magic..._

“So, all things point towards Jimmy being bit, healed and possibly deranged.” She wandered into the part of the living room where the conspiracy-map used to hang, her steps echoing in the empty room. The still healing rib throbbed against her side. _Did Derek feel that?_ “How worried should we be?”

“At least Jimmy knows what he’s dealing with, from what you told me.” Scott put both hands behind his head while thinking. “I would never have realized if it hadn’t been for Stiles.”

Joe pursed her lips. “So...Jimmy probably knows the full extent of his newfound powers better than anyone?”

They looked at each other with tight frowns. Scott nodded slowly. “We should probably be a little worried.”

She turned back to the empty wall, where she thought she had helped Jimmy move along his research, in reality just feeding back info that he already knew through Peter. Shuddering from both anger and repulsion, she hugged herself and tried to figure out Jimmy’s next move. She still had a hard time picturing him as a threat. Even in those split seconds she realized he had the shotgun aimed at her, she felt more sorry for him than scared.

“Hopefully he’s somewhere in the big city trying to impress girls,” Joe tried to joke and then coughed at the awkwardness. Rib twinged. _Did Derek fee-_ stop, Joe. Just stop. “He’s not here anyway. Come on, I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

Of course, even in death, Peter Hale caused havoc. The last thing Peter Hale had done before trying to finish his kill list, was attack a girl in Scott’s class. The one that Stiles had a crush on. Motive unclear, but probably to blackmail Stiles into tracking Scott’s cell phone to Derek’s location. Which did not make sense, really, because Jimmy could have told Peter that. It was the only case still open too, the timeline unfortunately did not add up for it to be pinned on Kate. All the other murders were. It was awful to think about, but Kate’s death had been convenient. Almost too convenient. Joe rolled her eyes at herself. Now who was the one with the conspiracy theories?

Stiles’ Jeep was already in the parking lot, but the amount of leaves on the hood revealed it had been here for a while. Joe indicated she would wait in the car, not a big fan of hospitals. Only exception was dropping off meals for Aunt Mel and even then she tried to avoid the intensive care unit.

She left the car running just for the heat, pressed play on whatever CD was already in and sat back watching people come and go. Police car a few spots over, probably keeping watch over the attacked school girl. Joe felt bad for thinking the police would come in handy if the girl turned on them — Scott and Stiles were trying to determine whether she was bit or just wounded. She had been Allison’s friend too, the way Scott explained it. Poor, poor Allison. Hopefully the Argents could use what they saved on attorney fees to pay for Allison’s therapy.

Family sucks sometimes, Joe thought, and that was the last coherent one she had before her eyes slipped shut. She jolted awake again when the passenger car door slammed.

“Hey, how’d it—” She froze at what she thought was Scott turned out to be Chris Argent. Her lip raised. “Get out.”

“I’m just here to talk.” Chris held both hands up, the universal signal for being unarmed. “Thirty seconds, and I’m gone.”

Joe already had her phone out, finger poised over the speed dial. “Clock’s ticking.”

Chris sighed and she saw deep furrows around his eyes. “I never got the chance to thank you. For what you did.”

“I didn’t do it for-”

“You stopped Kate from killing Scott,” Chris clarified, holding up a flat palm to still her protest. “And you tried to save Kate, even though she probably did not deserve it. I can’t take responsibility for my sister’s actions, but...”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “But?”

“She wasn’t always like this. That. Bitter, jaded or however you wanna call it. It’s what I fear the most for—” He stopped himself, taking a slow calming breath, before continuing. “I’m just glad that Allison got to see that there’s still a thing called mercy in this world. That’s all.”

“I won’t show any more mercy if you go after Scott again,” Joe said before she could think. Chris seemed to consider this and nodded. Joe relented a bit. “But I am sorry about your loss. I believe you when you say she wasn’t always like...that.”

“We’re not all monsters,” Chris said as he opened the door to get out. “We go by a Code.” He stopped in the open door and added: “Kate’s funeral’s on Thursday. I won’t expect you, but you won’t be turned away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bwahaha, like I would let Jimmy go so easily :)  
> Without spoiling, I'll just say that nothing's what it seems.
> 
> Sorry for the lack of Derek, but Joe needs some time to breathe before next round is on.   
> Thank you for reading, I appreciate your feedback so much.


	19. The Liar

Joe’s mood was sour long before she reached Berkeley. The drizzly weather only accentuated it. It was a almost a week since Special Agent Rob Delgado rolled — more like flew — into town and he was finally going back to Quantico. Suspect dead, case closed, no more murders. All wrapped up neatly with a bow, leaving him free to disappear from her life again. But not until he took them all out for a nice dinner, of course. One big happy family. Joe could throw up in her mouth at the thought.

Last time she’d been at Berkeley it was to announce she was dropping the paper. Then she’d rehearsed in her car the whole way over. Now she had just fumed while the vocalist of the feminist rock band she listened to screamed her heart out. At least her rib seemed to be getting back to normal and all the bruises had faded. _Derek wouldn’t feel that anymore._

“ _Josefina_! I did not expect you back so soon!” Professor Kane exclaimed when Joe entered the lecture hall. Joe cringed, the Professor always insisted on emphasizing the Spanish pronunciation of her first name. The college’s mental health counselor had reached out to Joe when informed of her near-brush with death and given an automatic time off period of fourteen days, she suspected the information was relayed to the professor.

Professor Kane was arranging slides around on the PC, like she usually did in the half hour break before lecture start. She wore a multi-colored dress that reached the top of her pointy boots as she came around the lectern. “How are you? Really?”

“Fine,” Joe said, wondering how many times she had to say it for it to ring true. “You got a minute?”

“Yes, of course,” said the Professor and gestured for them to sit on the first row. Empty lecture halls always creeped Joe out when she worked as an in-class TA. It whispered of unfulfilled potential. “If this is about the paper, do not fret, we have plenty of time for the early fall-deadline.”

“It’s not about the paper,” Joe admitted and wrung her hands. This had weighed on her mind ever since...well, ever since she experienced Derek’s torture first hand. Everything else she could try and explain using science, but that? Not even she could make her mind jump through so many hoops to find a truth she liked. Deciding to just leap into it, she blurted: “I want to change fields.”

Professor Kane’s hand flew up to her glasses automatically, took them off and began cleaning them. Bangles shook. Joe suspected it was a way to buy time.

“You want to...”

“Change fields,” Joe repeated. “Not from Social Sciences, but from...”

“Cultural sociology,” Professor Kane finished for her. Her voice had a tragic undertone. “From superstitions and lore.” Her thin brows pulled together in genuine confusion. “Can I ask why?”

Lying, Joe said: “My heart’s just not in it anymore.”

Seeing her professor’s sunken face, she elaborated. “Because I’ve seen...things. Felt things. And they made me have doubts, if you know what I mean. I’ve been thinking a lot about it lately, and I don’t really see myself moving forwards with this degree anymore.”

The Professor nodded with understanding. They both sat there for a while, Joe letting the truth out and Professor Kane absorbing it. She knew she was considered Professor Kane’s protege, but how could she ever continue researching or even teaching something she knew now to be...fake?

“Well, I must say this is disappointing news,” the Professor said and leaned back with folded arms. “All this because you found out about real werewolves?”

“Yeah- _what_?” Joe snapped up straight in her seat, she must have misheard or something. Staring at the Professor who had a glint in her eye, she realized she had heard her just fine.

“Miss Delgado,” she said slowly while Joe tried, and failed, to catch up to the sudden turn of events. “I have researched this field for almost forty years now. Do you think, even for a second, that I could have done that without coming across exactly what you have? I mean, they’re good at secrecy, but not that good.”

“What?!”

Joe could not sit anymore — she got up and paced in front of the lectern. “You knew? About this, about them?” A chilling sensation crept up her spine. “The attacks in Beacon Hills. You knew they weren’t animal attacks all this time!”

“I had my suspicions,” Professor Kane corrected slowly, not particularly pertubed by Joe’s incessant pacing. “All over now, I should assume?”

“You _knew_ they weren’t animal attacks and you still had me look into it? _Why?_ ” Joe’s voice broke on the last word. This was it. Her last safe haven demolished, trampled beyond recognition. First Kate, then Jimmy, now Professor Kane. Did she have a tag on her bak that spelled ‘SUCKER’?

“Well,” the Professor straightened out the skirt of her dress, “you would never have believed me if I came out and told you directly.”

“Because you taught me the opposite!” Joe’s voice echoed through the lecture hall and she lowered her voice in case a couple of students wandered in early. “For five years! I sat through God knows how many of your lectures where you specifically say over and over again that they are just part of an overactive imagination! Mass hysteria! Human behavior!”

“And do you understand _why_ I do that?”

“Will you stop talking to me like I’m a rational person?!” Joe snapped, realized how it sounded and threw her head back with a grunt. “We’re not brainstorming! I just found out you’ve been lying to me-”

Professor Kane nodded. “To everyone.”

“To everyone for, what’d you say, forty years?”

“Because...?” Professor Kane prompted.

Despite herself, Joe tried to employ the same way of thinking her professor had always taught her. She shook her head to stop it, crossed her arms and glared defiantly at Professor Kane,t the liar, the fraud, the agnostic know-it-all.

“Why have I devoted my entire career convincing the world that what they _thought_ they saw, what they _thought_ they heard, what they _thought_ they knew...was just in their head?” Seeing Joe’s lack of response, Professor Kane picked delicately at her bangles. “What would happen if the truth came out, Miss Delgado?”

What would happen? If the public found out about them...

“What always happens,” Joe answered, thinking in her mind of all the burnings, all the hangings, torture, lynchings of just _alleged_ monsters, who might not be so alleged after all.

“What always happens,” Professor Kane agreed. “People are afraid. They become angry. They lash out. Werewolves — well, werecreatures in general — have dwindled in number the last century, but they have never been populous at any point in history.”

Without pausing to let Joe keep up, Professor Kane continued: “One particularly famous Roman emperor tried to create an army of werewolves, did you know that? A catastrophically failed experiment. Not everyone is receptive to the turning, that was one thing. Some did not turn into what was expected. No, werewolves will never be in the majority. They choose a life in seclusion, in hiding, most living quite ordinarily among humans.”

“You’re...you’re protecting them?” Joe whispered, the only plausible explanation she could think of. Something in her Professor’s tone, in her eyes — a softness when she spoke of the creatures.

She nodded. “Yes, I suppose that would be an accurate description.” Professor Kane checked her watch that hung on a chain around her neck and got up from the seat. “Five minutes until class. If they are on time.” She walked past Joe to the lectern and tidied up her notes. “Should we discuss this at another , perhaps?”

“Help me change my program.” Joe still had her arms crossed, but her voice lacked the authority she wanted. “Please.”

“Miss Delgado, you are still missing the reason I put you on this assignment, why I _hoped_ you would find the truth on your own.” Joe did not even try to guess and Professor Kane sighed. “I understand your mind is still polluted after what I assume were traumatic events. Very well, if I must spell it out, I am looking for a successor. I have done this job for forty years, and at one point, I would like to retire to the seaside with my spouse.”

Joe scoffed. “You want me to...to be you?”

“Not me exactly,” Professor Kane said while rolling her eyes. “There’s only one of me. But you remind me so much of myself at your age. Young, ambitious, driven...you have great academic potential.”

“I don’t think I’m the right person for the job,” Joe said quietly just as the double doors opened and a steady stream of undergrads sidled in.

“Can I ask you to take some time to reconsider? I will...” Professor Kane stopped to smile at some students. She sighed. “I will look into the bureaucratics of changing your program, if you insist. What did you have in mind?”

No hesitation on Joe’s part. “Criminology.”

“Ugh, law enforcement?” Professor Kane wrinkled her nose. “Really? Fine.”

The Professor shooed her out of there when the hall began to fill up with students, their laptops and a multitude of different coffee drinks. Coffee had an appeal to it, and Joe did not want to go home yet knowing her dad would be there. Probably playing catch in the yard with Scott. He’d always wanted a boy, she was sure of it.

He would probably love to hear she was interested in Criminology. Academically, it was not that far a stretch from her previous program. Instead of looking at the general population, you focused more on diverse groups of criminals. Both were part of the Department of Social Sciences and Psychology. Joe had sworn up and down that she would never follow in his footsteps and had absolutely no plans of telling him about it.

The institute would probably make her explain why she wanted to change her program at this point in her degree. She wondered how she could explain that with the last few weeks, nothing made sense except the crimes. Where the werewolves and supernatural elements threw everything she had learned into a new light, the murders still made sense. Professor Kane’s betrayal just sealed the deal. All those hours, weeks, and years of working with her and she had been lying in Joe’s face.

In the campus coffee shop, she ordered something completely different, an iced dirty chai, and sipped it with a grimace. Chai was tea, dirty meant they added espresso — coffee and tea did not match. She regretfully brought it with her to a corner table, wishing she’d gone for her regular instead.

Joe found herself scrolling through Professor Kane’s academic record on her laptop. Papers, books, lectures, conferences — she had kept the lie going for almost half a century. Joe wondered if it was because she was such a poor liar herself that she seemed unable to spot other people’s falsehoods? Come on, who hadn’t fooled her at this point?

Stiles with the steroids, Scott with the ‘oh-no-everything-is-okay’, Kate with the feigned interest in her, Jimmy with the multitude of coincidences and now Professor Kane with Joe’s entire academic career. Five years. Five goddamn years!

She realized she was pounding the keyboard-buttons on her laptop with furiosity and forced herself to stop. Getting it repaired was _not_ part of her budget. Missing so many tutoring sessions, getting a leave from the TA-job, one she’d probably have to leave anyway if she switched programs...ya girl was broke. Ten bucks that was not a topic her dad would bring up during family dinner later today. Not that she could afford to wager ten bucks, even with the best odds possible.

Locked in suppressed anger, it did not improve when someone had the audacity to slide into the other chair at her table.

“Excuse me, that’s not a free seat,” she pointed out and slammed down her laptop screen to glare at the intruder. Instead of whatever college freshman who was trying to shoot his shot, she found herself staring at Derek Hale. He seemed unbothered at her scowling and put a steaming cup onto her side of the table.

It smelled like an oatmilk cappucino.

“The barista knew your order,” Derek answered even though she did not pose the question. “Can we talk?”

“Thanks, and no, I’d rather not,” Joe said and exchanged her iced wannabe-coffee with her regular serving of foamy deliciousness. She inhaled the sprinkles, but found Derek’s scent overpowering. “Not a great day today.”

Derek leaned forwards, leather creaking in his jacket, and his eyes flashed red, so deep it could not be explained by a trick of the light. “I’m not here to talk about your day.”

“Do you want to talk about how I got you acquited for murder? You’re welcome,” Joe said over her cappucino.

He looked unamused. “A murder I didn’t commit in the first place.”

“But you were still the only suspect. I’m claiming the praise here,” Joe said and focused on the coffee, the smell of the coffee, the taste of the coffee, and not at all Derek Hale. Not that she would know how Derek tasted like. Cringing internally, she changed gears. “Do you wanna talk about how your psycho uncle was stalking me the entire time?”

Derek sat back in his chair again and rolled his eyes. “You _know_ what I want to talk about. What _we_ need to talk about.”

We...

“Nope.” Joe pursed her lips and studied the pattern left behind in the foam, not how his biceps bulged against his jacket. “Not a clue. Sorry. Oh, wait, do you wanna talk about how Jimmy was bitten and is now missing? Huh?” It took a lot to not back down at the glowering look he sent her. “Look, I said I didn’t want to talk. And still, you persisted!”

“Don’t worry about Slim Jim Carter, he won’t last long.”

“Don’t call him that!” Joe insisted. Derek sounded like a high school bully and she almost shuddered about her own high school nickname in second-hand bitterness. “And why not? Do you know where he is?”

Derek shrugged, not exactly filled to the brim with compassion for Jimmy. “No. But a newly turned werewolf without a pack? Either another wolf pack will get him or the hunters will.”

“Isn’t he technically part of your pack or whatever? Aren’t the — whatever you call them — underlings inherited?” Joe asked, sincere in her confusion. “Shouldn’t you be helping him, like you were with Scott? Or at least try to find him?” At his scowl, she faltered a bit. “I just sort of feel it was my fault what happened to him.”

“He was working for Peter the whole time.”

“You were working with Peter too!” Joe protested and struggled to not back off at the livid expression in Derek’s eyes. “Well, you were...”

Derek leaned across the table again. He looked a lot better than last time. Still pale, but not downright see-through as he had been when they busted him out of that dungeon. More stubble, but he smelled clean so he must have showered. Not that Derek ever smelled anything else than downright good, a smell that sent fireworks off inside Joe’s head. Fireworks that almost made her miss what he actually said: “Only because I was trying to keep you safe!”

A hint of a growl in his voice and Joe’s insides melted. Fighting to find her words, she exclaimed: “I never asked you to!”

“You don’t _have to ask_ -” Derek cut off as the nearest table shushed at them. This was college and it was closing in on the midterms. The t-shirt tightened around his chest as he took a deep breath. Lowered voice, he said: “Carter’s fate got nothing to do with you. He chose it for himself.”

“But he’s a...” Joe could not bring herself to say the word. She could think it, she could hear it without making too many grimaces, but she could not say it. “Like you? And Scott?”

Derek shrugged, giving off the vibe that he did not care either way. From what Scott had told her, and he had not seemed too sure of the details himself, not all who are bitten will turn. Some reject the bite, usually leading to their death. Joe replayed her conversation with Professor Kane. She had alluded to there being a third option as well...

“Kate’s dead,” Joe said in lack of anything else. She almost added that Chris Argent had invited her to the funeral, but decided against it.

The dark expression on Derek’s face did not flicker as he stared straight at her. “I know.”

“Did you kill her?”

Now a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. “What?”

“Did - you - kill - her?” It was a straightforward question. Joe had confirmed Kate’s time of death and Derek had not turned himself in until afterwards. Her death meant no trial, no legal investigation, no defence case — it was convenient. Too convenient.

“No.” His jaw tightened and his nostrils flared. He seemed to work hard to stay in control and leaned back with the same ease a tiger would skulk back in the shadows. “But I wish I had.”

A large void opened between them of pain and unspoken words. Derek stared into the table and Joe wondered where his mind went. If it went back to the torture chamber, to Kate’s jeers and the chains. When the last five minutes had been that horrible she could only imagine what else Kate had said in-between the electrocutions that had lasted almost a full twenty-four hours. They touched upon this in one of the introductory Psychology-classes, on the hold that an abuser holds over their abusee. Why abused spouses never left, why abused children always came back...

“Are you okay, Derek?”

His sharp eyes darted up to look at her. Unreadable features, could be anger, could be confusion. She sighed.

“It’s not that you don’t look okay. You look,” she gestured vaguely, “great obviously. It’s just been a lot lately, y’know?” She tried to find a wording that wasn’t: ‘Now your whole family actually _is_ dead, along with the killer who also abused you and tortured you, you wanna talk about it?’

If it had just been him and Laura for so long after the fire, then losing her, and now his uncle too...

“One of my old professors literally wrote the book on traumatic psychotherapy. I can ask him to recommend someone nearby if you-”

Derek rolled his eyes excessively, almost looking more annoyed with himself than her. “No.” After a brief contemplative pause, he added: “Thank you.” He took a deep breath and straightened up. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Joe said with a tone that betrayed that she did not exactly believe him. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” Derek’s gaze darted to the side, almost like he was embarrassed? Not an emotion she would ever associate with him. “I need to ask you something.”

She pursed her lips a bit in contemplation. To be honest, she had a lot of questions for him too and they were all of the awkward type. Grimacing, she nodded.

Derek took a short breath and let it out in a puff as if to steel himself. “Joe. Can you...smell me?”

Joe froze and instinctively grabbed her cup to buy time. She finished the last of her cappucino in one gulp and swallowed harshly, because it had been a little too much. Going the route of feigning temporary deafness, she blurted: “Well, would ya look at the time, I gotta-”

Derek’s hand shot ut to grab her wrist as she was getting up. “I take it that’s a yes.”

She remained standing by pure defiance, but stared at his large hand wrapped fully around her, by comparison, delicate wrist. Either Derek had warmed his hand on the radiator first or she was getting an allergic reaction to his touch. It burned.

“Sit down.” Derek glanced at the other people in the coffee shop — no one paid them any attention. “Please.”

Not able to speak, let’s face it, she wasn’t even able to think, Joe slid back down in her chair. Derek let go of her hand and she wrung both of hers together instead. She did not even dare to breathe, as if inhaling his scent would make it truer somehow.

“It’s not that you smell bad!” Joe blurted out with wide eyes still locked on her hands. The one he had grabbed looked normal, she would expect it to be glowing red.

Derek sounded exasperated.“I know.”

Not really hearing him, she continued: “It’s just a lot, really. I don’t know if it’s a cologne or just your shower gel, but it’s kinda overpowering, I’ll admit. I couldn’t find a way to tell you without being rude, and there’s always been so much other stuff happening with the attacks and the torture and the murders and stuff.”

“Joe, it’s okay.”

She shut her mouth, running out of useless stuff to say. Completely unable to look at him in any way, even the sight of his hand resting on the table somehow making her blush climb rapidly up her spine, she hesitated. “How...how did you know?”

“It’s a sign,” Derek said slowly, “of true mates.”

Joe finally looked up at him, but it was to make a cringing grimace. “Of what now?”

“True mates. It’s rare, even among werewolves- why are you making that face?”

“What face?”

His nostrils flared. “That stupid face you’re making right now.”

“It’s...just what my face looks like,” Joe tried to convince both of them, but he looked at her with weary eyes. “Okay, okay, so...I’m just accepting that there are-” She blew her cheeks up instead of saying the word. “What you and Scott are...”

His voice came in a fatigued growl. “Werewolves.”

“Right. I don’t understand it yet,” she added and made various hand gestures trying to piece together her thoughts. “I’m willing to accept that it’s some sort of genetic mutation. Like, I saw the fangs, it’s fine. But _mates_?” She drew the word out and could not stop her face from scrunching up again. “That sounds like bullshit.”

Derek blinked slowly. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I just...it sounds a bit woo-woo, you know what I mean?”

Before she could react, Derek’s hand shot out to grab one of her flailing ones. He shifted his grip so he was effectively holding her hand like a boyfriend would. Joe stopped breathing again and stared at the union of their bodies, only able to focus on how calloused his palm felt, how smooth the pads of his fingers were in comparison. How the warmth from his grip seemed to travel up her arm, through her heart and settle in her lower stomach. Or, below the stomach if she was being honest.

“Do you feel that?” Derek implored.

Joe hoped he hadn’t noticed all the hairs on her arm standing up at his voice. “Uh...”

“Tell me you _don’t_ feel that.”

“I feel it...” Joe said slowly and tried to shut down whatever central nervous system was in charge of her nose as well as touch. Derek had leaned forward, and she kept her gaze fixed on their hands because that was marginally better than getting lost in those bright green eyes. “And I think it’s called lust.”

“Because we’re conn-”

“No, no, I’m pretty sure it’s because I haven’t had sex in a year. Or is it a year and a half? Hang on, we’re in February now, right?”

Derek shifted uneasily on the chair. He seemed to grab onto the one thing he could work with. “But you _want_ to hav-”

“Derek, do you own a mirror?” she asked sincerely and tried to snatch her hand back, finding it fully encapsuled in his. She tugged. “I’m pretty sure half the coffee shop would admit wanting to have sex with you. The other half either asexual or in denial.” Finally retrieving her hand she gestured at him. “You’re hot as hell! It’s a completely natural reaction from my side.”

Derek’s blank expression told her nothing. Nada. Zilch. He might be angry, might be confused, might be flattered — she had no way of knowing! As luck would have it, he did not get a chance to reply when someone called out through the coffee shop: _“Joe Delgado! Oh my god!”_

A tall and pretty African American girl strode through the tables with her arms already out, gesturing for a hug. Joe’s panicked thoughts only centered around whether she had seen Joe and Derek basically holding hands and just barely remembered to stand before Kelly Brooks, one of her undergrad friends, descended upon her.

“Oh my Goood, I thought that was you! Hii!” Kelly exclaimed and did the double kissing-thing Joe never understood. Kelly turned to Derek and extended her arm like a trained socialite. “Kelly Brooks, how are ya?”

To Joe’s utter amazement and shock, Derek _smiled_ and got up to shake Kelly’s hand like he had actually been brought up in a house instead of a barn. “Derek Hale, nice to meet you.”

He either ignored or didn’t notice Joe’s open mouth and offered to get Kelly an extra chair if she would like to join them.

“Oh, no, sorry, I got like five minutes before we start back up,” Kelly said and smiled even wider, winking at Joe as if to say ‘nice catch!’. “It’s that Alumni-thing, Joe, that I sent you five or six e-mails about. Oh my God, look at your hair, it’s getting so long!”

Joe tried to shrink out of her chair as Kelly tugged on her curls with expert fingers, knowing how to check length without causing frizz. “Right, the Alumni-thing. Uh, I forgot?”

“Don’t worry about it, I know you’re busy with all that post-grad stuff,” Kelly said with a wave of her hand. She adressed Derek: “You know she completed both her Bachelor’s and her Master in four years? She’s our little genius of the group.”

“Ha ha ha,” laughed Joe in a hollow voice, side-eyeing Derek who looked genuinly human and happy. He gave her an expectant look in return and Joe wracked her brain trying to come up with small-talk. “Uhm, are you staying long, Kelly?”

“No, got a flight back first thing tomorrow! And then I’m back for the reunion weekend, of course. Hey!” Kelly flashed Derek another huge smile and Joe considered throwing the remains of her iced coffee at Derek to cause a distraction. “You should totally join us! A bunch of the guys are bringing their partners. I know Alex is!”

“I’m sure Derek’s busy,” Joe said through gritted teeth and tried to tap into whatever _connection_ he was so adamant about to indicate she would rather strangle him than let him join. “With work.”

“I can take time off,” Derek said and smiled again, with teeth. A proper smile. It looked incredibly handsome, but it was Derek! He usually did not smile!

“That would be so much fun,” Kelly said and they all laughed, even though Joe could not see the funny part at all. “Joe’s the only one who’s still living nearby. I swear we would not have been so good at getting together if it hadn’t been for her. We’re sort of all still connected to the university.”

She let Kelly gush on for the remainder of the time. On one hand, she owed Kelly big time, it was her who had first showed Joe how to tame her curls, a feat her father had miserably failed at during her formative years. On the other hand, Kelly had a tendency to be a bit too talkative and this was one of those occasions.

“Uhm, Kelly, you’re watching the time?”

“Oh, shoot! I gotta run! Okay, see you! It was super nice meeting you! Bye, bye!”

Joe and Derek both waved back as the girl fluttered back out the exit, snatching up her already done order sitting on the counter. Joe waited until she was sure Kelly wouldn’t pass any windows before her smile disappeared and she leaned over the table.

“No!” she said simply. “Not happening, you’re not joining that reunion dinner.”

She got up quickly and stuffed her poor maltreated laptop into her backpack. Nowhere was safe these days. Would she have to go to San Francisco to enjoy a good cup of coffee in peace?

Derek, back to his regular expressionless face, made no motion to grab her or get up. Instead, he asked: “Who’s Alex?”

“What?” Joe snapped, already mentally in her car going home.

“Alex. Your heart beat faster when Kelly mentioned his name.”

Her _heartbeat_? Why would he be listening to that?

Joe pointedly did not look at Derek. “Alex,” she said and got her jacket from the chair, tucking it under her arm, “is my ex-girlfriend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I was just too excited about this chapter not to post it. And I've promised you Derek-Joe interaction and voila!
> 
> I LOVE writing Derek and Joe interacting because it's so awkward because they're two awkward people, even though Derek can get his act together if he tries, but it's just that, an act. Joe took the mate-declaration just as well as expected. Also, Professor Kane is a sneaky sneak.
> 
> Okay, rambling in the chapter notes here. Thank you to all of those who continue reading this frequently updated story haha, I love you guys and I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please leave a comment of what you think!


	20. The Father II

One upside to a family dinner with a federal agent and an ER-nurse was the stories. Aunt Mel and Joe’s dad went to the extremes in trying to upstage each other with the stupidest criminal vs. stupidest accident. Scott had to loudly ask his mom to stop when the other people in the restaurant gave them side-eyed look at the story of the man with an action figure up his...you get the gist.

Aunt Mel giggled into her napkin so her bright lipstick smeared, while Joe’s dad sniggered into his beer glass. Times like these always made Joe uncertain if she wanted to have a sibling or if she should feel blessed to escape it. At least she had Scott and their relationship seemed healthier than the unconditional love, but also occasional intense hatred between Rob and Melissa Delgado, now McCall.

“God, Rob, I don’t know how to thank you for the dinner,” Aunt Mel said without sarcasm when they were on desserts. They were all dressed to the nines — Scott back in the suit he’d worn to the Winter Formal, while Joe and Aunt Mel wore sombre dresses and even makeup. “This was delicious!”

“Who knew you could find fine dining in Beacon Hills?” Joe’s dad said with a wink and Joe rolled her eyes. He had always made jabs at Aunt Mel for moving into a remote town like this when they all originally hailed from bigger cities. “It’s all my pleasure. It’s been a while since I saw you all, nice to get a chance to catch up.”

Scott and Aunt Mel fell silent, both glancing at Joe like she wouldn’t notice.

“You can say it, dad.” Joe stirred the spoon into her machine-made cappucino. “Everyone knows it’s because of me.”

It was her fault her dad hadn’t been able to visit. It was her fault they hadn’t celebrated Christmas together the last few years. Or Thanksgiving or 4th of July or any other holiday or birthday or major event.

“I did not say that,” her dad said slowly, mostly directed to the remains in his beer glass. “Come on, Josie, let’s not ruin the mood with our fighting.”

Aunt Mel closed her eyes in defeat while Joe bit out: “For the millionth time, dad, it’s _Joe_.”

He finished his beer without looking at her. “That’s not what it says on your birth certificate.”

“To be fair, it doesn’t really say _Josie_ , either, does it?” Joe put her cup down so hard it clanked against the saucer. “I would’ve changed my name the second I turned eighteen if it hadn’t been for...”

Her dad followed suit and slammed his beer glass onto the table. “If it hadn’t been for what, _Joe_?”

“Rob, _tranquilo,_ ” Aunt Mel tried to break in. She cast glances around the restaurant. “Not now, guys.”

Glaring at her dad, but not saying the last words that would make him blow up, she got up from the table instead. She threw her napkin into the chair. “If you’d excuse me.”

“Joe, hold on, just...” Aunt Mel’s voice trailed behind her. _“Jesus, Rob!”_

Storming out of the restaurant like she was fifteen years old again, she willed herself to not cry. She was _done_ crying. Her dad always had a knack for riling her up! And then made her look like the bad guy when she talked back. She stomped into the alley behind the restaurant and sucked in the cold air to numb the burning anger in her chest.

“At least we made it all through dinner.”

Her dad had followed her out. She knew without turning around he was lighting one of those foul-smelling cigarillos. Never one for hard liquor, he claimed the cigarillos were his worst habit.

“I really just wanted to have a nice evening with you, Mel and Scott,” her dad continued at her seething silence. Her dress didn’t have sleeves and now goosebumps covered her shoulders. “I miss you guys.”

“This doesn’t change anything,” Joe said and tore around, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. “We can be civil all we want and make small talk until we’re red and blue, but things aren’t okay, Dad!”

He let out a puff of smoke, temporarily disguising his features. “This still ‘bout your mom?”

“Of course it’s about my mom!” Joe yelled and her voice cracked on the last word. “It’s always been-” She choked up and stuffed both hands into her eyes, as if she could force the tears back. “Damn it!”

_“Josefina..._ ” Her dad took a step towards her, hand reaching out, but stopped at her incessant glare. “Baby. Sometime, you’ll have to let go.”

“Let go of what? I never had anything to hold on to in the first place.”

He closed his eyes briefly and looked to be saying something to himself under his breath. “You know, the last couple of years I’ve felt like the shittiest dad in the world.”

“Oh! Oh, so you’re trying to guilt-trip me now?” Joe laughed and blinked rapidly to clear her vision from tears.

“No, no, just hear me out,” her dad said wearily and held his hand up. She sniffed and hugged herself, but kept quiet. “I know last time...we both said some things we didn’t m-”

Joe scoffed. “I meant every damn word I said!”

“Can I get more than five words out here?” her dad snapped and held the lit cigarillo out to the side. “I’m tryna apologize and you just keep jabbin’ at me!”

She scuffed her shoe against the glistening pavement. “Fine. Go on.”

“Thank you! I just meant that things got out of hand, okay? We were shoutin’ and even if you meant everything you said, I didn’t! Okay? I let my temper get the best of me, but, I’ve been tryin’, kid. I’ve started this therapy thing.”

“Oh God,” Joe said and wanted to throw up. “Good for you, dad. Way to go. Just, what, fifteen years too late?”

“I regret some of the things I said, okay? Last time. I was honest, but I was too harsh,” her dad continued as though he hadn’t heard her. “And with the name-thing...I’m not doin’ it on purpose, I swear. I look at you and I still see my little girl, y’know? My little Josie.” He shrugged. “But if you wanna go by Joe now, it’s fine. You’ve grown into a hell of a woman, kid. Maybe I should’ve started therapy fifteen years ago, but I mean, I can’t have done all bad. Look at ya.”

He gestured towards her and she hugged herself harder.

“The last few years...every phone call you ignored, every present you sent back,” her dad said and now the tears fell on their own, nothing left to hold them from her side. “I know now I’ve made some mistakes.” He ignored her incredulous noise. “And I’m sorry. But I must’ve done something right, ‘cus I’m tellin’ ya, I’ve never felt more proud when you still called me when you needed help.”

“I needed Special Agent Delgado,” Joe bit out through the crying and the shivering. “Not my dad.”

Her dad slumped a bit in defeat and splayed his hands out. “They’re one and the same, kid.” She watched him trudge back to the restaurant, throwing the half-smoked cigarillo into a drain.

* * *

Special Agent Rob Delgado took the red-eye flight back to Quantico. He sent a text message to Joe telling her to stay safe. Joe stayed safe by staying in her room all day to avoid the inevitable conversation with Aunt Mel. She had this annoying habit of being rational at all times and Joe did not need that kind of energy in her life.

Joe found herself re-reading some of her old notes on the Beacon Hills-attacks. A lot of the blanks filled in if you allowed for the existence of werewolves — as in, animals with motives. She found herself wondering about Kate’s motive, six years ago, when she decimated the Hale-family. Hate crime? Not unlikely. Kate’s blind hatred of werewolves did had the same characteristics of racism or anti-semittism.

“I did what I was told,” Joe said aloud, mimicking some of Kate’s words as she had the gun trained on Scott. Had she meant that she was told to hunt werewolves or was she talking about a specific mission to eradicate the Hales?

If only she had access to Jimmy’s research...

After his published article, Joe had an alert for any mentions of his name or alias online. His blog seemed dead, no updates since before they went looking for Kate. No strange attacks or sightings around the county either. No bodies discovered.

She had never asked Derek outright if he had moved the body. He’d seemed too confident she wouldn’t need to worry about Jimmy, what if he knew more than he let on? Well, that was a given, but about this specific case? Joe span around on her computer chair. Derek remained an enigma. She unconsciously flexed the hand he had held the other day, as if she could still feel the tingling.

Mates.

Testing the word in her head and she made a face at her room. Sounded like bullshit. Another spin on her chair and she confronted her unkempt bed again. If she accepted Derek was a werewolf, only because there was no other reasonable explanation to his changed appearance when fighting Peter, what could be his motive for involving her in his world? He obviously did not like her, as he’d never even come close to smiling at her like the way he had at Kelly. Or say anything remotely kind to her, like he had to Kelly.

Why was he still in Beacon Hills anyway? She stopped the chair from spinning before she got dizzy. With known hunters in town, his whole family dead and his name finally cleared, what was left for him here? A burnt out shell of a house and a lot of trauma. Even if he was going to continue helping Scott, which he wasn’t according to Scott himself, it was not out of the goodness of his heart.

Motive. Means. Opportunity.

Joe instinctively put her computer in sleep-mode when someone knocked on her door. Making a noise of approval, she turned to see Scott pop his head in.

“Mom says there’s leftovers in the fridge if you ever decide to emerge from your shell,” he explained. Aunt Mel must have left for work without her noticing. Scott’s gentle smile faltered as he spotted the dress hanging on Joe’s closet door. “Uh...”

Joe looked at the dress as well. Knee-length, black, high neckline. The funeral was tomorrow.

“You’re going?” Scott asked, now coming inside fully, staring at the dress like it was the embodiment of Kate’s death.

“I dunno,” Joe said with a long sigh and threw her head back. “Chris Argent said I was welcome if I...I dunno.”

Unable to sit still, she pushed her chair to another spin. “It’s gonna be crawling with press and general busybodies.” Her father had warned her about that. The case spanned over half a decade and a dozen murders, so it attracted a lot of attention. Joe sat up straighter. “Everybody’s gonna want to see the show...” Her brows furrowed. Everybody would inevitably include the man who’d seemingly dedicated his life to the case.

If Jimmy was alive and presumably in his right mind, he would not let an opportunity like that pass him. “Hey, Scott, would you be able to smell- Scott?”

Scott’s phone had vibrated and he practically tried to rip off his jeans to check the message. “Uh, I gotta go.”

“What? Now? Where?” Joe followed him out the door and stood at the top of the stairs as he bounded down. It was late and a school-night. “Isn’t your curfew in like-”

“I, uh, gotta go right now! I’ll talk to you when I get back. I gotta go! Bye!”

Joe watched Scott shrug on a jacket and a pair of shoes she was 80% certain didn’t match before he was out the front door. She doubted the text was from Stiles. This Romeo and Juliet-thing he and the Argent-girl had going on was more than just a history repeat of Kate and Derek, she had a feeling it would turn out to be downright dangerous. Chris Argent seemed like he tolerated Joe, but then agan she was not trying to sleep with his daughter. Kate had mentioned his overprotective streak.

With an empty house, she felt confident enough to trudge downstairs and have the previously mentioned leftovers. Seemed like Aunt Mel was not above taking home doggy bags from the restaurant and Joe snacked on some delicious breaded king shrimp dipped in hot sauce. She chewed thoughtfully, still mulling over how her life was so weird lately, and happened to glance out the kitchen window.

A pair of bright blue lights flashed in the forestline. Like eyes. Werewolf eyes.

Joe was out the back door in a heartbeat, dead leaves crunching under her sandals. She squinted at the dark mass of trees and brush, trying to make out a shadow or silhouette not belonging there. Nothing. No lights, no movement.

“Derek?” she asked aloud. The cold air outside nipped at her skin. She could not smell him, but the breeze was moving away from her and would probably carry his scent off. The blue lights looked like Derek’s eyes, but that was before he...before he killed his uncle. Swallowing to get her throat to work, she tried another one: “Jimmy?”

The leaves and branches rustled, but it was because of the wind. She _had_ seen the lights, she was sure of it. Joe hugged herself to stave the cold from her arms. It was almost like the wind picked up now, branches swaying and creaking ominously. Could it have been a raccoon or something?

A twig snapped somewhere out in the dark and Joe held her breath, trying to listen.

“Jimmy? Is that you?” she tried again. She shuffled backwards to the light and safety of the back doorway. Tempted to say something like she was not going to hurt him, she decided against it on the basis that was probably not his concern at all. The shotgun going off and the blast hitting the wall where her head had been replayed over and over. Jimmy’s shaking hands, his deranged look...Scott mentioned feelings being intensified after turning. If Peter bit Jimmy right as he tried to shoot Joe’s head off, that was probably not a feeling Joe wanted intensified.

More rustling, too much to be the wind.

“Shit,” Joe muttered and drew back further. If Jimmy lived and knew, or even saw, Joe help Kate survive...if Jimmy saw Joe trying to undo Peter’s final kill. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Jimmy, if you’re out there, please answer me!” Joe called out, but it almost drowned in the wind. She scanned the tree-line fervently. What if...what if it wasn’t Derek or Jimmy? What if Kate’s death had attracted other things?

Something shuffled in the dark and Joe’s nerves got the best of her. She ran inside and slammed the back door shut before locking it in place. Sometimes her decision to refuse her dad’s offer of a gun really came back to bite her in the ass. The dark backyard remained empty apart from the shifting leaves picked up by the breeze.

Trying to keep one eye out the window, she grabbed her phone to call Scott and ask him to come back home. She already had a text message from Beacon County — an AMBER Alert for a missing girl. Lydia Martin: 16 years old, Caucasian, red hair and naked, last seen at the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. Scott and Stiles’ friend.

Joe glanced out the window again. Could it have been her?

Torn between wanting to help the girl and the fear of being mauled to death, she decided to call Scott anyway. Busy signal. She blew air out her mouth and tore at her hair. Damn it! If the girl was a turned werewolf, Joe would not stand a chance. She needed Scott.

Joe grabbed her car keys and said a small prayer before sprinting out the front door and to her car. Nothing grabbed her ankles or jumped out of the bushes, so she deftly drove to the hospital, figuring that was where Scott would most likely show up. She knew she was too late already when she pulled into the parking lot. Stiles’ Jeep was gone.

Swearing, Joe parked nearby and inspected the empty space where the Jeep had been parked. She knelt down to feel the ground, the light drizzle weighing down her curls. A large dry square on the asphalt indicated the Jeep had recently left. She’d just missed them.

“God damn it, Scott,” she mumbled and tried calling him again, scanning the parking lot in case they were still nearby. No answer.

_“What are you doing here?”_

“AAH!” Joe yelled and threw her phone at the dark figure that suddenly materialized out of the shadow. Derek snatched the flying object out of the air with one hand still in pocket. He did not seem particularly phased by her outburst. “Jesus Christ! Can - you - stop - lurking?”

Without a word, he tossed the phone back to her which she barely caught with two hands.

“You really need to pay more attention to your surroundings,” he said without a hint of emotion and remained standing in the shadows from the hospital with both hands stuffed inside his jacket.

“You need to announce your arrival instead of sneaking up on me at night,” Joe bit back and stuffed the phone into the pocket of her pajama pants. She had not considered running into anyone when she left the house and probably should have changed her clothes. Or her hair, which laid in a sloppy bun on the top of her head. “Shuffle your feet or, I dunno, yodel or something.”

With a tired sigh, Derek asked again: “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for Scott. What are _you_ doing here?” An idea struck her and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you follow me?”

Derek looked like he was going to answer her first question, before he furrowed his brows a bit in confusion. “Follow you? From where?”

“So it wasn’t you in my backyard just now?” Joe barely had time to finish the question before Derek walked up to her, still at arm’s length, but too close to comfort. She tried to lean a bit back without making it obvious. If it was from his imposing scent or his intense eyes, she wasn’t sure.

“No,” he growled and fixed her in his glare, moving his head around as she tried to look at his earlobe or shoulder, anything but his eyes. “What did you see? Why would you think it was me?”

“Uh, apart from the fact that it’s _always_ you, I did see a pair of glowing eyes, I think. And I guess you’re the only...” She wiggled her fingers at him to indicate the word she still felt weird saying. “...y’know with blue eyes that I know of. Scott’s are ye-”

Joe flinched when Derek grabbed her upper arm, forcing her to stare straight at him. “ _Blue_? Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she admitted and wondered how much a surgery to temporarily disable her sense of smell would cost. Derek’s anger only seemed to intensify his scent and at this proximity it seemed to seep into her pores as well as her nose. “I thought it was Jimmy, but I don’t get why he would be hiding in the bushes and then I saw the alert about the missing girl and-”

“Joe, this is important,” Derek bit out and his grip on her arm increased to underline his words. “Are you sure they were blue? Blue, not yellow?”

“Dude, I know my primary colors. Yes! Yes, I’m sure, Derek. What’s the big deal?”

Finally, his eyes left her to look uncertainly to the side. His nostrils flared and like he wasn’t aware he had grabbed her, he let her go to take a step back. “Normally, our eyes are yellow. Red if you’re an Alpha. Blue...is different.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but he seemed lost in thought. “Okay? Different how? Derek?”

“Worse,” he said so low she had to lean in to catch it. “If you suspect something again, call the cops or something. Don’t go looking for it.”

“But didn’t you have-”

“Yes,” Derek growled and the muscles on his neck flexed again as he seemed to bite in a follow-up retort. “Just- just trust me on this.”

“Okay, fine, I just thought it was because Scott’s normal eyes are brown that his turned yellow.” Joe shrugged in an attempt to shake off the ominous feeling Derek put in her. “And yours are green, so they turned blue, I guess, except now they’re red? Is there a chart or something I can look at?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Derek said and rolled his eyes. “If you saw blue eyes, it couldn’t have been the girl. Not enough time.” The last part he almost whispered to himself. “So you’re sure she’s turned?”

“I’m not sure about anything,” Joe said honestly and paced around Derek to lean against her car, hoping the breeze would carry his scent away again. “But she’s alive, so...I thought you either turn or die?”

Derek shrugged and stuffed his hands back into the pockets of his jacket. “Most likely. It’s not an exact science.” He glanced into the dark edges of the parking lot, illuminated briefly by the bright sign of the hospital. “Was her bite healed?”

“I don’t know,” Joe admitted. Scott hadn’t told her and she forgot to ask, too absorbed with the other potential new werewolf running around.

“Can you find out?”

“Why?” she asked with new suspicion. Derek had never answered why he was even here.

“We’re not the only ones looking for her,” Derek said simply.

Joe pursed her lips in thought. He was probably not talking about the police or even Scott and his friends. She spotted Aunt Mel’s beat up car in the employee parking zone and sighed. “I guess.” She bounced off her car and tried to give Derek a stern look. “Wait here. Like, right here. I mean it, no skulking away.”

He held his palms up and took her spot leaning against the side of her car. She walked towards the hospital’s entrance, but turned to make sure he was still there every once in a while. Derek was her best chance of finding and helping the girl and if he slipped away she had no way of contacting him until he decided to materialize out of nothing again. If she was being honest with herself, she also did not want to be alone after learning whoever had been in her backyard worried Derek enough to order her to call the police.

Even at this late hour, the hospital buzzed with people and noises. Joe made her way to the intensive care unit she knew the girl would have stayed in and dodged some wayward balloons tied to the visitor’s chairs. Aunt Mel stood with a deep frown scanning some charts and discussing with a young resident doctor. Joe waited a bit on the side, studying the repairman trying to fix a broken vending machine with cracked glass.

“This is a surprise,” Aunt Mel said after sending the resident off with the charts. She glanced at Joe’s attire. “Nice pants. Did something happen?”

“No, I just felt bad for ignoring you and then finishing all the leftovers,” Joe said, the first part true, the second one a lie. “Making a late-night grocery run. You want to add something to the list?”

“Yes.” Aunt Mel nodded with a tired smile. “Doritos and salsa would be nice. And a sixpack of beer.” She crossed her arms and Joe steeled herself for the inevitable. “You’re planning to drown your sorrows in chocolate and wine, Joe? I guess seeing your dad for the first time in a few years didn’t exactly help on the post-traumatic stress?”

When Joe didn’t answer, her aunt continued: “He gave me a check to pass on to you. Something about fixing that dent in your car, a physical apology for calling you Josie all the time.”

Joe scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, like that’s the most important thing to fix.” She sighed and threw her head back in defeat. “I’m sorry for ruining dinner. I really was trying.”

“I know, sweetie,” Aunt Mel said with a gentle smile. “And believe it or not, so was your dad. I’m not trying to defend him!” Aunt Mel raised her voice to stop Joe’s protests. “He’s an asshole. I mean, he’s my brother and I love him, but I can still see he’s an asshole. You want me to tear up the check?”

“No, just add it to the household,” Joe mumbled. Her dad made almost twice of what Aunt Mel did. “Did he...did he say anything else?”

“No, just how proud he’s of you for pursuing that post-grad degree and also Scott for making first line,” Aunt Mel mused and moved to the side to allow a pair of EMTs roll out an empty stretcher. “It really meant a lot to him that you called him when you needed help. I guess he feared your stubborness would be the death of you.”

“ _My_ stubborne-”

Aunt Mel held her hands up in surrender. “His words, not mine. Hey. You wanna have a girl’s night tomorrow? Bad romantic comedy, booze, chocolate and ice cream? I could really use one. Peter, uh, that sales rep...he never called me back.”

“Oh...” Joe said and struggled to keep her gaze steady. “Uh...yes, girl’s night would work. When are you home?”

“Oh, who knows?” Aunt Mel sighed and looked around the corridor. “I’m working double, at least, with the girl missing and all...half our staff is combing the hospital in case she wandered off and got lost in a broom closet.”

“I got the alert,” Joe said and tried to act non-suspicious. If she got too eager, she would lose her chance. “Did something happen? I mean, did she wander off on her own? I thought she was still in critical condition.”

Aunt Mel pulled Joe’s elbow to take them a bit to the side. She kept her voice low. “We’re not sure. Everything points to her taking off on her own, but I can’t see how. She’s still severely injured.”

“Still? You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Aunt Mel said with a raised eyebrow. “You don’t lose 50 ounces of blood and recover in a week. We finally got the infection cleared, some sort of allergic reaction, but- Jesus, Joe, sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about this with you.”

“It’s okay,” Joe said weakly. The bite hadn’t healed, but the girl had left on her own. Another resident approached them with the harassed look of needing help. “I, uh, better get going anyway. Doritos, salsa, and beer?”

Aunt Mel gave her a thumbs up as the resident took Joe’s place. She side stepped the busy patrons of the hospital, trying to piece together everything. The girl was alive, but not healed like both Derek and Scott had claimed would happen if she was turned into a werewolf. Did things work different with girls?

Joe came around a corner and let out a yelp as something grabbed her arm. It span her into a storage closet where the other arm shot out to steady her from crashing straight into her assailant’s chest.

“I thought I told you to wait outside!” Joe hissed as Derek gently closed the door. “And stop lurking!”

“So she didn’t heal?” Derek asked, an urgency in his voice that only partially distracted Joe from the fact that they were within touching distance in an enclosed space.

“No, apparently not,” she admitted grumpily and crossed her arms. “Can you perhaps _not_ listen in on private conversations in the future?”

Derek apparently did not hear a word she said as he peered out through the crack of the door. “What’s the deal with your dad? He seemed decent enough.”

They must have met when Derek turned himself in. Joe’s lip twisted in a scowl. “Using your super-hearing like that is not exactly a sign of trustworthiness.” She turned her face away from him. “As you already heard, he’s an asshole. End of story.”

“Why, ‘cause he calls you _Josie_?”

Derek’s arm shot out to bar her exit as her initial reaction was to storm out.

“I’m leaving!” she bit out and Derek shook his head, still fixated on whatever was going on out in the hallway.

“Wait,” he murmured and rolled his eyes at her disgusted noise of disapproval. He nodded towards the door. “Argents.”

“What?” She pushed Derek to the side to peer out the crack herself. Sure, if you had a heightened sense of smell and hearing, it might be possible to deduce the moving blobs were Argents. The doors had to be thick as she only heard a muted murmur from their conversation. “Are they after the girl?”

“Probably. They might have people working here,” Derek said somewhere behind her. Her push hadn’t moved him far and now she became aware of his body heat transferring to her where they were in contact.

“I thought they had a code,” she stuttered and tried to discreetly create some distance between them. No breeze in here, nothing at all to dilute his scent and it would seem a bit weird to open one of the detergent bottles to sniff them.

“Some of them do,” was Derek’s dark reply. They waited in silence for the Argents to move on. At least that’s what Joe suspected Derek to wait for, she was just waiting for him to give her the clear to leave. Derek’s brows furrowed and he turned his head slightly towards her. “Are you- are you holding your breath?”

“Mh-mm.” Joe shook her head and took a step back. Hoping it was dark enough to be concealed, she put the arm of her jacket over her mouth and nose to inhale briefly. “Nope.”

He moved away from the door to look fully at her, eyebrow slightly raised, almost amused. “Is it _that_ bad?”

“Whaddaya mean?” Joe still tried to talk without actually filling her lungs with air and her words rushed out in the limited time she gave them. “What’s that bad?”

Derek took a step towards her and she took a step backwards to maintain the distance. The problem with a storage closet was the finite amount of space, and when her back reached the wall, Derek still came closer to her.

Not bothering to even try and hide it, he probaby had heightened night vision as well, Joe pinched her nose together and said nasally: “It’s just a bit stuffy in here.”

He towered over her and put both hands on the cabinet shelves on either side of her head. It meant he surrounded her, encapsulated her in a cocoon that was all him. Joe tried to breathe with her mouth, still with her hand over it, hoping his heightened sense of smell didn’t detect the hot sauce with garlic she had earlier.

Derek’s scent saturated the air. Woody, earthy, musky — no way of describing it. At this proximity, she could detect something sweet, akin to vanilla, and a hint of amber. It smelled of strength, dexterity, masculinity, but also something softer, vulnerable, careful. A protector that also needed protection.

His face came closer, but just as Joe’s heart was threatening to burst through her chest, he leaned towards her ear instead and whispered: _“You’re only making it worse by denying it.”_

Unable to take it, Joe ducked down and deftly side-stepped under his arm. She popped up and retreated to the far corner of the closet, achieving maximum distance, which was admittedly not nearly enough at the moment.

Joe fought tooth and nails to get her hormones in check. “Uh, so, if the girl’s not like you and not dead, what other options are there?”

“I guess she could be human,” Derek said from where he now leaned against the same cabinet shelves she had pressed again. “As I said, not an exact science.” He sighed and stared down at the floor a bit, as if he too needed to pull himself together.

“There are ways of knowing if someone would be receptive to the bite or not.” His brows furrowing in thought, his words came slowly. “ Something in the smell. It’s hard to tell sometimes, but Peter was always really good at it...”

“So, you’re saying that...”

Derek nodded as he knew what she was trying to say. “If she’s not going to turn into a werewolf, Peter already knew that when he bit her.”

“And that raises another question,” Joe murmured to herself in the dark, but Derek heard her and finished for her again.

“Yeah. _Why_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woop woop, a new milestone of 20 chapters! I am currently writing chapter 40(!), so I probably won't stop posting in a while. Again, I'm sorry if I'm updating too frequently (I know that's not a thing) and I hope you don't get tired of getting notifications. Really, I'm just so excited people are liking and reading this story.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! A little more backstory to Joe and her dad, and a little more time with Derek :) 
> 
> Big thanks to JoannaBradbury and ghostface001 for commenting on each chapter. I am as always looking forward to hearing what you think! Much love!


	21. The Funeral

The second Derek declared the hospital Argent-free, he took off while admonishing her to go home. That had been her plan all along, but when he asked, she tried to think of alternatives just to spite him.

Joe waited a few minutes to avoid making it look suspicious, even though it was suspicious as hell, before emerging back in the brightly lit corridor herself. No Argents, no Derek. She half-sprinted out into the parking lot, hoping to catch a glimpse of his sportscar, but nothing. He’d probably ran here or something else weird. So he used her for information, and she let herself be used. Great.

No Scott, no Derek, no Jimmy, no missing girl. So much for her Nancy Drew-persona.

Joe swore under her breath and got in her car while trying to figure out her next move. Chris Argent had tried to stop Kate from killing Scott. He would not kill an innocent sixteen-year-old girl either. Probably. Hopefully. Could she call the police on him? Could she trust the police?

“No proof he’s spilled human blood,” she repeated Chris’ words from that night. With her dumb phone, she did not have access to the internet and she regretted telling Aunt Mel to put her dad’s check into the household budget when she could have fixed her old phone with it.

Aunt Mel...Joe drove towards the 24/7 open supermarket to get the ingredients of a girls’ night to wallow in self-pity. Aunt Mel had even worse taste in partners than Joe did. She met her ex-husband through Joe’s dad, and that should have been a big enough red flag in itself. They did have Scott together though, so it wasn’t all bad, even though they split up and got together a bunch of times before Scott learned how to bike.

Back home, she found no sign of Scott and resorted to refreshing the local news bulletin every few seconds. The current top story was of the missing girl, of course, but no updates since the initial disappearance. Finally, closer to dawn, the Beacon Post reported the police log of the night.

“Grave robbery...” Joe read the condensed bulletin post. She glanced at the time, the black dress hanging like a bad omen, and dashed downstairs to put on her shoes. Stealing Kate Argent’s corpse sounded like something weird enough to happen right now. Joe nearly tripped over her own feet when she spotted Scott sitting by the table having his cereal.

“When did you get here?” Joe asked and jumped around to pull on her boot. She’d never heard him come back in last night.

“Uh, around one? Two maybe?” Scott ventured as her eyes narrowed further. “We were out all night looking for Lydia...”

“Okay, you need a ride for school?” She decided to give him the benefit of doubt and simultanously, not tell him about the grave robbing in case it turned out to be their friend. Scott had school to attend, his grades depended upon it, while Joe was still on leave and awaiting further instructions from Professor Kane.

“No, I’ll just bike. Where are you going?”

“Out,” Joe called over her back and slammed the door behind her. If she wanted to check out the cemetery and take a shower before the funeral, she did not have much time.

Like everything else in this town, the cemetery laid surrounded by forest on all sides. She pulled up behind the closest house instead of parking directly near the police cars in the designated parking lot. _You know how many cops we have on our payroll?_

Keeping out of sight, she crept along the forestline until she could get a better view. Not that she knew what she was looking for in the first place. Jimmy? The girl? Signs of...supernatural phenomena? Sheriff Stilinski was still here, interviewing a tall teenage boy and what she guessed was the boy’s father. A yellow excavator sat abandoned next to an open grave. Kate’s open grave. Joe shuddered.

People in white plastic suits were scouring the earth next to another grave that also looked reasonably fresh. Crime scene investigators. From this distance, it was hard to tell, but she could not see any discarded shovels or other tools used to open the grave. The image of a young girl in a hospital gown desperately digging with her bare hands filled her imagination — it would make a good scene in a horror flick. Too bad this was real life.

Something made her look back towards the Sheriff and his interview subjects. At that exact moment, the boy looked up as well and met her confused stare across the cemetery. Wait, not at her, something beh-

“ _Hey_!” she hissed as Derek grabbed the back of her jacket and threw her into a juniper bush. He concealed himself behind a large oak and held a finger to his mouth to make her shut up. Rolling her eyes, she peered out between the needle shrubbery and the Sheriff was peering in their direction. Apparently seeing nothing, he turned back to the boy and his father.

Coast clear and Derek grabbed her again to pull her further into the forest. “I thought I told you to go home.”

“Yeah, so?” Joe said and shook his hand off her when they stopped. She brushed needles and dried juniper berries off her pants. “You and your archaic attitude need a big reality check if you think I’m just gonna do what you tell me.”

Derek did not seem in a mood to play games. His nostrils flared. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know? Looking for Jimmy or the missing mystery girl?” Joe picked more leaves out of her hair. She really needed that shower. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Derek did not seem to hear her, his entire focus directed out of the forest towards the cemetery. He had that slight wrinkle near his eyes he got whenever he did long-distance hearing.

“What? What are they saying?”

He growled. “I don’t know, I can’t hear them unless you _shut up_.”

_“Jeez, fine,”_ Joe whispered and took a few steps away from him. To give him space and silence, not to get away from his presence, that was just a bonus. Outdoors seemed to work a lot better for her, but she was unsure what would happen if they ever had to get into a car together.

She waited until he lost that focused look and then prompted: “Well?” At his silence, she tilted her head to give him a tired look. “You know I’m gonna find out anyway. You might as well just tell me.”

He glanced at her and like it was against his common sense, he said: “Whatever came here last night took a dead woman’s liver.”

“Ew,” Joe said and wrinkled her nose. “Is that, like, a normal thing you guys do?”

“I don’t think so, but I’m not an expert.”

“Well, did _you_ take some dead person’s liver when you got bit?”

Derek looked at her again and seemed to weigh the pros and cons of whatever he was going to tell her. Eventually he let out a short breath and said: “I never got bit. I was born a werewolf.”

“What? You can be born like you?” Joe exclaimed, enthusiasm getting the best of her grammar abilities. “Scott never mentioned that! So it’s like a genetic-” She stopped herself from saying ‘disorder’ at Derek’s dark look and backtracked. “It’s genetic? Dominant mutation?”

“We can have human children,” Derek said to answer her question while he still looked towards the cemetery.

“X-linked? Y-linked? Or codominant, maybe, so-” She stopped and remembered Chris Argent’s words that there had been human children in the Hale house at the time of the fire. How many siblings did Derek have? Or use to have? Clearing her throat, she eased off the eagerness. “Sorry, guess it doesn’t matter.”

She wrinkled her nose at the thought of anything stealing a dead woman’s liver. “Why the liver though? I would’ve guessed the heart. Did the kid see anything? Was it the girl or-”

“No, he didn’t see anything,” Derek murmured — he had the listening face again. “There’s more people coming to get things ready for the funeral. We should go, you most of all.”

Joe followed Derek out of the forest; he walked with such confidence she assumed he knew the way out without being seen. “Uh, so, about the funeral.”

Derek stopped so abruptly she walked into his back and felt his chest rumble when he said: “You’re going.”

Not a question and not much emotion in that flat tone. Joe still tried to explain when he began walking again. “Only because I think Jimmy might show up. I mean, he spent the last five years or something looking into the case, who co- damn it, Derek!”

He’d turned around and stopped again so she nearly crashed into his chest. Face unreadable, mouth tight. “What’s your obsession with Jimmy Carter?”

“It’s not an obsession...” she began while taking a few steps back so they weren’t flush against each other. His eyebrow raised and in turn raised her hackles where she decided she had nothing to defend from Derek Hale. He had no right to question anyone’s obsession with anyone. “I just feel sorry for him! He was obviously bullied in high school,” she waved her hands in Derek’s direction who only deepened his scowl, “and yes, he might have been working for Peter Hale to some extent, but he doesn’t deserve to be hunted down by the Argents either.”

“If he shows up at Kate Argent’s funeral, he deserves to be hunted down by them,” Derek sneered and tore around again to stomp further out of the forest. Not for long, as he stopped again after a few steps without turning around. “You accused me of killing Kate-”

“Accuse is a little strong, I was just asking...”

“-because her death seemed too convenient, right? Ever thought about how she might not have died of convenience, but because of someone’s twisted notion of justice?”

“You’re saying Jimmy killed her?”

“I’m saying it’s not impossible he did,” Derek muttered and started walking again. Apparently talking about Kate was not the key to a friendly conversation with him. “You don’t know the guy, Joe. Or what he’s capable of.”

Left speechless for a while, she waited a bit before following. At last, she muttered: “I know he helped me find you when you were being tortured for a day straight.”

She saw Derek’s shoulders tense, but he did not stop or say anything in response.

They finally reached the edge of the forest onto a narrow gravel road where he had parked and she realized it was on the complete opposite end of her car. It would be another half hour walk to go around the cemetery, she deduced, and glanced at her cell phone with a grimace. If she did not wash her hair, she would still be able to make it.

“Get in,” Derek said from the driver’s end of his car. The sleek black sportscar, a Chevrolet Camaro now that she was close enough to see the labels, sat inconspicuous on the small side-road they had emerged. When it became clear that Joe was not getting in, Derek came back up and leaned over his car.“Get in, Joe.”

She really needed to wash her hair.

“At least open the windows,” Joe muttered defiantly and slid into the leather seat that both felt and smelled as expensive as the car otherwise looked.

He heeded her request without a word, the windows going down on either side, and she tried to discreetly angle her face out of the car. Derek apparently did not notice and he put on a pair of aviator sunglasses before starting the car with a gentle purr. It was a long way off from her hacking and sputtering old Ford.

She put her seatbelt on and tried to avoid breathing too much. It was less than five minutes to her car. She could hold her breath for five minutes, right? Apart from the proximity, this was Derek’s car. As far as she knew, he slept in the damn thing and it was permeated with his smell. It was a wonder her eyes didn’t start to water. It was his territory without a doubt and she felt like a trespasser.

Derek, unaware of her discomfort, drove with one arm resting in the open window and one hand on the wheel. Completely relaxed, the exact opposite of how Joe felt.

“My car’s by that red house before the cemetery if you come from the-”

He answered without looking at her. “I know.”

With raised eyebrows, she turned to Derek who seemed a bit too suave for her liking. “Okay, hotshot, can I ask you a question for once?”

He shrugged, as if it did not matter either way to him.

“What were you doing in my bed that night of the full moon?”

It might have been wishful thinking, but she thought he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. With the sunglasses, it was even harder to gauge his expression and he did not seem like the kind of person to become embarassed either way. His voice was level when he finally answered. “Trying to _not_ tear Scott into pieces.”

The Camaro rolled to a smooth stop next to her old Ford.

As much as she had wanted to jump out of the car only thirty seconds ago, she stayed put. “That was like the first level of a multi-layered answer. _How_ is my bed and your self control related in any way?”

Derek gripped the steering wheel with both hands even though they were parked. Without turning his head in her direction, he took a deep and possibly annoyed breath that came out with a growling undertone. “You want to do this now? Are you sure?” Before she could answer, he continued. “Because I’m not wasting my time trying to explain anything until you’re ready to believe.”

He turned towards her and she saw her own expression mirrored in his sunglasses. She was subconsciously making a skeptical face.

Joe tried to make her expression neutral, but her face was equally bad at lying as her voice. “Believe is such a heavy word-”

“We’re not doing this now. Get out.”

“Go home, get in, get out — didn’t your momma ever teach you the magic word?” Joe muttered while she undid her seatbelt. She got out of the car, but bent back in to smile sarcastically at him. “Thank you, Derek.”

She saw the hint of a beginning eye roll as she slammed the door shut. He tore off before she could unlock her own car and she made a rude gesture at the retreating sportscar. Ass.

* * *

_“Mr. Argent! Mrs. Argent, can we get a few words? Just a few words! A few words, Mrs. Argent! Mr. Argent! Please!”_

The reporters were going mad when the Argents arrived to take their space. Extra policemen were on duty to keep the reporters on the right side of the barrier and they tried to shield the family of three from the cameras, only succeeding halfway. Three lines of chairs were set up next to the open grave and closed casket already waiting.

Joe pulled on the biggest sunglasses she had found back at the house and clutched the wide-brimmed hat down when exiting her car. The cold wind ripped at the police banners and sparse flower decorations surrounding the grave. Another car pulled up, but whoever exited was surrounded by a trio of large bodyguards. Joe took advantage of the distraction and darted inside the barrier tape, her heels sinking down into the wet ground.

Chris Argent still stood by the front line of chairs, while his wife and daughter had sat down, probably facing the same struggles Joe did with their footwear. His face grim, as appropriate for the occassion, he only nodded at Joe’s arrival.

“Sorry for your loss,” Joe said automatically and curtsied as much as her attire allowed.

His voice sounded gravelly. “Thank you for coming.”

Joe took a seat at the far back, holding onto her hat so the wind didn’t take off with it. Allison turned in her chair and gave Joe a tight smile, one that Joe tried to return. Almost twenty seats and less than a third of them filled. In addition to the Argents she knew, the rest looked to be serious-faced men in dark clothing that she doubted were Kate’s friends from college.

Her plan of trying to find Jimmy in the throng of reporters without getting her picture plastered on every tabloid newspaper was proving harder than she thought. At least the sunglasses concealed where she was looking and she scanned the lines of reporters and other spectators. Derek had a point about Jimmy showing his face at a location that was sure to be crawling with Argents. She doubted his paranoia had subsided after turning into a werewolf. Still, would he let this opportunity pass?

The wind tickled the still damp strands of hair in her neck. Some instinct made her turn towards the woods instead, where she and Derek had stood concealed earlier. It offered a good vantage point over the ceremony without a chance of being seen. With her head twisted to the side, she missed the arrival of the old man approaching her with his cronies on either side.

“Christopher tells me you are the woman who held my daughter alive long enough to reach the hospital.” His voice was as cold and dead as the body in the casket. Joe turned slowly and faced the old man who stood above her. He looked like an old grandfather, white hair and wrinkles that were too heavy set to be from smiling.

“I, uh...” Joe had no words. This was Kate and Chris’ dad? Before she could line up her thoughts, he clasped her hand in his gloved ones.

“We are in your debt,” he said seriously and gave a smile that revealed he was definitely Kate’s father. “Gerard Argent.”

“Uh...I’m sorry for your loss,” Joe stuttered. Having the Argents indebted to her was the last thing she wanted. Polite niceties took over and she blurted: “Sorry, I’m _Josefina_ Delgado, wish we could meet under better circumstances....”

The older Argent nodded and let go off her hand. He took his seat in the front, next to Chris’ wife. The bodyguards remained standing. Apart from Chris’ wife and Allison, there were no other women attending the service. No mother then. Gerard Argent gave some sort of signal to the priest and the ceremony started.

The reporters fell silent, but took pictures throughout everything. Joe found herself focusing on Gerard Argent — he sat with a rimrod back, refusing to acknowledge the vultures with cameras. Having the ceremony outdoors in the middle of winter did not make much sense unless they wanted the publicity. Or they tried to prove a point that this was not enough to break them.

Joe, feeling as much as a spectator like the reporters, studied the other attendants. Only Allison looked sad. No one looked happy, most of them grim and stoic, but no one cried or showed any sign of suffering a loss. Closed casket, with a picture of a smiling Kate on top. Not that there was anything wrong or strange about a closed casket, but Kate’s injuries had not been that bad and Joe figured it would have fit better with their image to have an open casket to really throw it in everyone’s face how resilient they were.

The priest kept his sermon neutral. He talked a lot about forgiveness, which seemed appropriate in the funeral of a mass-murderer. Nothing about Kate being in a better place. It probably went against his principles to outright lie like that. Kate’s last apology to Peter echoed in Joe’s ears. Her plea to shoot had seemed more heartfelt.

The priest prompted if someone would like to say something, but no one even looked up. Clearing his throat, the priest moved on with the funeral. Joe’s eyes were still hidden behind the sunglasses, dry as the desert when the casket was lowered down into the grave. She slumped back on the chair and turned to the woods again. Was he out there?

A movement on the far edge made her sit up straighter. Sheriff Stilinski moved with long strides towards a statue and Joe closed her eyes in defeat when he pulled out Scott and Stiles by the backs of their shirts. She kept her head turned towards the front in order to not alert the other funeral-goers and noticed Allison doing the same with a bit too much conviction. Idiots.

The funeral ended without the usual meet-and-greet as Joe always thought of them, where the attendants stood in line to offer their condolences to the immediate family. The Argents fled the scene when the casket and accompanying flowers were in the ground, leaving the rest to shuffle out. The reporters focused on the Argents and Joe was able to slip away to her car without too much hassle.

Unlocking the door with trembling fingers — the funeral getup was not suitable for the California winter — she had the same sensation of being watched as before. She looked up towards the nearest forest line, but it was empty as ever, all the humanoid shapes a product of her own imagination. Turning back, she realized Chris and Gerard Argent were engaged in a deep discussion by their cars. Chris gestured a bit towards her and Gerard scrutinized her from afar.

He caught her eyes and instead of looking away, he gave her a solemn nod. She returned it, heart beating harshly in her chest, before escaping into her car.

While Derek’s stare could get intense, Gerard Argent seemed to look straight through her. She had the feeling that being the focus of that man’s attention was a bad place to be.

Instead of going home, Joe found herself taking the route to the hospital. The girl was still not found, according to the local radio reports, and search parties were being organized in about an hour. The temperature would reach freezing tonight and she would likely not survive without shelter. Did werewolves handle the cold better than humans? Joe had no way of knowing. Was the girl even a werewolf? Not even Derek knew apparently. She thought he would be able to determine it from smell alone, but apparently not.

One advantage of having her aunt working at the hospital at more than full time was that Joe’s presence did not cause suspicion among anyone there. She greeted the receptionist, smiled at the security guards, and stopped briefly for small-talk with some of Aunt Mel’s closest colleagues. Everyone not busy with patients or reports were headed for the break room for the afternoon lunch and Joe used the opportunity to break into the security’s control room.

The lockpicking kit came in handy after all.

What Derek said earlier struck a chord with her. Had Jimmy killed Kate at the hospital? She locked the door behind her and dove towards the surveillance center. The password was on a post-it hanging on the screen itself. A fractioned image of the hospital in real-time showed on the dozen screens, but Joe went straight for the log from the night Kate died. Another advantage of Aunt Mel working in the ER, Joe knew the layout good enough to find the right cameras quickly.

She watched the trauma surgeon from the helicopter accompany the stretcher arriving at the hospital. Moving to the next camera, she followed Kate’s unconscious form with a breathing mask being rolled down the hallway to the surgery room. Fast-forwarding through the surgery itself, grimacing at the scalpels and other clinical instruments, she finally found where they put Kate for recovery. No cameras inside the rooms itself, it would be a major breach of privacy, but she saw the hallway and the policemen standing guard outside a door.

Fast-forwarding, the policemen shifted around, one left briefly only to return, the other one left and returned with coffee cups, they drank coffee, they stood-

Wait.

Joe rewound the footage and replayed it at normal speed. One minute the two policemen were drinking coffee, obviously talking to each other, the next image both coffee cups were gone. She repeated the scene twice more. No obvious friction in the footage, nothing to indicate the camera stopped recording. The time stamp looked right too, but it was almost like the tape had been spliced. Coffe cups - _bam_ \- no coffee cups.

She let the video continue and sure enough, only seconds later, nurses sprinted into the room the policemen were guarding. Fast-forwarding until they rolled out a body covered in a white sheet.

Joe’s insides felt frozen. The time stamp looked correct, but did the cops just throw away their coffee cups in a blink of an eye? Maybe the raw footage would show how much time was lost, but that required more computer skills than Joe had. She checked the nearby cameras and sure enough, by the rear entrance to the morgue, a nurse suddenly appeared in the frame out of nowhere. Spliced footage.

Conversation filtered in from outside the hallway. Break must be over. Joe hurriedly closed all the files and then deleted the footage of herself breaking in. She glanced at the door, just a few more seconds before she could get out. Copying an old file and changing the name to replaced the lost footage of herself, she typed so fast her fingers were a blur on the keyboard. Come on, come on.

The lock started twisting on the door and Joe put the computer back in sleep mode. She rushed her phone out and hopped onto the desk when the door opened.

_“...and I told him over and over that I was not interested in an open relationship with his room-”_

“What the hell?” asked Mike, one of the burly nightshift security guard as he opened the door to reveal Joe lounging on his desk.

Joe peered up from her fake phone call, holding over the microphone in mock indignance. “Do you mind? This is a private conversation.”

“You’re not supposed to be in here!” he barked and shooed Joe out. She continued babbling into the phone while Mike yelled at his partner for forgetting to lock the door — again! Joe left them squabbling and hurried down the hall before they remembered she was there. She took the hallway turns to find the morgue where the tape had been meddled with.

This area was sparse with surveillance, she noticed. The morgue had a separate exit to another parking lot. Had Jimmy come in through here? Or did Kate leave?

_You know how many cops we have on our payroll?_

Closed casket. No tears shed at the funeral. Could Kate still be alive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek's hot and cold and Joe is playing detective. Things are as they should be in Beacon Hills.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you liked it or if you have suggestions for improvements, I am always open for both. Feel so blessed to receive so many comments on the last chapter, they are really motivating and put a smile on my face :)


	22. The Runaway

“...and it’s like he vanished in thin air. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I tried calling the firm he worked for, and it says the number’s disconnected. That’s suspicious, right? It’s not just me?”

Joe nodded and made a noise of confirmation.

“Right! So, maybe he’s involved in some illegal medicine trading, it’s not unheard of, and he split when he found out my ex-husband _and_ brother works for the feds? At least that means he left because of him, not because of me or the fact that I skip gym almost half the times I sign up. I get it, a federal ex is a dealbreaker for a lot of guys, it’s indimidating!”

“Also, he’s then a criminal, so...”

“Yeah, well,” Aunt Mel waved her hand to indicate how that was a minor issue compared to other things. “No one’s perfect. When you get to be my age, you gotta be willing to deal with some dealbreakers.”

Instead of answering, Joe took another large swig of the beer and stuffed her face with nachos to get rid of the beer taste. The generic romantic comedy kept rolling in the background, but Aunt Mel was more interested in dissecting where it all went wrong with her one-date-fiasco with Peter Hale. Joe drank more than she talked, afraid she would spill the beans to Aunt Mel, and then realized that was exactly what she risked if she got drunk.

“Oh thank God,” Joe murmured when Scott rushed in the front door.

“Hey! You’re late!” Aunt Mel called in her strict mom-voice and tapped her wristwatch. “Curfew was twenty minutes ago.”

“Sorry,” Scott said, clearly out of breath. Had he ran all the way here from the Argents or wherever he and Allison kept meeting? His face was flushed, but not really looking like he just came from a heavy make out-session. He swallowed. “Sorry. Uh, Joe, can you, uh, help me with-”

Scott swallowed again and gestured towards the stairs. “The homework for the, uh...”

“Sure!” Joe declared, glad of the reprieve, and handed Aunt Mel the bowl of doritos. Beer in hand, she followed the antsy Scott upstairs into his room. He shut the door after them and seemed to listen intently, probably making sure Aunt Mel hadn’t followed them. Even Joe could hear the movie playing downstairs with the melody of some kind of makeover-scene. “What’s up?”

Scott still had a wild-eyed look and paced around in his room. He rubbed the back of his neck intently. So jittery, it worried Joe. “Did something happen?”

“Yeah.” He drummed the hands on his front thighs. “Yeah, something definitely happened.” Seeming to catch his breath, he rubbed his head again. “If I tell you, will you promise to not freak out?”

“You’re already freaking me out!” Joe exclaimed and tried to numb the feeling with another swig of beer. “What happened? Did you find the missing girl?”

He shook his head ‘no’. Apparently Sheriff Stilinski had been called out on some sort of disturbance in a car after the funeral. Something attacked an ambulance and tore up a DOA - dead on arrival. “Some sort of homeless looking werewolf-guy. Derek called him an Omega.”

“Wait, wait, wait, Derek was there?” Joe asked, struggling to keep up with Scott’s erratic story telling. “But not the girl?”

“No, she was there too, but not at the beginning.”

“So did she attack the ambulance?”

“No, the Omega did!” Scott exclaimed and gestured locations with his arm. “The ambulance attack was down by the edge of the Preserve, enroute to the hospital. Then I chased the Omega almost to the Hale House. Then he got caught in a trip wire-”

“Who’s setting trip wires in the Preserve?”

“The Argents! And before I could get him down, the Argents are already there and they-”

“Did they try to catch you?”

“No, no, they didn’t see us, because Derek tackled me to the side and they were too busy with the Omega-”

“Wait, when did Derek get there? And what’s an Omega?”

“Oh my God, Joe, would you just let me finish? Derek was tracking the same Omega as me, and he saved me from the Argents when the Omega got caught in the trip wire. Then Allison’s granddad shows up and he has a sword and he cuts the Omega in half!”

The near empty beer bottle slipped from Joe’s hand. “I’m sorry, who did _what?_ He decapitated him?”

“No! No, he used a sword and cut him in half at the waist. Allison’s dad called it hemi-corpo-something.”

“Hemicorporectomy,” Joe corrected and flopped down into Scott’s chair. “Are you sure? I mean did you see it?”

“Yes, I saw it!” Scott wailed and now tears were rimmed in his eyes. “I just saw a man get cut in half by my girlfriend’s granddad!”

Joe rose without thinking and hugged Scott, staring wide-eyed behind him. How much strength would it take to chop someone in half at the waist? Through all that tissue and organs and spine? With a sword? Scott’s breathing came in short bursts and she patted his back awkwardly. Thank God Derek had been there or...or else...or...

“You have to stop seeing Allison.”

“What?” Scott barked and took several steps back. “Why?”

“Because her family’s trying to kill you!” Joe exclaimed like it was obvious. “Maybe not Chris, but-”

Scott looked down as he admitted: “No, Chris pulled a gun on me too last time he caught me and Allison.”

Joe stared at her cousin for a few seconds. “I’m sorry, what? Chris Argent already caught you and you’re _still_ seeing her?”

“I love her!”

“Oh my God. Sixteen, Scott! You’re _sixteen_!” She held her hands up to stop whatever retort he planned. “Okay, fine, not too young to love, but too young to die! Can’t you, like, wait until she’s eighteen and moves out or something?”

“No!” Scott rubbed his head again, messing up his hair. “I-I can’t, okay? I can’t. I already lost her once and I don’t want to feel like that ever again! It’s like I can’t breathe when I- I can’t, Joe, I just can’t!”

“Okay, okay,” Joe said gently and picked up the discarded beer bottle from the floor. She pursed her lips before asking: “Is she your...mate?”

At least Scott stopped pacing. He wrinkled his brows like he hadn’t heard her. “What?”

“What?” Joe repeated in a too high voice.

“No, she’s just my girlfriend,” Scott explained, still with a wrinkled forehead. He gave her a weird look. “I don’t think werewolf mates is a thing.”

“Right,” Joe said and tried to push all those thoughts firmly to the back of her mind. “But you do see how dating the granddaughter of a slice-happy hunter could prove kind of risky, when what he is hunting is in effect, you?”

“Yeah, I know.” Scott flopped down on his bed and stared forlornly at the ceiling. “We gotta be extra careful.” Before Joe could point out that they had to start being careful at all, as their sneakiness hadn’t been anywhere near sneaky, Scott sighed. “Derek says they’re declaring war.”

“Against?”

“Us.”

* * *

Not wanting to worry Scott more than necessary, Joe decided to not tell him what she discovered at the hospital. Also because she still was not sure what she actually had discovered. Did someone break into the hospital to kill or save Kate? The footage of the nurses rolling the body out was useless, as they’d covered it with a sheet. No way of confirming the identity. It would probably take her from six to eight hours to dig up the grave and it would attract a lot of unwanted attention.

Fake body, fake funeral...how much money or influence would it take to pull of something like that? How much mony or influence did Argent Arms International have?

It sounded like a conspiracy theory worthy of Jimmy Carter himself. That was a simpler answer, wasn’t it? That Jimmy snuck in, killed Kate — just unplugging her oxygen supply would probably have been enough — and then messed with the surveillance tape. How did he get past the cops though? It was the only way into the room and the surveillance tape editing confirmed something had happened.

No simple answers...

The girl, Lydia Martin, was taken back to the hospital according to the Beacon Post. And her bite wound was healed when she was found in the woods according to Scott. It was paraphrased from Stiles, who had actually been the first to find her, but was not coherent yet as she’d been completely naked.

Healed, but apparently not a werewolf. She hoped the Argents came to the same conclusion before another female torso was discovered in Beacon Hills Preserve. Nothing on the news about the Omega, whatever that was, that the Argents killed. Either they covered their tracks better than the late Peter Hale or they relied on the sheer size of the Preserve to conceal the remains long enough.

Joe jolted when Aunt Mel suddenly paused their movie. She turned to Joe with a raised eyebrow. “Either you’re more jaded than I thought and really hating this near-happy ending, or you’re not watching the movie and thinking about something else.”

“I’m watching,” Joe mumbled and gestured to the bright screen where a couple was going to actually kiss for the first time after several untimely interruptions. Apparently her dark thoughts had reflected onto her face and Aunt Mel was really empathetic. “I am!”

Aunt Mel looked less than convinced and nodded towards the actress on the screen. “Uh-huh, why is she in a clown costume?”

“Err...” Joe squinted and noticed the woman was indeed dressed up as a clown. “Halloween party? Okay, fine, I’m sorry, I drifted.”

“Mhm, what is it?” Aunt Mel had a no nonsense voice, the one she used to make people confess their sins. “The funeral? Was it hard?”

Joe slumped back in the couch with a groan.

“Kate was a monster...she killed all those people. Innocent people. Kids.” Closing her eyes, she could almost feel the electric grind riding her body when Kate tortured Derek over and over again. She could almost see Kate’s disinterested look when aiming the gun at Scott. She could almost smell the hot blood pouring out of Kate’s neck when Peter slashed it.

Aunt Mel sighed and slumped back on the couch too, but only in order to put an arm around Joe’s shoulder. She smelled of disinfectant and soap, the generic kind from the hospital. “You know, our family are healers-”

Joe snorted.

“No, I’m serious. I’m probably the first one with an actual degree, but your grandma and great-grandma were the go-to’s in their town for midwifery and setting broken bones and all that. Your grandpa in the war was a medic, never fired a gun.”

“And my dad is an FBI-agent.”

“Your dad,” Aunt Mel squeezed Joe’s shoulder, “took a month of sick leave the first, and only, time he shot a suspect. He didn’t have a choice, not a real one, because the guy had a hostage. Either Rob took the shot or...” She sighed and rested her head on Joe’s. “He hasn’t fired his weapon in service ever since.”

“My point is, it’s not in our nature to let someone die. You did the right thing trying to save her. If you kill a killer, the number of killers in the world remains the same.”

Joe sniffed. “Who said that? Gandhi?”

“Batman.”

“Oh.”

“And her death wasn’t your fault, Joe. You did what you could.” She stroked Joe’s hair gently, like a mother would, and that made Joe bite her teeth together to keep from crying. “Are you seeing that mental health counselor at the school? There’s a therapist at the hospital too if you need to talk to someone neutral...”

“I’m fine,” Joe mumbled and closed her eyes. She wasn’t feeling guilty for trying to save Kate, she was feeling guilty because everyone thought she did it out of the kindness of her heart. She kept her alive because death was an easy way out! Because she should face justice and know the world condemned her actions! Dying at the hands of a werewolf made her some kind of martyr...

One that the Argents would go to great lengths to avenge.

“I’m just gonna go to bed.” Joe slipped out of Aunt Mel’s arms and took the empty bottles with her to the kitchen before she trudged upstairs, returning Aunt Mel’s good night over her shoulder. She rubbed her forehead. Things were making less sense than ever.

She made a detour to Scott’s room and knocked gently. His sleepy grunt of affirmation came through the door and she opened it a few inches wide.

“Joe?” he groaned and squinted at her from the bed.

“Sorry, I just- I forgot to ask you before. The Omega...what color was its eyes? When he was, y’know, not fully human.”

“Uh...yellow. Why?”

Joe swallowed. “No reason. Go back to sleep. Night.”

“Night.”

Not Derek. Not the girl. Not the Omega. It must have been Jimmy in her backyard the other night. But why?

* * *

The expensive leather of the chair creaked every time Joe shifted, which she did too often. Damp ringlets hung around her face, still not dry after her hasty shower that morning. She tried to discreetly rub under her eyes in case the mascara smudged when she applied it in the car at a traffic light. Because of her two week leave, she’d been lax in checking her e-mail and thus only saw the meeting notice an hour before she had to be in Professor Walker’s office.

Professor Walker was everything Professor Kane wasn’t, except for female. A tall, statuesque woman with an immaculate long bob, discreet jewelry and dressed in a modest, but tailored gray dress. Racially ambiguous, as her deeply tanned skin did not match her facial features that suggested she should be darker.

Her office was just down the hall from Professor Kane, but it looked to be on a different planet. Professor Kane believed in an organized chaos in terms of decoration — it looked like a combined souvenir and bookshop, with various papers and binders littering every possible surface. The only paper visible in Professor Walker’s office was the printout of Joe’s academic resume she held in her hands. Manicured fingernails, Joe noted, but no bright nail polish. No ring either.

“Bridget tells me you consider changing fields,” Professor Walker said after a while and put Joe’s resume to the side. She sat perched ontop of the desk instead of her chair and regarded Joe over a pair of slim, streamlined glasses. “Her reasoning, as most of her research, was a little vague. From your course list, I see you took my introductory to psychology when you first came to Berkeley. You have, however, chosen a slightly different path than my other candidates...We’re almost halfway in the spring semester, Miss Delgado, what made you change your mind about cultural sociology?”

“I was, uh, having second thoughts about my career options,” Joe said, trying to piece together what she only had in fragments herself. “Criminology sounds a bit more useful than a purely academic vocation.” Professor Walker raised a thin eyebrow at that. Realizing what she had just said, Joe grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“You want to help people,” Professor Walker simply said and got up from her desk, pacing on some black kitten heels on the soft carpeted floor. “You interpret ‘useful’ to mean directly applicable, whereas our ‘purely academic’ endeavours are more, how can you say, ancillary and long-term.” Professor Walker was the kind of person who could make the implied quotation marks heard in her spoken words. “Bridget tells me you were recently involved in a traumatic episode?”

That was another thing Professor Kane and Walker seemed to have in common. Blunt questions coming out of the blue.

“I, uh...yes.”

“Elaborate, please.”

“I don’t think I’m allowed to-”

“Oh, I don’t care about the practicalities,” Professor Walker said easily and waved an elegant hand in front of her. “I can get that from the newspaper. While my speciality is not in fact within trauma, it does not take a doctorate to see that your field-change stems from your recent experiences with a psychotic criminal?”

Joe remained silent. She only barely remembered Professor Walker from that Psych Intro-course when she was a young and hopeful freshman who took a double courseload to get ahead. From what she could remember, Professor Walker could carry on a conversation by herself by guessing what the other person was thinking.

“And herein lies my worry, you see. Criminology, as given by the name itself, is as you know a study of criminal psychology and sociology. And while the law declares criminals to be inherently ‘bad’, we must from a ‘purely academical’ perspective be able to keep ourselves objective. Past trauma can cloud your research and judgement.”

Joe’s throat tightened up and she could not have answered if she wanted to.

Professor Walker took her place on her desk again, folding her long legs across each other. “Your academic record is, however, impressive, I must admit. Administratively, there is nothing holding you back from changing between cultural to criminal sociology, it’s all part of the same institute. That said, I don’t take on students I don’t believe in.”

“I understand,” Joe croaked out and almost rose from her chair when Professor Walker waved her down.

“I was not quite finished. Bridget gave me the latest draft of your paper intended for publishing.” Professor Walker nodded towards her slim laptop on the desk, apparently not a fan of printing everything like Professor Kane. “Even though the recent events in Beacon Hills have been revealed to not actually be ‘animal attacks’, there is still a case there eligible for study.”

Joe’s head reeled. “You want me to...”

“Change your problem statement befitting my field. If I’m convinced you can keep neutral in your assessments, I will take you on.” Professor Walker gave a wane smile at Joe’s shocked expression. “Questioning the ethical aspect because of your involvement? There is more to a murder than the killer, Miss Delgado. An interesting perspective could be the police’s handling of the case. Should a multitude of homicides fall under the jurisdiction of a Sheriff’s station perhaps best equipped to deal with public indecensy or bar fights?”

“I’m not sure I can-”

“Those are my terms, I’m afraid. Think about it. Bridget seemed more than happy to keep you on herself, you always have a choice. Thank you, Miss Delgado.”

Leaving the office in a daze, Joe found herself going the long way around just to avoid bumping into Professor Kane. She had pushed the paper so far back into her mind lately, technically she was still on an academic leave, but...how could she go through with it knowing that Kate wasn’t even the killer? She was _a_ killer, but all those other murders, starting with Laura Hale, was Peter in his shape as an Alpha.

Helped by Jimmy Carter, who was still out there. Unless the Argents already got him. Nothing in the newspapers about some unfortunate hikers stumbling upon the remains of the mutilated werewolf-corpse of the Omega yet. If the Argents covered their tracks that well, would she even find out if the Argents killed Jimmy?

Back in Beacon Hills, Joe headed for the street she had found listed online earlier. Hoping to catch them off guard, she had not called ahead and instead marched straight up to the front door and rang the doorbell. A small happy sign next to it listed the occupants as ‘The Carters.’

A short and plump man opened the door with a big smile. “Hello?” He must be Jimmy’s father, only based on their shared sense of bad fashion. The senior Carter wore a tartan-colored sweatervest and corduroy pants.

“Mr. Carter? My name is Joe Delgado, we spoke briefly on the phone the other day...”

“Ahh! Jimmy’s friend! Come in, come in!” the man exclaimed happily and opened the door wide for her. “Can I bother you to take your shoes off? The missus is very particular about the hardwood floor, you see, and it’s all this sand this time of year...”

Joe obliged while the man, who introduced himself as Albert, gave her the whole history of the neighborhood and the homeowner’s association he and his wife both were dedicated to.

“I’m really sorry to bother you,” Joe said after being placed in a floral-patterned couch with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. “I was just wondering if you heard from Jimmy lately?”

“Not since Christmas, no,” Albert said happily and pushed a platter of assorted cookies under her nose. “Cookie? Made them myself this morning!”

“Thank you, Mr. Carter. Uh, you haven’t talked to him since Christmas, you said? That’s over two months ago...” She tried to keep the judgement from showing through in her tone. “I mean, his apartment’s just downtown, right?”

“Yes! It is indeed. Lovely location, lease is in my name, of course, for tax purposes. Have you been there? Magnificent view of small-town America at its best!” Albert kept smiling and Joe wondered if he was on some medication. “But yes, Christmas is correct. Hang on, let me see if I can find it...” Albert Carter darted up from his own seat and rummaged through a stack of papers on a nearby desk. “Aha! Here!”

A smooth multi-page document was thrust into her hands and she blinked to focus her gaze onto the page. From what she could deduce, it was a contract between James Carter and his parents. “... _retain solitude for a minimum of six months, maximum twelve_ ,” she read aloud and raised her eyebrows at the sum defined as a monthly allowance. “... _in order to conclude the literary endavours._ I’m sorry, Mr. Carter, but what is this?”

“A book contract!” Albert dabbed at his lips after finishing one of the cookies. “Jimmy is an amazing writer, but he found that our presence hindered his creative flow, so we made a deal we would fund his living expenses with a moderate sum each month in order for him to finish his book. Contact only in cases of emergencies, as listed in second to last paragraph on page five.”

“You...wrote a contract with your son of paying his bills and leaving him alone?” Joe questioned, wondering why she never thought of that.

“For six to twelve months, yes.”

“But...what if something happens to him?”

“Like what?” asked Albert with the same happy smile. Joe found herself smiling stiffly back. ‘Like in case your son turns into a werewolf, Mr. Carter’ did not sound like the foundation of a rational discussion. “We’re listed as his emergency contacts, so if he is unable or unwilling to contact us himself, the hospital or family lawyer will do so in his stead.”

“So no phone calls, no e-mails, nothing?” Joe blinked. Family photos littered the entire living room — nothing gave the vibe of a bad family dynamic, except the parents’ apparent willingness of giving Jimmy complete privacy for a year.

“Nope!” She must have looked so lost that Albert Carter giggled. “Miss Joe, my wife and I trust our son completely. He has never given us any reason not to! I must say I was surprised when you called, Jimmy doesn’t have a lot of friends unfortunately, but if he has cut contact with you, may I daresay it is because you distracted from his writing?”

She agreed numbly that maybe that was it. Refusing any further offers of cookies, sandwiches, a cup of tea, she left their house in the end with a small cellophane bag of homemade toffees they still had left after Christmas. In the driveway, she turned to stare at the strangely quaint house and found Albert Carter waving good bye to her from the window.

Her smile felt like a death mask, but she tried, and grimaced when she finally got back into her car. Six months to a year without contact with his parents. Did he already know before Christmas that he would get the bite soon and need to take off? How much had he planned for?

The radio turned on when she started the car and jumped straight to the local radio station. “.. _.police are working to confirm the identity of the body found downtown in Beacon Hills this morning. The Sheriff’s department says it’s too early in the investigation to determine if foul play was inolved and that more can be said after an autopsy is performed. This is only the latest in a long string of...”_

Another murder in Beacon Hills.

Joe was so fixated on this that she almost missed an SUV driving slowly next to her still parked car, as if trying to get a good look at Joe. Must be that homeowner’s association that felt her old Ford didn’t quite fit into the neighborhood. Tinted windows, so no way of confirming. It never stopped, but Joe watched it until it disappeared from sight around a corner. Strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter in a goood while with no direct Joe-Derek interaction. Joe needs a little bit of time with her family.  
> Side-note: I realized I gave Professor Walker the same last name as Meredith Walker and I gotta tell you there's no relation. Didn't realize until afterwards and then it felt weird changing it. Just letting you know so you're not expecting some twist that's not gonna come... :)
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading. I love all of you equally, except you who comment, who I love a little more ;)


	23. The Full Moon

Sheriff Stilinski rubbed his face tiredly and reviewed the notes from the deputy working the front desk. Occasionally he glanced up at Joe, who sat perched on the edge of the chair in front of his desk. Her nervous face did not seem to give him any consolation and he tiredly returned to the document a few seconds later. Eventually, he put it down and leaned back in his chair. He did not look like he had slept for a few days.

“Let me get this straight,” he started and Joe nodded to show she was paying attention. “Jimmy Carter, a 23-year-old man, has moved out of his apartment without letting his parents know and they have a,” he glanced at the paper in front of him again, “contract to leave him alone.”

“Yeah.”

“And he was last seen at the Hale house when Kate Argent tried to kill herself?”

“Yep.”

“Your theory is that he ran when the FBI showed up due to his,” he referenced his notes once more, “paranoid nature, correct?”

“Correct.”

“He cleaned out his apartment and left without letting you know?”

“Exactly.”

“No indication of foul play?”

“Well, th-”

“Yes or no, Joe?” Sheriff Stilinski demanded and rubbed a hand over his tired face again. “I’m sorry, Joe, but a grown man leaving town is not against the law. If the locks were broken on his place or if you saw something happen at the Hale house I might be able to do something, but...it sucks, but it’s not a crime. Or a missing person case.”

“But what if something _did_ happen to him?” she protested all the while the Sheriff was rising from his chair and opening the door for her. “And I just didn’t see it? I was kinda busy at the moment, remember?”

“Look, kid, people got their own way of dealing with things. Maybe this Carter-guy just needed a fresh start. Give it some time, I’m sure you’ll hear from him soon enough,” Sheriff Stilinski said and Joe frowned at the obvious sympathy he was showing her. When she raised her voice to protest again, he held his hand up: “You know I got another dead body on my hands, right? I’ll leave your file on my desk and look into it again later if there’s time, but I can’t prioritize it right now. You get that, right?”

“I do, but...” she faltered when he gave a pointed nod towards the door. “Thanks, Sheriff.”

He followed her out the doorway, placing his hat onto his head, when a deputy came rushing down towards them from a nearby desk. The deputy shoved a fax into the Sheriff’s hands. “Coroner’s office just ID’d the body. Oscar Lahey.”

“The cemetery manager?” Sheriff Stilinski asked as he scanned the file. He realized his mistake at Joe’s small gasp. Grimacing, he shooed the deputy away with an order to get a car ready and forced Joe to walk towards the front desk again. “I know that look, McCall. Forget what you just heard.”

“You think there’s a connection between the grave robbery and the murder?” Joe asked incredulously, unable to help herself even as the Sheriff forcibly steered her to the front doors. “How did he die? Could it have been the same one who attacked that girl on the lacrosse field?”

It was the closest she could come to outright asking if it looked like a werewolf had done it.

“Not details open for public,” the Sheriff said through gritted teeth. “No more questions, Joe.”

“But it _is_ a murder?” Joe asked, as the Sheriff hadn’t corrected her. He groaned and it was all the confirmation she needed.

They reached the front doors and the Sheriff gently shoved her outside. “Go home, McCall.”

She did no such thing of course. Instead she headed straight for the coffee shop where she knew they had free Wi-Fi, ordered her usual and searched for Oscar Lahey. The picture that came up was dated, but it looked like the man she had seen at the cemetery. Square face and a thick neck, like an aging athlete. Beacon Hills-local, it looked like. Used to coach the Beacon Hills High swimming team.

Beacon Hills High...the years overlapped with Jimmy’s high school years. Not that Jimmy seemed like the kind of guy who would even try out for the swimming team, but there could still be a motive here somewhere.

A shadow fell over her, but she did not even have to look up. Her nose told her everything she needed. “Hey, Derek,” she said and focused on her reading without looking at him. “‘Sup?”

“Joe,” he said in a way of greeting. He was apparently not sitting down, but did take off his sunglasses. “Thought you were at Berkeley on Mondays?”

“Can you at least try to hide the fact that you’re following me?” Joe muttered, still engrossed in the reading. She had tried to cross-reference Oscar Lahey’s name with Jimmy’s. “Stalking’s not a good look on you.”

“What were you doing at the Sheriff’s station?”

She rolled her eyes. “Subtle, Derek.” The Beacon Post must have been tipped the ID as they changed their headline to ‘Former Beacon Hills High Swim Coach Found Dead’. “I was reporting Jimmy as missing if you must know.”

“Really,” said Derek and twisted the laptop towards him so he could see the screen. Oscar Lahey’s photo glared at him and he in turn glared at her. “What the hell are you doing, Joe?”

“Trying to prevent the Argents from finding Jimmy first,” Joe hissed and tore the laptop back.

Derek scoffed. “And you think the cops can find him?”

“Well, you’re absolutely no help at all, so...” Joe shut the laptop to give him her full attention. “You said that blue eyes are different for...your kind, right? Scott said the Omega had yellow eyes.” At the mention of blue eyes, Derek’s expression shifted from annoyed to that calm rage she was so accustomed to. Undeterred, she continued: “So it’s not about status. Red for Alphas, yellow for Betas and Omegas apparently. So what’s different?”

“Let it go, Joe,” Derek mumbled and squared his shoulders. His bright eyes scanned the coffee shop, as if looking for threats or escape routes. “I need you to do me a favor.”

_That_ was new. Joe raised her eyebrows automatically and tried to subtly breathe through her nose to confirm this was in fact Derek Hale in front of her and not some robot copycat. “Okay?”

“Stay home tonight.” His jaw tensed when she threw her head back in despair. “I mean it, Joe. Full moon. It’s _not_ safe.”

“Safe from what?” she whispered, even if they were the only people in the coffee shop near the tables. The early morning rush consisted of nothing but takeaways apparently. She cocked her eyebrow at him. “From you?” Apparently that was such a stupid question it did not warrant any other response than a curled lip from Derek Hale. “Or from the guy you emphatically told me not to worry about a few days ago?”

At his continued silence, she threw her hands up. “You can’t run around in secrecy and then expect me to jump when you say so, Derek! I saw someone with blue eyes in the backyard and you’re telling me to stay away, but you won’t even tell me why!”

Derek’s fingers squeezed around the back of the chair he clutched. He took a deep breath, but judging from his flexing muscles it did little to calm him down.

“You keep saying I should trust you, but you’re not giving me a whole lot reason why.”

She forced herself to stare back when he put his bright eyes onto her again. “Because we’re-”

“If you say mates I _will_ throw up on you.”

He snapped his mouth shut and his nostrils flared.

Joe gave him some time to garner any sort of response, but the only result was him squeezing so hard the upholstery of the chair ripped.

“Did Jimmy kill the swim team coach?”

“I don’t know.” Derek’s voice was reduced to a low growl.

“Could he have?”

“I don’t _know_ , Joe!” he snapped and that finally caught the attention of the baristas. His jaw flexed and unflexed as he regarded the employees now obviously whispering if they should intervene. “Go home and stay home tonight, Joe. Please.”

As the barista with an assistant manager-sign came towards them, Derek tore his sunglasses on and stalked out without another word.

“You okay, miss?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Joe muttered and stuffed her laptop into her backpack again. “Can I get that in a to-go cup please?”

Go home, stay home, get out, get in, leave — argh! Derek was nowhere to be seen when she stomped out of the shop, but that did obviously not mean he wasn’t there. She gave the finger in all general directions in case he was watching, and then apologized awkwardly to the woman delivering mail a few feet away.

Full moon her ass! Scott hadn’t seemed worried about it, so why should she cower inside her house just because Derek Hale told her to? The anger made her start her car almost too quickly as it gave a noise of disapproval, but she got it into gear and shot out onto the highway as soon as possible. She needed answers. Neutral, objective answers.

“ _Josefina!_ Sarah told me you were still undecided-”

“Yeah, hi,” Joe said after forcing her way into Professor Kane’s office. She dumped down into the armchair and stared her former professor down. “I got questions.”

Professor Kane pushed her glasses up and the large tome in front of her to the side. “Is something amiss, Miss Delgado?”

“Yes! People are still dying and I can’t sort fact from fiction no matter how many books or papers I read!” Joe snapped and leaned forwards to rest her elbows on the armrests. “And the only ones who seem to know anything about anything either won’t talk to me or can’t be trusted to tell the truth.”

If Professor Kane seemed pertubed at her outburst, she took it surprisingly well. She held up her hand to have Joe wait a minute and then rose to lock the office door. When she sat back down, she smiled. “I suppose I owe you some answers.”

“Thank you,” Joe said stiffly, some of the fire dwindling down. Finally, the chance to talk to someone who had no agenda or reason to lie. “First: What’s an Alpha?”

“Ah, not an easy question there, I’m afraid.” Professor Kane steepled her fingers together in a way that indicated a longer lecture coming. “In many ways, the Alpha is the leader of a pack. A pack makes a wolf stronger, literally. The more Betas, the stronger the Alpha. Powers vary, but some are able to completely shapeshift into a wolf — or some version of it. Their Roar is said to break through chains and-”

“Okay, I’ll settle for the condensed version,” Joe said to interrupt. “Next question: what does blue eyes mean?”

Professor Kane shifted a bit. Short answers were not her forte. She smacked her lips: “The Alphas have red eyes. Betas and Omegas have a golden yellow.” Joe almost rolled her eyes, this much she knew. “And blue are the most special of all. A werewolf's eyes turn from gold to blue after killing an innocent.”

Her insides turned prickly and numb at the same time. “What?”

“It’s not a process that I have been able to have described to me. Something about a change in the soul. No matter the motive, it would seem. What matters is the innocence of the victim.”

Derek _killed_ someone? Someone innocent? She hardly believed his uncle to be counted in that category. Joe blinked and sat back in the chair, not hearing the longer explanation of where Professor Kane first came across this phenomena. So, whoever was in her backyard, was a killer? Was Jimmy one?

“What if...what if someone who was an Alpha with red eyes lost his Alpha-status?” She didn’t even know why she asked that question. By the way things were going, she worried if anyone had actually died that night.

“Their eyes would revert back to the original color, either yellow or blue,” Professor Kane said simply, miffed of being interrupted again. Her voice came even sharper now. “Any more pressing concerns, Miss Delgado?”

Leaning forwards with her face in her hands, Joe took a deep breath and steeled herself. “Tell me about mates.”

“Mates?” repeated Professor Kane with a short laugh, all terseness gone. “Oh, that is the stuff of romance novels, big hype in the 17th century I believe.” She laughed further at Joe’s expression. “It’s a myth, Miss Delgado! A legend. Sure, some young and hopelessly in love werewolves will refer to their partners as their ‘mate’, but what the romance novels — and you I assume — are referring to is something called _true_ mates.”

“Meant to be, connected by their very souls, unable to resist the attraction. Ah, it is a beautiful tale, no? A werewolf fairy tale of two werewolves bound together by the moon itself. I’ve read about it, it’s referenced in the odd text here and there, but never been able to confirm an actual case. I mean, pure mathematics can prove it impossible. Think about it, the number of werewolves in the world is maybe a few thousand at most. What are the odds of two of them being meant for each other?”

Joe stared a bit as the Professor tore down a house of cards Joe did not even build. “What do you mean?”

“Well, that’s part of the legend, Miss Delgado. A true mate connection can only be felt between two already turned werewolves.” The Professor smiled a wistful smile as she still enjoyed the joke. “And there simply aren’t enough of them in the world for it to be statistically plausible. Maybe every hundred years or so, if you tweaked the numbers a bit.”

Back in her car, Joe turned on a CD she hadn’t played since the breakup with Alex. Numb, angry, embarassed — all of the above, she took the back roads to Berkeley, almost hoping Derek would show up so she could give him a piece of her mind. She knew it was bullshit from the get-go. She knew it! So why was she feeling so betrayed?

Crushing it down in favor of singing along to the soppy tune, she drove steadily back to Beacon Hills. By now it was darkening quickly and she could see the full moon reflected in her rearview mirror.

“Go home. Stay home. I can’t protect you,” she mimicked in a sardonic voice in the privacy of her own car. So, at least that myth was busted wide open! That left the question of why Derek seemed so obsessed with her? Maybe he was just losing his mind after all the stuff he’d been through. Maybe he was just nuts.

On almost the same stretch of road where he had intercepted her from the deer herd — God, that felt like a different life — her car began to sputter. Old cars make funny noises, Joe knew that, so she reduced her speed gently, hoping maybe it was just a certain gear that caused some friction or whatever.

It increased in volume and now the Ford jerked violently ahead. She smelled smoke. “Shit!”

Joe slammed down the brakes and the car wheezed into a stop. Swearing and cursing without stopping to catch her breath, Joe jumped out and saw a black plume of smoke coming from the hood. The hot metal burned her fingers when she popped it and she backed away when the interior spewed out more thick, black smoke.

Coughing and waving her hand to clear the air, she tried to see if anything was actually on fire. In the light of the full moon, everything looked pitch black to her. Something had caused something to overheat, but she did not know shit about cars. It seemed fine just this morning, though! It wasn’t that long ago she had her oil changed, was it?

The deserted road stretched on endlessly in either direction. Joe popped her head into the car to turn on the emergency lights, and they blinked on and off with an even tandem. Chances of a car passing by were pretty slim though.

“Son of a bitch,” she cursed again and wrestled with her pants to get the stupid, thick Nokia up from the pocket. Her insurance did not cover road assistance, so she tried Stiles first. At least he knew something about cars and the Jeep should be strong enough to tow her to the nearest garage in any case. It went straight to voice mail.

“Soooon of a biiiitch,” she sang under her breath and dialled Scott instead. Those two were usually not far apart. Her breath came out in dispersed white fog and she stuffed her free hand under her phone arm to keep her fingers warm. “Pick up, Scott, pick up, pick up, pick- Scott?”

His voice came in a whisper: “ _This really isn’t a good time.”_

Before she could answer, she heard another voice in the background with Scott saying: “ _Is that Joe?”_

“Is that Derek?” she spat and paced in front of her car, too angry to hold still. “Put him on!”

She barely heard Derek demand the same of Scott from his side, before Derek’s voice came clear through the speaker: _“Joe?”_

“Did you do something to my car?!” she asked and did small bends in her knees to keep moving so the cold wouldn’t creep in. Her car was fine this morning, then Derek found her and asked her to go home, and now her car wasn’t working. Easy logic! No answer, but she heard his hitched breath. “Derek?! Did - you - do - something - to - my - goddamn - CAR?”

A flock of nightbirds flew up at her outburst.

“ _No! What’s going on? Where are you?”_

“I swear to God, Derek, you are such a-” She bit in a deragotary term and laughed bitterly, not acknowleding his answer. “‘Cause if you did something to make me stay home or whatever, that plan backfired completely!”

_“Joe!”_ Derek interrupted her shaky voice. _“Where are you?”_

“I’m somewhere between Berkeley and Beacon Hills!” Joe threw her hand out even though he had no way of seeing it. “Right around where you nearly forced me off the road! And it’s freezing out here, so tell me what you did and how I can fix it so I can actually _go_ home, asshole!”

He seemed to suppress a growl on the other side of the line. She heard Scott ask something and Derek tell him to shut up before he addressed Joe with thinly veiled impatience: _“What’s wrong with your car, exactly?”_

“Ugh!” Joe let out a grunt and went back to study the car. “I don’t know! It started making these noises-”

_“What kind of noises?”_

_“_ A funny noise!”

Derek fought to stay calm, she could imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose. “ _What - kind - of - noise?”_

“This sort of _ack-ack-ack,”_ she mimicked her car, “and then I smelled smoke, so I stopped and everything was reeking and-”

_“Can you check the carburetor?”_

“Carburetor,” Joe repeated under her breath and tried to make heads and tails of the twisted and blackened machinery. “Carburetor, I’ve heard about that. Can you describe it?”

_“It should be on the main engine.”_

_“_ Is that the one that has like these three dots- don’t groan at me! I don’t know about cars!” Joe yelled into the phone and she could imagine Derek’s tired and disappointed look. “Okay, fine, I’m just gonna call triple A.”

_“Get in your car and lock the doors!”_

“I get bad reception inside, I just gotta call-”

_“Are you serious? It’s a full moon! Get in and lock the doors, now!”_

“It’s still smoking! What if the car blows up or somet...”

Joe shut her mouth and put the phone to her shoulder. She swore she heard something in the dark woods. The light from the full moon only seemed to make the shadows even deeper and she took a tentative step towards the noise. “Hello?”

Dead quiet, but she felt watched.

“Is there someone there?”

The muffled voice of Derek’s shouting: _“Joe! JOE!”_

Something definitely rustled inside the bushes.

She squinted, hoping to make her night vision sharper, and at the same time be on the lookout for glowing blue eyes. How bad was the full moon exactly? A vivid image of Derek scratching up their doorframe made her pause before going any further. If it could make a born werewolf lose control, how much chance would, say, Jimmy stand-

A twig snapped and Joe froze.

She could hear her own heartbeat now, how it went faster and harder. Okay. Okay, no sudden movements. If it was Jimmy, she could help him. He had to know she wanted to help him.

Now she only had to make her body move. Something that proved harder in practice than theory. Deep breath.

Gently, so slow her muscles ached with effort, she took another step towards the sound and brushed away a branch. She held her breath, ready to scream or choke it in.

A deer — a perfectly ordinary, not panicked, not dangerous deer — stared back at her with big unblinking eyes and Joe let out a slow breath. She supported herself on a nearby tree trunk, head swimming from lack of oxygen. The animal did not seem to consider her a threat and kept chewing on whatever leaves it had found. Joe should be in awe just to be this close to it, but she just wanted to go home and sleep for a few days now.

The deer raised its big ears, rotating them towards the side, and Joe followed suit. It was almost the sound of-

“AAAAAIIIH!” she screamed as something big crashed out of the forest and threw itself at her. Her shriek could cut glass and she flailed wildly against the beast as they tumbled down onto the forest ground. Kicking, squirming, shouting.

Only the flash of red eyes made her pause long enough to get a coherent thought through. Derek!

“Are you okay, are you hurt?” he yelled, somehow flipping them both to a stand. The words came guttural and animalistic through his morped face. He held her with both hands, clutching at her upper arms, scanning both their surroundings and her at the same time.

“How in the hell?” she half-whispered, staring at the endless area of darkened woods in the direction he came from. His breathing came hard and fast. “Did you _run_ here?”

With some apparent effort, his face went back to normal, a transformation Joe hardly believed even when seeing it in real-time. Ears, nose, mouth back to the chiseled face she knew best. Eyes still glowing red though, searching wildly throughout the night.

“You heard something?” he asked, putting those glowing eyes at her.

“A deer!” Joe gestured weakly in the direction of the deer that had bolted when Derek came bounding through the woods. “Jesus Christ, Derek!”

“A deer?” Derek repeated and Joe took advantage of his confusion to shake loose his grip. She brushed off her dirt-covered pants and began picking dead leaves out of her hair. “Are you sure? You screamed...”

“Because of you, asshole!” Joe half-shouted into the night. She still could not comprehend the distance he must have covered and the time it took. “Where’s Scott?”

“Back at the Lahey house,” Derek answered. The adrenaline must still have been running high, as he took long deep breaths to calm himself.

Joe knew the address from her earlier search and the fact did nothing to quell her reluctant fascination with the speed he must have achieved on foot.

“Jesus Christ,” she repeated and trudged back towards the blinking lights of her car.

Derek followed with rushed movements. He wrenched off his leather jacket and handed it to her without a word before bending over to look at the still simmering inner workings of the old Ford. The blinking emergency lights displayed Derek’s muscles on and off, even further emphasized by the sweaty t-shirt clinging to his skin.

“You said it was fine this morning?” Derek asked after a while. He must see perfectly in the dark to be able to deduce anything out of the blackened mess. Occasionally he glanced up at the full moon and Joe got the impression he was in a hurry. “You drove to Berkeley with this?”

“Yeah, obviously,” Joe said with a shrug. She held the leather jacket folded in front of her, not admitting an inch of how the saturated scent of Derek calmed her nerves a bit.

“It’s a wonder you even got this far,” Derek muttered, bent inside and twisted something hard. “The coolant cap is twisted into the radiator tube.” That was probably not what he said, but Joe did not really pay attention. He stood straight again and frowned at the sight. “This is the original engine? 99-model?”

“ _I_ never changed it.”

“It’s a miracle it’s even running at all,” he muttered and Joe just rolled her eyes. “Hang on.” Something must have caught his eye as he bent back in. He came back up with a blackened piece of paper that he handed her.

It was a simple message. ‘LEAVE ME ALONE’

Joe let the note fall down to reveal Derek’s raised eyebrow. “Look familiar?”

“It’s Jimmy’s handwriting,” she conceded reluctantly. “You mean he did this? When I was at Berkeley?”

Derek shrugged and wiped his oily hands onto his t-shirt, causing it to ride up and reveal the impressive set of abs Joe had seen a few times before already. She cleared her throat and pointedly looked elsewhere, holding the jacket out to him.

“Put it on, you’re cold,” he said and slammed the hood down again.

Joe made a face. “I am not!”

“Your breathing’s shortened, your heartbeat’s increased and you’re shivering,” Derek said matter-of-factly as he stalked over to the driver’s side. He looked straight at her with an open expression. “You’re cold.”

She mimed his words back at him, rolled her eyes and shrugged on the leather jacket. Only because she might get cold, not because she was. Apparently Derek was planning to drive and she stomped over to the passenger side of her own car. Apart from Scott, she rarely had anyone in the seat and she had to shift away a heavy load of discarded notebooks, water bottles and empty sandwich wrappers.

“Hurry up, we don’t have much time.”

“Time for what?” Joe bit out and dumped into the seat. At least the car smelled mostly of her, but with the jacket and Derek’s close proximity it was getting increasingly hard to keep a clear mind. “What’s going on?”

Derek had leaned forward while he started the car, glancing at the still rising moon. “It’s almost full. Come on!”

“Okay, okay,” she snapped back and buckled her seatbelt. “Is it Scott?” Derek had been with him when she called, but... “What was he doing at the Lahey house?”

“He...” Derek forced the car into a higher gear than it accepted and he groaned. “You need a new car!”

“Oh, okay, let me just buy one with my imaginary trust fund!” Joe made a face at his scowl.

He thumped the steering wheel when the car still refused to go at a speed he deemed reasonable. “At least change the engine!”

“What part of imaginary trust fund didn’t you get?” Joe spat and decided to spell it out slowly. “I can’t afford it!” No response except his usual flared nostrils in case of suppressed anger. “What’s the rush? You need to get back to your castle before midnight or something?”

“No, I need to get to the police station before Isaac Lahey kills someone!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Halloween-update for you! :)   
> Hope you enjoyed, thank you for reading and please leave a comment if you liked the chapter :)
> 
> Also, I have a question: What kind of shoes does Derek wear? It's, uh, important for plot purposes later on. In some of the episodes it looks like sneakers and in others like dress shoes? I would have imagined like more boots-like footwear, but...Anyone have anymore info on that, please let me know :)
> 
> Happy Halloween, stay safe and healthy all of you <3


	24. The Convict

“No, I need to get to the police station before Isaac Lahey kills someone!”

Several questions sat poised on Joe’s tongue. She settled for: “Who is Isaac Lahey and why’s he gonna kill someone?”

“The kid from the cemetery!” Derek snapped and made a dark noise when the car laid on its comfortable maximum speed, a speed she guessed was a far way from where his own car usually sat.

“And he’s gonna kill someone because...?” Joe prompted, but gasped when she noticed Derek checking the moon again. “Oh my God, Peter bit him too?”

The change in expression was miniscule, but she saw it. A slight twitch in his jaw and she turned in her seat. “Peter did bite him, right, Derek? Derek!” At no answer, she jumped up in her seat and flexed her hands to avoid slapping at the driver of the very fast moving vehicle. “Oh my God, Derek! What the hell? How old is he?”

“Sixteen-”

“Oh my GOD!” she yelled again, drowning out whatever rational response Derek tried to give. “What is wrong with you people?”

Derek bit his teeth together, but his voice raised to overpower hers, using the hand not on the steering wheel to emphasize: “He asked for it!”

“He’s a child! He can’t be asking for it! And he should not be making life-changing decisions at the age of sixteen! Jesus Christ, Derek!” Joe followed up with a long string of curse words and glared at the passing trees like they were the ones in fault because if she had to look at the driver she might commit homicide.

“He was receptive to the bite and he wanted it,” Derek tried to explain but Joe still swore loudly, not interested in hearing it. “Now that I’m Alpha, I need a pack-”

“Oh nooo, did he kill his dad?” Joe breathed out, not hearing a word Derek was saying.

Derek seemed to take a deep restraining breath. “He said he didn’t.”

“Yeah, but anyone’s gonna say that!” Joe exclaimed and just remembered how she had literally just learned that Derek’s eyes used to be blue because he had taken an innocent life. Probably not the kind of thing you bring up to a pissed off werewolf during a full moon. “That’s kinda the go-to for murderers!”

“I’d know if he was lying,” Derek explained and turned his head towards her so she could see the flash of red eyes. “I’m the Alpha.”

“Oh God, can you say anything that’s not a complete cliche?” Joe muttered with an exaggerated roll of her eyes as it was easier than look directly at Derek. The eye flash, the growl in his voice — it was doing things to her body that her mind did not completely agree with. And despite her best efforts, he impressed her. He’d _ran_ the distance from the Lahey house out to her in what, less than a few minutes or something. It had to be at least 10 miles. All because he thought she was in danger.

Something vibrated inside the jacket she still wore and Joe shifted around until she found what had to be Derek’s phone. The name listed was: “Stiles?”

Derek grabbed the phone out of her hand while she tried to comprehend that 1) Derek had a cell phone and 2) Stiles apparently had his number.

“We’re on our way,” Derek barked, seeming more tense with each passing moment in the car. “One more minute! Didn’t you say you delayed the hunter? Fine!”

“Hunter,” Joe repeated while Derek cut the phone call off. “The Argents are going after the kid too?”

“They’re out for blood,” Derek growled and tried to press the gas pedal through the floorboard. Despite Joe’s protests, he ran two red lights and the Ford’s brakes squealed when they slid to a halt outside the Beacon County Sheriff’s Station.

Stiles did a double-take in the front seat of his Jeep when he spotted them and jumped out. Instead of getting into the back seat like a normal person, Stiles decided to basically sit on Joe’s lap in the passenger side of the Ford.

“Dude!” she exclaimed and shifted so she sat posed atop the handbrake, the only alternative to crawling into Derek’s lap. “Where’s Scott?”

“Allison’s chaining him up in the Lahey’s basement,” Stiles said, like he was discussing the weather, and ignored Joe’s double-take. He gestured towards the bright windows of the station. “Okay, now the keys to every cell are in a password protected lockbox in my father's office. The problem is getting past the front desk.”

All of them craned their heads to look at the front desk deputy, a pretty dark-skinned woman in a form fitting uniform.

“I’ll distract her,” said Derek to Stiles’ apparent amazement.

Joe leaned back when Stiles grabbed onto Derek’s t-shirt to keep him from leaving the car. They bickered back and forth, Stiles not agreeing with Derek’s plan of distraction.

“What are you gonna open with? Dead silence. That should work beautifully,” Stiles scoffed.

“It’s probably gonna work,” Joe said and Stiles gave her a look of pure betrayal. “What? He’s a very attractive person!”

Derek gave Stiles a cocky look as if to say ‘See?’. Grumbingly, Stiles scrambled out of the car and Joe made to follow him, but was held back by the neck of Derek’s jacket. She reached back and swatted at his hand, but Derek pulled her back so his ear was somewhere near her ear.

“Stay in the car.”

“What? No way!” Joe exclaimed and the next thing she knew, Derek yanked on the jacket, flipping her back so she splayed over the driver seat. The split second of disorientation was enough for him to jump out of the car, key in hand and Joe listened to the tell-tale click of the car locking up.

She dashed forward to the passenger door and tried the handle and the lock-button, nothing giving any effect.

Derek turned with a wide-armed shrug as he walked backwards to the front doors of the police station. He pointed at her and mouthed: “Stay in the car!”

_“You asshole!”_ Joe slammed her hand against the window. Stiles did not posess the same kind of hearing as Derek, so the idiot never turned around to wonder where she went.

Joe wrenched the stupid jacket off, stuffing it behind her seat, her mind fuddled enough already, and tried the driver side door instead. He must have disabled the locks or something! Damn it!

Fuming, she watched Derek walk inside first. From her position, she only saw his back as he leaned against the front desk and adressed the deputy. Whatever he was saying, it seemed to do the trick and Joe rolled her eyes hoping he could _feel_ her annoyance. Their body language was more than enough to see they were hitting it off, and Joe noticed the woman looked a lot like Kelly, so that must be Derek’s type. Go figure.

Joe thumped her head against the back of the seat to just avoid thinking. Stay in the car. Go home. Stay home. Ugh! Just the thought of it was enough to-

The fire alarm rang from inside the station. She scrambled up in the seat, but neither Derek nor the deputy was anywhere to be seen anymore. Shit.

She hit the door angrily, feeling helpless and useless stuck in the stupid car with the stupid jacket with his stupid smell making her stupid! “Damn it!” She’d hit her hand too hard on the window handle. Joe looked down. Jesus Christ, talk about stupid.

Growling under her breath, she cranked the window open. One of the positives of an old car, everything was mechanical. Vaguely recalling some safety procedure her dad taught her once, she went out backwards through the window, using the roof as support to get out. Hah!

The incessant ringing intensified once she got inside and made her cover her ears. No one at the front desk anymore, no sign of neither Derek or the deputy. Joe ran down to the Sheriff’s office where Stiles would get the keys, but nothing there either. Instead, Joe slid in what appeared to be fresh blood on the linoleoum and she grabbed the walls for uspport.

“Eww,” she groaned to herself, seeing the smear on her sneakers. It led down the hall, but she couldn’t hear a damn thing because of the alarm. She decided to follow the trail, half-sliding around each corner until she came face to face with Stiles.

Unfortunately, he was being manhandled by a deputy with his hand clamped over Stiles’ mouth. His eyes widened and he flailed hard at the sight of her.

“STILES!” she yelled and was already running when the deputy spotted her.

With a grunt, the deputy threw Stiles at her. He was a skinny kid, but Joe wasn’t much bigger and they crashed down to the floor. “Oof!” Stiles had landed with his elbow into Joe’s gut. Damn it!

“Oh no, no, come on!” Stiles yelled, scrambling to get up and dragging her along. The deputy limped towards the holding cells — the source of blood had to be that large arrow sticking out of his thigh. Stiles threw himself forward. “Aaah!”

The deputy dodged Stiles’ wayward attempt of a tackle; he slammed to the floor in front of the cells. Joe did not like the look on the deputy’s face and her feet was already moving on their own, gaining speed, lining her shoulder up to take him down.

Because his focus on Stiles, she hit him straight on with her shoulder into his chest. Although weakened, he was not down for count and she only dodged his fist coming for her because she tripped over Stiles and flopped to the floor again. The deputy turned to them and she did not like his expression anymore up close.

The deputy had a thick syringe in his hand, his fist squeezed around it while his face contorted in a sneer. Like he would have loved to use it on them. Joe flailed over to her back, crawling backwards and trying to drag Stiles along. Her eyes darted to all sides, looking for an exit and found instead an open cell.

The bent metal and broken hinges indicated a forced exit. The deputy followed her gaze and she thought she heard him swear under his breath.

She lay halfway across Stiles and they both shot up when a golden-eyed, fully turned and utterly enraged werewolf came bounding from the side.

The roaring, the rage — the deputy tried to fight, but the werewolf twisted his needle-holding arm until he dropped it. Joe flinched as the werewolf slammed the man’s head into the wall with a crack that would mean a broken skull. She could feel Stiles’ hand on her arm, pulling her back, back towards the hall again.

Sound of broken glass. Derek! She’d near forgotten about him! He slammed his heavy foot down on the rolling syringe and he noise caused the werewolf — the _other_ werewolf — to turn. Its focus landed on Joe and Stiles.

Joe wished she had a shotgun.

The werewolf did not even take one step towards them before Derek side-stepped and roared at it with red eyes and bared fangs. The force was enough to make the werewolf skitter off to the side and Joe’s knees to cave on their own.

She wasn’t even aware of her own response before her butt hit the floor next to Stiles. The werewolf cowered, shielding its face with its arm, and the next time it peeked up it was back to the boy from the cemetery.

For a few seconds, only the sound of their breaths lingered in the air, Joe’s ears ringing from the roar.

“How did you do that?” asked Stiles with a hard edge of fear still in his voice.

Derek looked at them over his shoulder. “I’m the Alpha.”

“Cliche,” Joe muttered and scrambled for foothold to get back up. “Total cliche.”

Ignoring both her fast beating heart and the whimpering boy — whimpers meant he was breathing, still alive — she stumbled over and bent down by the unconscious deputy. Pulse, breathing, just out cold. Joe let out a long breath, shoulders slumped. “Alive.”

She patted the man down and found both his badge and ID. Either real or a really convincing fake. He had half an arrow sticking out of his thigh, obviously the source of blood, and a small wooden box in his pocket. The inscription was of some sort of flower or plant.

“His name’s not Argent,” she said to the general audience. She put the badge into her own pocket.

“They’ve got a lot of people working for them,” Derek said darkly and held a hand out to the kid. “We need to go. Front desk already called for backup.” He addressed Stiles. “Stay here to make sure the guy doesn’t run off.”

“I don’t think he’s gonna do a lot of running anytime soon,” Stiles said and got up from the floor at the same time as the kid — Isaac? — did to follow Derek. Stiles looked like he wanted to say something, but apparently changed his mind and waved at them. “Get out before my dad gets here.”

“Joe-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Joe muttered, not too keen to stay behind either. There’d be questions and she would have to lie. “Go home. Whatever.”

“No,” Derek corrected her softly. “We need a ride to my car. Come on.”

It was an order as much to the kid as her. Isaac Lahey seemed to try and make himself a lot smaller as he followed Derek out of the station like a lost puppy. If he straightened up, he would be taller than Derek. Isaac shivered and breathed hard, not looking a lot like something she wanted inside her car or anywhere near her. Her heartbeat still thudded in her ears.

“He’s not gonna hurt you,” Derek said over his shoulder as if he’d heard her hesitation. Or smelled it or whatever it was that werewolves did. “Not when I’m here.”

Joe made a sour face and gave Derek’s back the finger.

“Really, Joe?”

The guy must have eyes in the back of his head. They made it out of the station without running into anyone. Derek coaxed Isaac inside Joe’s backseat and handed Joe the keys so she could drive. First she had to adjust the seat forward to even reach the pedals. Joe also adjusted the rearview mirror so she could keep an eye on the still shaking Isaac Lahey, who curled up in a ball behind Derek’s seat.

“What exactly is it that the full moon do to you guys?” Joe asked, unable to help herself. She kept replacing Isaac’s face with Scott. If Allison had to chain him up in some basement, it did not exactly sound like he had it under control.

“Makes us stronger, but deadlier,” Derek said a low voice as she got the car started. They made their getaway and tried to duck in their seats when two police cars zoomed past them up the street. “Enhances everything. Anger turns to rage. Fear to paralysis. Infatuation to lust.” Joe kept her gaze straight ahead at the road, not acknowledging the look Derek gave her. He waited half a second and turned back to Isaac. “It’s easy to lose control.”

“You seem to be doing fine,” Joe said, not intending it as a compliment.

Derek shrugged, still halfway turned to keep an eye on Isaac. “I’ve had a lifetime of practice.”

“Scott...” Joe swallowed. Not knowing what to ask, what to expect.

“Still needs more time,” Derek conceded slowly. “He’s relying too much on the Argent-girl. He’s gonna lose control when he loses her.”

When, Joe noted, along with the bitter undertone. When Scott loses Allison.

She glanced at the trembling boy in the backseat. Sweat made his curly locks lay flat against his scalp. She did not know if it was the full moon or the Alpha up front. And she did not know how Derek could have done this to someone, subjected them to this fate, but he had. Just as she did not know how Derek could have ever killed someone innocent, but he apparently had.

Joe did not breathe freely until both werewolves exited her car to climb into Derek’s instead. Only then did the tears and the shaking come.

* * *

Okay, was she doing this? Joe sat in her car and tried to psych herself up. It had seemed like a good idea last night when she was crying in the shower. In daylight, it seemed more like the potential of a good idea. The notion of a potential of a good idea. No, she was doing this.

As she rang the doorbell to the Argent house, she prayed whoever answered would be one who at least tolerated her presence. Chris Argent opened the door with a mildly amused frown and she could breathe again.

“Joe,” he said evenly and opened the door fully. He leaned against the door frame with crossed arms. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here again.”

“Yeah, uhm, yeah,” Joe said lamely, as she had not expected to ever set foot onto this doorstep again. Before she lost her nerve, she blurted out: “Do you have, uh, the equivalent of pepper spray that’s effective against...uh, y’know. Like, something that won’t hurt...”

She tried to not shift or cower as he raised his eyebrow at her. A few seconds followed and she prepared to flee the scene, but he nodded slowly. “I might have just what you need. Follow me.”

Instead of the kitchen, he had her follow him to a set of stairs leading to a downstairs garage. Downstairs. Joe took a deep breath — she knew she passed several traffic cameras on her way here. If she disappeared, no amount of crooked police would help them when her father would come looking. Nothing in Chris indicated hostility anymore either. He flipped a light switch and Joe let out a low whistle at all the hardware on the display along with their business logo. The obvious firearms were locked up in mesh cabinets. She wondered what they kept hidden in the actual weaponry, she could see the door and an electric passcode lock.

“This,” Chris Argent handed her a canister that looked exactly like pepper spray, “will slow down a lycanthrope, but not harm it. Highly dilluted wolfsbane extract. That’s what you were after, right?”

Joe nodded and accepted the canister. He probably thought she wanted some protection from Scott. At least she hoped he did not know about Derek. That whatever pain she inflicted on Derek would come back to her and why tasing him was a bad idea. She needed something else. When Scott finally made it home last night, he explained that he and Allison had seen something at the Lahey house. A creature with a tail, not a werewolf, but something similar according to him.

Derek needed a pack and he was working overtime building it. Professor Kane’s story about the werewolf-army backfiring when some who were bitten turned into something ‘unexpected’ made Joe confident that Derek did not have his uncle’s nose when picking his subjects. If Derek got stronger the more people he turned, she needed protection.

Chris turned back to rummage in a cabinet, talking over his back.

“If you want something to stun it, temporarily, we also got high-grade taser wands and even dart guns.”

She barely heard him, as her gaze fell upon a familiar looking shotgun lying on a stainless steel bench. Kate’s shotgun. The one Joe used to shoot Peter. The one Jimmy used to shoot at her.

Chris Argent noticed he’d lost his audience and turned with a wry smile. He cut in front of her dazed look and held up the shotgun for display. “Ah, the FX4. 4+1 round capacity, adjustable sights and tactical pistol grip. Chrome lined barrel and semi-auto gas system. Kate’s favorite firearm.” He shifted his grip and offered her the stock, barrel pointing downwards. “If you want it, it’s yours.”

Her fingers flexed, but she forced her arm down. “Look, Mr. Argent...”

“That sounds like my dad. Call me Chris.”

“Chris,” she corrected and grimaced. “I don’t know if you’re still in grief and projecting your dead sister onto me, or whatever, but I need to get something straight. I didn’t save Kate because she deserved it. I tried to save her because she didn’t. I’m really sorry for your loss, but...”

Chris sighed and flipped the shotgun to rest over his shoulder, a stance Kate had assumed once or twice as well. “My sister was a lot of things. More things than I was willing to admit, I’ve come to realize. But she was also a Grade A weapon’s expert. When I said this was her favorite, it means it’s probably the best piece of hardware you can find in the country.” He waited for Joe to digest and proffered the syntethic stock towards her again. “The offer still stands.”

“I need a purchase record,” Joe mumbled and accepted the shotgun, vivid memories from the night before still fresh in mind. “I already have a permit.”

“Luckily for you, Argent Arms is registered as a licensed dealer,” Chris said with a satisfied smile. He went over to another desk and grabbed some registration forms, filling them out to comply with California gun laws. She needed to keep it well hidden from Aunt Mel.

The familiar weapon felt nice and heavy in her hand. She kept the barrel pointing downwards as she gauged Chris’ body language. Would he give away his sister’s favorite weapon if she was still alive? Could she have been extracted by someone else without his knowledge? Joe wondered if the power dynamics had shifted internally within the Argents after the arrival of Gerard.

Speak of the devil...Both Joe and Chris turned to the stairs as the older man came down them. Looks like a grandpa, walks like a grandpa, cuts werewolves in half with a sword during night time. The strength required to pull something like that of did not match with the man’s physique, no matter how spry he seemed.

“Miss McCall, was it?” he said with a friendly smile, seeming to not notice how Joe tried to retreat into the wall.

“Delgado,” Chris corrected him. He’d stopped writing at the arrival of his father.

“Right, right, I’m sorry,” Gerard Argent said with his raspy voice. He smiled, but his eyes were dead. “Memory’s not what it used to be. Do you mind if I call you Joe? It’s such a distinct name for a woman that _that_ I remember.”

She had never introduced herself as Joe to him, but she still nodded. Chris must have told him or referred to her as that at some point.

“Kate told me about you, you know,” Gerard said and seemingly missed the panicked expression on her face. When and what had she told him? About Derek? Not likely, but not impossible. Several hours had passed from when Kate ran out of the dungeon until she showed back up with Allison in tow. Phones existed. Gerard kept smiling in that grandfatherly fashion. “You two were friends?”

There was something in his eyes that made Joe shake her head almost imperceptibly. He knew what he was asking. He knew what had happened. If Kate had told him about her, he knew there were plenty of words better equipped than ‘friends’. She was not going to lie to him, a father in mourning or not. For some reason, her reaction made him smile even wider. Predatorial, Joe thought, more so than the actual werewolves.

Turning towards Chris, Gerard exclaimed: “Ah, you’re here on business! Feeling unsafe on those car trips at night?”

How could he know? _How_ could he know? Joe nodded and said something unintelligible. The shotgun, both empty and unloaded, gave some sense of security in her hands.

“The FX4,” Gerard said with another cold smile. “Good choice. Kate’s favorite.”

“Thanks,” Joe mumbled and wished Chris would hurry up. She met Chris’ eyes behind Gerard’s back and he gave her a small shrug as if to apologize.

“This copy’s yours,” Chris finally said and came over with one of the sheets. “The other’s I’ll file right with the PD.”

Tight smile and Joe wondered if he was going to send them with the deputy from last night. Beacon Post had not published anything about what happened, other than a false fire alarm at the station. It could be the police wanted to cover it up, keep it indoors, or the deputy — fake or real — had talked himself out of it. No mention of Isaac’s arrest either, but that might be because he’s a minor.

“You stay safe now,” Gerard called after her as she hurried back upstairs and out the front door. She thought she heard a wheezing laugh as well.

Psychos. This _had_ been a bad idea. What had she expected? That she would see Kate’s high-heeled boots in the hallway or hear her throaty laugh from somewhere in the house? Idiot. Kate was _dead_ and buried. And now she had her weapon of choice. Joe stuffed the werewolf pepper spray into her back pocket and tried to carry the shotgun like she knew what she was doing. It fit under her car seat, but she would have some trouble explaining it if she got pulled over.

Something thumped against her car window and Joe suppressed a scream. Half-expecting to see Derek, as he usually was the one jumping out of thin air, it was Chris instead.

“Forgot ammo,” he said, his voice muffled through the car window. She rolled it down and he put two cartons into her hands. “It’s a 20-gauge. These are on the house!”

“T-thanks,” she said and he winked at her, much like Kate, before retreating back in his driveway. Gerard claimed they were indebted to her at the funeral, so why did she feel like she just sold her soul to the Devil?

Driving back, her brain alerted her of a familiar scent. She turned, almost preparing to see Derek lurking in her backseat. Her eyes fell on his jacket instead, left there after last night. It was literally one of the few pieces of clothing he seemed to own, so he probably wanted it back. An easy feat as the only way of contacting him was waiting for him to show up out of the blue again. She still couldn’t believe Stiles had his phone number and not her. Not that she wanted it.

At least the jacket proved useful in concealing the shotgun when she smuggled it inside the house. Aunt Mel would throw a fit if she saw it. She left the boxes of ammo in the car, they were nondescript enough to avoid detection. In the room, she laid the shotgun and the jacket on her bed, next to the note Derek found in her car.

Kate, Derek and Jimmy. Talk about symbolism.

No matter how hard she stared at the note, she could not deny it being Jimmy’s handwriting. It meant he was out there, keeping tabs on her and specifically telling her to stay away. She wondered if the visit to his parents’ house triggered the sabotage.

Still, he of all people had to know how dangerous a full moon could be. Was she getting too close and he wanted to make sure he didn’t accidentally hurt her? Or did he intend for her to get stranded in the middle of nowhere during the full moon? Derek sprinting out full-speed to pick her up was a pure coincidence...

Her computer gave of a happy beep of a new e-mail notification. It turned out to be from Kelly, reminding everyone of their reunion dinner coming up and if anyone needed help to find accomodation.

Joe groaned and fell back on her bed, refusing to acknowledge anything. After a while, she got up to stuff Derek’s jacket into a plastic bag, the lingering smell driving her crazy. She plopped back down and stared at the ceiling. Did she really need a PhD? The rational answer was no, a Master’s was more than enough, but the correct answer was yes. Ever since Professor Kane took her aside when she was finishing her first degree in half time, she’d fantasized about working at the university. She could not see herself doing anything else.

Okay, that’s a lie, her mind treacherously announced. She could see herself doing something else and that’s why she wanted to make the switch to criminology. Professor Kane called it law enforcement. Thief catching. _Puh-lease werk_. Like her dad.

God, she was being so stupid lately. She flopped over on her stomach and tried to get comfortable. Failed. Thrashed around and finally gave up and trudged to the computer. She opened the second draft of her paper, and then copied the text into a new document she kept side by side. Work. Come on, brain, do your thing. Instead of looking at the general population’s response to the Beacon Hills-murders, she should look on the criminology-side. That meant both sides of the law.

Ten minutes later and she still stared at the words, willing them to make sense. She needed a new angle. Related to the murders, but not the murderer. Ugh, she missed Jimmy. She missed pitching theories with him. She missed how he saw the same connections she did.

_“Joe?”_ Aunt Mel’s voice came from downstairs and Joe rolled her eyes, as if her aunt had interrupted anything. “ _Joe, you might wanna come down here.”_

“I’m working!” she yelled back, the blinking text cursor mocking her lie.

“ _Joe, I’m serious! Get - down - here!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the unintentional hiatus! Ff.net has had issues the last week (I cross-post there) and I said I'd wait to update until they fixed it. Hadn't imagine it would take them a week, but here we are :)
> 
> Thank you for the responses regarding footwear. An interesting conundrum that I became far too invested in and I don't even like feet.   
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Not one of my best, I'll admit, but I've rewritten it too many times to bother. I'll post a new chapter tomorrow or the day after to make up for it.  
> As always, thank you for reading and commenting! 
> 
> (To my American readers, holy shit is this election-thing exhausting! And I'm not even in America, so I can't imagine how you guys are doing!)


	25. The Mechanic

“ _Joe, I’m serious! Get - down - here!”_

Rolling her eyes, Joe stomped downstairs. Aunt Mel stood by the living room window in her scrubs with a cup of coffee. Whatever she was watching was enough to cause a confused half-smile on her face, one that might have a hint of appreciation mixed in.

“I was working,” Joe repeated as she saw no immediate cause for concern in their living room or kitchen. She went to get a bottle of water from the fridge now that she was down here anyway.

“Uh-huh,” said Aunt Mel, obviously not paying attention to anything else than whatever was happening outside the window. She waved her hand to Joe to make her come over. “I assume you know this guy?”

With furrowed brows, Joe took the spot next to Aunt Mel in the window. Her sip of water stuck in her throat at the sight of her car with all its inner mechanics sitting next to it on the driveway. The lid of the hood concealed the culprit initially, but of course it turned out to be no other than Derek Hale. That explained Aunt Mel’s fascination, as his glistening biceps were covered in grease and on full display in the early spring sun.

“Are you kidding me!” Joe barked and stormed outside. In the early afternoon, most of the neighbors were still at work and only Aunt Mel from the window witnessed her outburst. “What the hell, Derek?”

Derek straightened up as she stomped up to him. He wore a tight wifebeater that accentuated his muscles so clearly he might as well have been shirtless. Wiping his hands nonchalantly on a rag, he nodded in response to her shouting. From what Joe could tell, he had stripped her Ford of everything it needed to function as a vehicle and most of it laid scattered on the concrete next to it. Two large pieces of machinery looked suspiciously similiar, only one was not covered in a layer of grime and soot.

“What are you doing?” Joe cringed at her own voice reaching a higher pitch than usual, but this was her car!

“Changing the engine,” Derek said simply and bent back under the hood leaving Joe to anchor deep into the anger to avoid just downright drooling at the sight. Goddamnit, she was more than just hormones! This was crazy!

“Oh my God!” she cried and clutched her own face in case her head suddenly exploded. The still clean engine had to be a replacement he brought from God knows where. “Why?”

“So I don’t have to worry about you,” his voice came from inside the hood, “getting stranded in the middle of nowhere,” he straightened back up to look at her with a raised eyebrow, “during the night of a full moon.”

“That’s not what I meant! Why do you keep on doing stuff like,” she waved her arm wildly in the general direction of the Ford, “this?” Joe lowered her voice to an angry hiss, vaguely noting that Aunt Mel had disappeared from the window. “ I know the whole _mates_ thing is bullshit, so you can drop the act, okay? What’s your endgame?”

Derek’s face locked in a neutral expression. “You know what?”

“No one else I’ve talked to has even heard about it!”

“Okay, first of all,” Derek said calmly and leaned against her car while wiping his hands again. “Scott and Stiles are probably not the most reliable sources of information regarding, well, anything.”

“It’s not Scott and Stiles,” Joe said in disgust as if she, a post-grad, would not show more source critisism than that. “I talked to what’s basically an expert,” a small white lie, “and they said ‘true mates’ is nothing but a legend. A myth!” She raised her voice to speak over Derek. “And even in the story, it only happens between two...” Joe gestured towards Derek.

“Say it.”

It caught her of guard, so she just sputtered: “You say it!”

“Werewolves?” Derek sounded tired and raised an eyebrow.

“Yes! And I am obviously not one, so no matter which way you look at it, it’s not exactly applicable, is it?” She realized she was panting and clenching her fists by her side, so she hastily crossed her arms instead and took a step further away from Derek.

He seemed to wait for her to calm a bit down before asking: “Are you ready to have this conversation?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Yes, there is, Joe!” Derek snarled, finally reaching the end of his patience. He flung the rag into the open hood and took two imposing steps towards her, making her squint up at his face outlined by the high sun. “It’s not a myth! It’s _rare_. See the difference? It happens to maybe one in a thousand, or even ten thousand. I’ve only heard of one other case except my great-grandparents.”

“Your great-grandparents?” Joe repeated to cover up for her taking a tiny step back.

“They were the first to settle in Beacon Hills,” Derek explained tiredly, as if it was an useless anectode. “They were true mates. I’ve seen it first-hand, it’s real.”

Joe shuffled further back. It seemed indecent to argue about the guy’s great-grandparents. She had more ammo though. “That doesn’t change the fact that I’m human. Through and through. One hundred percent.”

“I know!” Derek barked. “Which makes this a lot harder than it should be.” He bit his teeth together and folded his arms. “It shouldn’t be possible, but here we are.” Joe flushed as Derek began listing on his fingers: “You smell me. You feel my pain. You’re attracted to me.”

“You are a very attractive person!” Joe yelled loudly and gestured towards him and his muscles and perfectly symmetric face like it was all his fault.

Derek’s jaw flexed as he tried to explain. “It’s...deeper than that, okay? I can’t explain it, not in words, but I sense it.”

“Oh you sense it?” Joe spat and turned away, unable to look at him with his _senses_.“Good for you! What about me?”

“I don’t know! But there is no other way you can smell me at all as a human,” Derek insisted. “I didn’t even know you did until you told me, remember, when you said to ‘get out of your nose’? I don’t wear cologne or aftershave, Joe, no one else can smell me. Not like you can. And I shouldn’t be able to sense you either in your human form, but I do.”

Human form? She did not like the sound of that, as it implied another possible form for her. Joe racked her brain for something to distract from that fact. “Okay, but if it’s not possible, what if it’s something else? Like, I don’t know, a curse?”

“A curse?” Derek asked with raised eyebrows, disbelief written all over his face.

“Oh, that’s where we’re drawing the line? How is a curse any more implausible than ‘true mates’?”

Derek kept quiet for some time.“You are without a doubt the most frustrating person I’ve ever met.” He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth again. “And I’ve met Stiles.”

Instead of acknowledging Joe’s sputtering protest, Derek turned back around to lift the new engine into her car. Judging by his straining muscles, a normal man would probably not be able to lift it.

“Well, excuse me, but I didn’t know _any_ of this was real until a couple of weeks ago. I still don’t know what’s real and not, so sorry if I’m not jumping straight on any crazy train that rides by,” Joe said to his back as he picked up a screwdriver or whatever to fiddle with some wires. “And even if it is true, which I’m not saying it is because it sounds like bullshit, it still doesn’t give you any right to show up out of the blue and do shit like this!”

His back muscles flexed as he stopped what he was doing, obviously listening.

“It’s a piece of shit car, I know, but it’s _my_ piece of shit car. My old busted engine. My decision and my money! I get it that you’re trying to help, but you have to ask, Derek. You _don’t_ get to make my decisions for me!”

Seeing as he remained completely still, Joe just kept going.

“And anyway, I don’t want you to do stuff for me because you feel like you have to.” Joe swallowed the lump coming into her throat. “If you’re gonna do stuff for me, I want it to be because you _want_ to do stuff for me. And even then, ask.”

Before she said anything she was going to regret, or before she started crying in the middle of the day in their driveway, Joe left Derek still bent under the hood and hurried inside.

Aunt Mel sat by the kitchen counter, still sipping coffee, but stood up hastily when Joe slammed the front door shut.

“Don’t,” Joe choked out to stop Aunt Mel from raining down upon her. Aunt Mel stopped hesitantly and Joe continued upstairs. “Not now, please.”

Joe went straight to the bathroom and hopped in the shower, hoping the noise would cover up her own ragged breathing from the werewolf still outside.

* * *

Derek had left by the time Aunt Mel knocked on the door to ask if she should call the cops. After checking under the hood, Joe deduced he was apparently not petty enough to re-install her old engine. At least the car worked, otherwise she _would_ have called the cops. Aunt Mel suggested they take it to a garage anyway, in case he’d messed it up, but Joe dismissed it. If she got hurt, he got hurt. He seemed obsessed with building strength, if she got in an accident he would be weakened. Why take that risk?

She had to admit the Ford started a lot smoother than before, but it was the principle of things. Besides, Derek hadn’t exactly earned any more of her good will when Scott called her in frenzy from school. Derek got another one. A girl this time, Elena or Erica or something. Joe hoped it wasn’t an attempt to replace her, the girl couldn’t be older than sixteen.

Scott waited on her on the steps of the school and bounded into the passenger seat. “I gotta get to work in like an hour.”

“We’ll have to hurry then,” Joe said and used the new horsepowers to speed out of the lot. It was still light out when they reached the Hale house. Joe tried to suppress a shudder. She hadn’t been back here since that night. Old remains of police tape fluttered in the wind, but otherwise it looked deserted as always.

“Watch out for trip wires,” Scott warned and she followed him closely up the steps. He seemed to stop and listen for something and Joe’s hand went to her back pocket for the werewolf-spray. “You sure you’re okay being here, Joe?”

“Can you guys _stop_ sensing my heartbeat or whatever?” Joe muttered and shoved past Scott into the ruined living room. “I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

Using pieces of debris, they mapped out everyone’s positions in the room from when Jimmy took the shot until the choppers turned up.

“I saw Jimmy last when I was lying here,” Joe made a scuff mark on the dusty floor, “and turned the other way to see that Kate was still breathing.”

“That means I was wrestling Peter over here at the same time,” Scott said, marking a larger area on the floor as well as he followed her timeline. “And Derek would have been here.”

Step by step, they moved on. Joe’s focus was on Kate, from her position she could not have seen Jimmy move or be moved. Scott had seen Jimmy’s body afterwards, as he’d almost landed on top of him when Peter threw him on the floor, but they’d crashed through the windows soon after.

“So Derek would’ve been here after Peter knocked him back while still holding me.” Scott worked methodically, drawing an arrow with his foot. Joe followed Scott’s line of vision. “So Jimmy would have been in Derek’s sight until he left out the front door.”

“Of course he would,” Joe muttered and they moved on to searching for tracks leading away from the house. Assuming Jimmy left on his own, he would still be severely injured and bleeding heavily. Footmarks and bootprints littered every square inch around the house from all the crime scene investigators and FBI-agents.

“Why is Derek going after teenagers anyway?” Joe mused aloud as she watched Scott sniff the forestline like a bloodhound. This Erica-girl was in Scott’s year and somehow the thought of Derek biting an underage girl made her more queasy than the thought of Derek biting Isaac. Okay, no, the thought of Derek biting _anyone_ made her queasy. She kept seeing Peter’s face morphing into the head of a wolf, except now it was Derek instead and whoever bit fell to the floor with dead eyes, like Jimmy.

“Stiles think they may be more resilient,” Scott answered distractedly. It seemed to take a lot of concentration to detect old blood stains in a damp forest.

“Or just malleable,” Joe scoffed. He wouldn’t be the first to recruit teenagers to do the dirty work. Cults, gangs, the mafia and third-world guerilla leaders had all caught on to the idea that youth would do just about anything for a sense of belonging. If you got them while they’re young, they’d follow you for life.

“Blood,” Scott announced and Joe straightened up. He waved at her. “This way.”

“Look at us, we’re like a whole K-9 unit,” Joe quipped as Scott still moved in a low crouch away from the Hale house. “Or would you be considered a K-9 unit by yourself?”

“Shut up,” Scott said with a half laugh. “I’m trying to focus.”

Joe kept quiet, but still found the joke funny. She did not have any hope of actually locating Jimmy today, but just a clue to where he might have gone would help immensely. She needed answers.

“It stops here, but it looks like there’s tire tracks,” Scott announced and Joe tried to triangulate their location.

“No way,” she said and twirled around. The tire tracks were deeply set, meaning the car went out the same way it came in. “Shit. This is where we parked! I completely forgot about his car!”

Scott waited as she concluded swearing at the open air. “You knew his car was here?”

“I forgot!” Joe insisted, still inwardly cursing. To be fair, she’d been plenty distracted lately. “There was a lot going on! Shit! Okay. Well, at least we know he’s still driving the same car. If Sheriff Stilinski ever wants to actually investigate his disappearance, I have the license plate number.”

“Why are you so adamant about finding him?” Scott asked when they made their way back to her car as his shift at the veterinary clinic was about to start. “Apart from the fact that you think he might have killed Isaac’s dad?”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “Adamant? Learned a new word today, Scotty?” He blushed and mumbled something about pre-SAT prep. She let it slide and answered his question: “Because he’s probably the person who knows most about all of this stuff except Derek and the Argents, both untrustworthy by default.”

“Uh...he did work for Peter,” Scott pointed out carefully as they got in the Ford. “And he might be a killer. If it hadn’t been for Derek, he would have killed you.”

“Yeah, well, no one’s perfect.” Joe backed away from the Hale house as the sun set over the horizon. “If Derek’s only gonna help you on the condition that you join his pack — which is such a dick move, don’t get me started — we need to find you help elsewhere. Getting chained up once a month is not a viable option.”

“I know,” Scott admitted and he sighed irritably. “Doctor Deaton knows _something_ , but he hasn’t mentioned anything about it since he helped me after the Argents captured Derek.”

Doctor Deaton, just another mystery on a long list of mysteries. She’d worked for the guy several months at a time. He’d never been particularly talkative, but she never got a creepy vibe off of him either. Not that her judgement should be trusted an inch as proven by her current track record.

“Just be careful, okay?” Joe said when they pulled into the clinic parking lot. “Jimmy was the one to call him when he helped me. We don’t know his deal or where his allegiance lies.”

“I know, I will,” Scott promised. He climbed out of her car and stopped in the door. “I’ll be home late. I gotta, uh, study thing with Stiles later.”

“Yeah, whatever, just be careful. Last thing we need is a shotgun wedding between you and Allison,” Joe said darkly and then laughed at Scott’s defeated face. Kate had been right about one thing. Joe and Scott were awful liars. Kate had probably been right about a lot of things.

Lacking any new clues, she drove to the laundromat and checked out Jimmy’s apartment again. Still empty, still unlocked. Floor turning dusty, but it looked like there had been a second set of footprints here after her and Scott. Maybe the Sheriff had done some investigating after all? She left a note on the fridge with her phone number and the words ‘NEED TO TALK’, just in case he happened to pass by here.

So, if she was a werewolf-expert since high school who’d dreamt of the bite for God knows how long, what would her plan be when she finally got it? She’d think gloat would be on the top of his list, but he might as well have disappeared off the face of the planet. The Argents had not gotten to him, as evident by her car trouble, but neither had Derek apparently.

Time...Derek said Scott needed time to get the change under control. Was that what Jimmy was doing? Buying himself time until he was strong enough to stand on his own? She pictured Jimmy living in some secluded cave in the wilderness, eating freshly caught trout and drinking rain water. Without his chamomile tea? Hardly. The only clues she could find from either his blog or literally thousands of forum-posts, was how he seemed to disapprove of the whole Alpha-Beta-relationship and pack-thing. Did he _want_ to be an Omega? According to Derek, that was risky business. Was there an alternative? Still plenty of letters left in the Greek alphabet.

He knew she was following him, so he hadn’t left the area. If he wanted her to leave him alone, why come see her in the backyard that night? Motive. Means. Opportunity.

For some reason, she thought of the girl that Peter bit on the lacrosse field. The not-werewolf-and-not-dead girl. Peter had not struck her as the kind of guy to go on some random rampage. Surprisingly meticulous for a delusional mass-murderer. Scott kept tabs on the girl, as far as Joe knew, and nothing suspicious had happened. Yet.

“God, you’re getting paranoid,” she murmured to herself and drove back home. Peter had probably made a lot of plans, but he had not planned to lose. He had not planned for Derek to slash his throat and claim the Alpha-status. Whatever he had wanted with the girl, it was a fluke now.

An e-mail waited for her back home from Professor Walker asking if she had had enough time to think. Joe sat in front of the keyboard for almost an hour trying to come up with a reply that sounded both intelligent and gave her more time to think as well. In the end, she agreed to a meeting the day after tomorrow. She was not sure if she even had it in her to write a neutral paper about the murders, not when she knew the truth.

“How’d it go with Doctor D?” Joe asked when Scott came trudging in the front door way past his curfew. Aunt Mel was working, so no chance of a reprimand.

“Uh, I got a raise,” Scott said happily. His cheeks were still flushed, so she could guess his mind was elsewhere. “Two fifty an hour.”

* * *

“Joe!” Doctor Deaton was in the midst of stocking glutenfree pet treats on the shelf behind the desk when a jingle alerted him of her arrival. Even if Scott was bribed to avoid asking questions, she would not be so easily bought. She nodded as a way of greeting and watched Doctor D shrug on his lab coat, the white fabric contrasting with his dark skin. “Long time no see. You’re doing well?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. You got a minute?”

He claimed he did and gestured for her to come to the back where he had a fresh pot of coffee brewing. Doctor Deaton seemed to pause for a second to watch her flip the hinged countertop back to follow him. She let him chat loosely about the weather and her studies, obviously not in a hurry to get to anything worthwhile.

“Doc, let’s cut the crap, you know why I’m here, right?” Joe finally asked when they were halfway through their respective coffee cups. He gave her a perfectly innocent smile and Joe persisted. “I remember you, from that night at Jimmy’s place...”

“Mr. Carter, yes. How is he? Haven’t seen him around in a while.” Something, a twinkle maybe in his eye, gave Joe the impression that Doctor Deaton knew a lot more than he was willing to let on.

“He’s missing,” she said simply, knowing it to only be half a truth.

Doctor Deaton raised his eyebrows as he took another sip. “Oh, really? I never saw a notice about it. Was it in the newspaper?”

“No,” Joe said sullenly. It was not for lack of trying. This was how she remembered her old boss. Perfectly nice and pleasant, but he had this unique ability to shut down any attempt of conversation. She sighed and asked him something he could not deny at least. “The injection you gave me that night, you got any more of that?”

Doctor Deaton gave her a surprised look and lowered his coffee cup to the table. “It is not meant for regular use, Joe.” She must have looked so forlorn that he relented a bit. “The shot I gave you was particularly potent. It would not be safe to over-expose you. However...” He got up to rummage in some cabinets, as if checking his inventory. “I could make you a similar concoction. With a reduced dosage.” He smiled, albeit a bit thinly. “If I recall correctly, you are not overly fond of needles.”

“Nope,” Joe admitted and thought of all the times she had to look away when Doctor Deaton injected animals with anesthesia.

“Give me a few hours and I can make some pills,” Doctor Deaton concluded and looked up when the front door jingled again. “Looks like my next appointment’s here.” He stopped her when she got up to leave. “Listen to me, Joe, these pills, they’re for emergencies only. Okay? Promise?”

“Promise,” she said over her shoulder and turned to smile at the middle-aged woman who came in with her severely overweight cat.

Every time she started the car now, she was reminded of Derek Hale. He kept gathering other werewolves, she kept gathering supplies and the Argents were probably gathering something too, not that she had a clue of what it was. People, maybe, manpower. Battle lines being drawn, preparing for war. And she was still flailing around trying to connect dots.

Her phone rang while she drove back home. She rolled her eyes at seeing Scott’s name, he was supposed to be at school and could not afford any more absence.

“Don’t you have class?” she said as she answered the phone, pulling over to the side while she talked.

_“There’s another kid missing._ ”

“What?” Joe spat and put her car back in gear to make a u-turn. “Derek got another one?”

_“We think so. The guy who works at the ice rink, he’s not in class today.”_ She heard the general buzz of a high school in the background and Stiles’ occasional helpful suggestions. _“We gotta stop him, Joe!”_

“Wait, wait, wait, are you sure he’s with Derek? I mean that’s two in less than a week!”

“ _We’re not a hundred percent. Stiles’ gonna check his house, I need a ride to the ice rink. Can you pick me up in an hour?”_

Joe agreed and that gave her enough time to swing by the house to pick up her limited arsenal of supplies. Werewolf-spray and shotgun, a killer combo. Or, hopefully not. She was less worried about Derek than she was of the Argents crashing the party. Okay, she was a little worried about Derek as well. He’d changed after the thing with his uncle. He must have.

Or, according to Professor Kane’s color theory, he’d always been like this. Blue eyes. Sign of a killer.

At least he’d made sure she had the motor power now to move across town in record speed. Scott came bounding down the front steps of the school just as she pulled up. She saw him give a nod to Stiles who hurried to his parked Jeep further down.

“He needs three,” Scott explained in the car as she drove. “Three Betas. That’s how he’ll be the strongest. Isaac, Erica and Boyd.”

“We know for sure that he already bit this Boyd?” Joe asked and stepped heavier on the gas. Scott chewed his lip, but shook his head no. “What’s your plan here, Scott?”

“Talk to him. Make sure that he knows the good and the bad,” Scott said and rubbed his head, stress reeking off of him. “Fight Derek, if I have to.”

Joe shifted in her seat and Scott must have picked up on it with his keen werewolf-senses. “Yeah, about that...there’s something I need to tell you.”

She gave him the condensed version, leaving out the mate-part, focusing on the pain-part.

As expected, Scott was as lost as she was: “What? Why? How? How long?”

“I don’t know, since...since the night the janitor died, I think. That’s when I first felt it.” Joe tried to explain and grimacing the whole time. This was the first time she admitted it out loud and it made it more real somehow.

“So...The Argents?”

“Yup.”

Scott’s eyes were so wide she worried they would pop out. “They tortured him! Joe, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know, okay? It’s weird! Everything’s weird!” Joe exclaimed and accidentally used both hands to gesture, causing the car to swerve gently. “Shit, sorry. Don’t ask me to explain it because I don’t know, okay? But if you fight him-”

“You’re gonna feel the pain,” Scott mumbled and buried his head in his hands. “What am I gonna do?”

“It’s okay, I have a plan. Sort of,” Joe insisted and pulled up to the clinic. She turned to Scott who stared confused out the window. “I never told you _why_ Jimmy called Doctor Deaton, right? So when I was, uh, feeling all of Kate’s torture stuff, Doctor Deaton showed up and gave me an injection of something weird. It cut my connection to Derek.”

“So if you get that same injection now...” Scott said slowly, his poor hormonal brain trying to keep up with everything at once. “I can fight Derek without hurting you.”

“Exactly! Uh, not that fighting should be your default option, Scott.” Joe squinted at her attempt to be the responsible adult. “But just in case, Doctor D said he would make me some pills, so if I take one of those and then we wait, I dunno, like half an hour, it should be good.”

Scott looked less than convinced, but what choice did they have? Joe hastened towards the clinic, but Doctor Deaton had put the ‘AWAY’-sign up, the one he used if he had to leave for a short errand. Damn it. They did not have time to wait. She ran back to the car and Scott had his keys on him, thank God, so she could go in the back door.

A half full orange bottle without a label sat next to the tablet press, the one Joe mentally referred to as the pill making-machine. They used it to make half or extra doses of tablets depending on the size of the animal.

“Do I take one or two?” she asked when she was back in the driver seat. The pills were large, around the same size as Advils. Scott did not look convinced that any of this was a good idea, but he was probably just worried about this Boyd-guy.

“Maybe we should wait for Doctor Deaton?” he suggested, but Joe shook her head.

“No, if you really think Derek’s gonna bite this Boyd-guy, we gotta hurry.”

She took two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, congratulations to the entire United States of America! And the rest of the world! Maybe now I can finally concentrate on Joe Delgado instead of Joe Biden :D 
> 
> Had a surprise weekend getaway at a remote cabin this weekend (without internet), hence the update today instead of yesterday. Hope you can forgive me :)
> 
> Thank you for reading and commenting and being awesome <3 Much love!


	26. The Lunatic

“Not to be that guy, but I don't think you should have taken two.”

Scott glared at the road in front of him, like it was the road’s fault they still hadn't reached the ice rink. He glanced over at Joe in the passenger seat where she pinched her eyes closed.

Joe tried to breathe with her nose, stomach content churning at the car's movement. “Shut up.”

“Are you feeling any better?”

“No.”

They had swapped places when Joe got too dizzy to keep the car in the right lane. Her vision swam and shifted and Scott's face grew grotesque before her brain managed to focus and he was back to normal.

"I should take you home," Scott insisted yet again, and Joe shook her head yet again.

"Saving this guy's important." Joe burped a bit and had to take a pause before continuing. "I can handle throwing up in my car if we save him."

"Okay, but listen, you have to stay in the car! Hey! Hey, Joe, are you with me?"

She heard his voice, but it was like he yelled through water. Her head fell limply to the side when the car stopped moving and she stared out the window at a large rectangular building with a neon sign. Ice skating rink. Werewolves on ice, the new Disney-production.

Scott turned around to face her. "Joe, stay in the car."

"Sure," Joe said and unbuckled. The door proved bothersome, but she managed to get her jelly fingers to work. The fresh air was a welcome change from the stuffy interior of her Ford and she rested against the side of the car to catch her breath.

"Joe! Did you not hear me?" Scott's head popped up on the other side. "You have to stay in the- what are you doing?"

"It's really hot in here," Joe insisted and wrenched off her sweatshirt. It was a literal sweatshirt, damp with her sweat, and she wrinkled her nose at it before stuffing it through the open car door.

"We're outside."

Joe wore a camisole underneath and she stretched the fabric away from her slick skin. "Still hot."

"It's like 40 degrees out!"

"So hot!" Joe tried to take off her camisole as well, but found her hands stuck as Scott dove over the car hood to stop her. "Hey!"

His worried frown filled her vision and she squinted to focus on him. He had a pimple growing on his chin and for some reason did not look happier when she pointed that out to him. "You really shouldn't have taken two of those pills."

" _You_ shouldn't have taken two," Joe countered and sauntered in the direction of the front doors of the building. No other cars in the parking lot, it was apparently closed or something. She span around to Scott while still walking, a move that threw her a bit off balance. "You coming or what, cuz?"

He caught up with her and held her hands still so she wouldn't undress anymore. The front doors were unlocked and the temperature inside was colder than outside, a fact Joe welcomed as she was practically melting here! Joe tuned out Scott's yapping about staying back, dangerous, keep hidden, go back to the car — he was just like Derek!

"Go home, stay home, get in, get out," Joe tried to mimick how Derek would say it, complete with a growling noise.

_"Uah!"_

Apparently, ice was slippery, a fact proven when her boot gave away from under her at the first step. Scott caught her, spun her around and tried to place her in one of the spectator seats. She got up immediately and slapped his hands away at his next attempt.

"Howdy, Zamboni!" Joe called out at the sight of the ice resurfacing machine doting over the apparently slippery ice. Scott muttered something, but followed her where she half-slid, half-stumbled over the ice to the machine. An African American boy, really big for a teenager actually, was dressed in a camouflage hoodie and scowled as they approached.

"Who's she?" he demanded to know, which Joe found kind of rude. She raised her eyebrows and was about to give him a piece of her mind, telling him exactly who she was, but Scott rushed in front of her.

"No one," he said hastily and Joe let out an insulted gasp.

"You know what, Scott?" she started, but he had the audacity to shove her gently to the side and her boots slid over the ice.

"Can we talk? Boyd, please!" Scott adressed the Boyd-fella, who looked skeptical. Joe crossed her arms, focusing on Scott's serious frown and his pleading tone. "Did Derek tell you everything? And I blah blah blah, blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah-"

Derek. UGH!

She realized both boys had stopped talking to give her a concerned look. She might have gagged theatrically at the thought of Derek, exaggerating the gesture and sticking her tongue out. Holding her hands up in surrender, she mumbled: "I'm fine. It's cool."

Less dizzy, but a bit woozy still. So hot! God, the ice looked inviting, maybe she should just lay down a bit, cool down, get frost bite, like the cool kids — that’s why they were cool, right? Get it?

"If you're looking for friends, you can do a lot better than Derek!" Scott practically yelled and Joe's attention snapped back to him. She made a displeased face. That was the understatement of the year!

Her features did not exactly clear when a familiar and tantalizing voice rang out: "That really hurts, Scott."

God! Just his voice! It made her go mad!

_"That really hurts, Scott,"_ she repeated in a sour tone not quite under her breath.

A trio approached over the ice, Derek in front, with a blond girl and a blond boy close on his heels. Joe's eyebrows rose at the vision. The leather jackets, the serious push-up bra the girl was sporting, the suave smirks — although Derek's did look a little more hesitant when he spotted her. He gave her a weird look, like a cross between concern and anger and Joe did not even care. She twisted her lip and put up her middle finger in response.

Derek closed his eyes briefly, even though she saw that tell-tale flash of red — she’d pissed him off. Ignoring her, he focused on Scott. "I mean, if you're going to review me, at least take a consensus." Derek looked over at the girl. "Erica, how's life been for you since we met?"

That was a serious bra! Joe was not really that excited about boobs, not even her own, but Erica's cleavage was almost as mesmerizing as Derek's pecs. It made her feel like a creep too, because the girl was like, barely old enough to buy energy drinks at the store without parental supervision. Joe missed whatever cliche the girl rattled of before she snarled and Joe blew air out of her mouth, already bored with this whole banter-exchange.

"Dude, really?" she asked the Zamboni-guy and used her Bronx-hand to indicate the idiot-trio across the ice. Bronx-hand meant she imagined she had long fake nails on, to increase her gesturing powers. "I mean, you already look ten times cooler than that stage production of Grease over there."

"Joe, you really should have stayed in the car," Scott muttered while keeping his eyes locked on the idiots across the ice. "I don't think you got the right pills."

Derek asked Isaac too how his life had been lately and this kid, this freakishly tall man-child with curly hair, actually said: "Well, I'm a little bummed about being a fugitive, but other than that, I'm great."

_What?_

"Didn't your dad just die?" Joe burst out, not caring about tact.

Isaac raised a cocky eyebrow. "Like I'm supposed to care?"

"Oh my GOD!" Joe yelled out and it echoed in the large hall. "Are you listening to yourself? You need therapy, _papi_ , not a makeover."

She realized a lot of the listeners had blank expressions and it was Erica who piped up uncertainly. "Uh, she's saying you need therapy and not a makeover."

Joe turned to Scott with her arms out in confusion.

"You're speaking Spanish," he said.

"¿ _Que_?" Joe shook her head and switched to English, getting more and more of her old accent back. "So? We're in California! Learn Spanish, _pendejos_." She pointed her finger at Scott, because he had looked equally confused as Isaac and Boyd. " _You_ are a disgrace to the Latin community." She pointed at the girl. " _You_ , however, get top marks! Also, eyeliner on point, good job!”

“You're adorable, you're an asshole," she pointed at Isaac and Derek in turn, then at Boyd, "You I don't know yet, but you seem chill and's probably my favorite so far." She threw her hands up. "Okay, are we done? Can we leave? I'm burnin' up here and-"

"No, no, no!" Scott dove forwards to grab her hands that had began to lift up the drenched camisole. His dark eyes filled with worry as he hissed: "Clothes on, Joe! _No!_ " He slapped her hand lightly and she stuck her tongue out.

"Why? He goes around shirtless all the time! No one says nothin’!" Joe insisted and did another Bronx-gesture at Derek who had a definite look of someone who did not know what the hell was going on. "That's sexism, bro. Not cool."

"What," Derek began with his eyebrows somewhere high up on his forehead, "is wrong with her?"

"I took a pill, what's wrong with you?" Joe felt herself do a sassy head roll. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she started to worry those pills were affecting her judgement. "Short version, fifty words or less, go!"

"Joeee!" Scott hissed and stepped in front of her as she tried to stroll up to challenge the increasingly pissed off Hale. He sounded equally embarassed as worried. "Relax!"

"What if I don't wanna relax?" Joe began, but noticed Derek had turned to his two teenage lackeys to say something too low for them to hear. For her to hear, anyway, her werewolf cousin probably caught it. The girl looked disappointed, but it cleared up in a predatorial grin.

"Okay, hold on!" Scott said and pushed Joe further back. "This isn't exactly a fair fight!"

Joe wished she had hoops on so she could take them off. She'd kick those scrawny high schooler's ass any day, super strength or no super strength. She was a woman, come hear her roar for a change.

"Then go home, Scott." Derek did not sound too worried.

"Jesus Christ, _mijo_ ," Joe yelped when Scott responded by slamming his fist into the ice, leaving a large cracked hole. "Come on, man, Boyd's been busting his ass fixing this ice and you just gotta destroy it for theatrical effect?" Joe paused as Scott's face morphed into something almost unrecognizable. "I gotta ask though, what's with the sideburns? The fangs I get, but the rest? Eh."

"I meant fair for them," Scott ignored her and growled in the direction of the two approaching T-Birds with murderous intent in their eyes.

"Now everybody's talkin' in cliches, huh?" Joe said to Boyd and gestured to her cousin in embarassment. "This is what you want, man? Seriously?"

Boyd remained silent, but winced at the first punch that landed between Scott and the two other werewolves. All of them were wolfed out fully, although the girl looked less bumpy and that just proved that patriarchy was everywhere. At least she landed a pretty hard kick in Scott's chest, throwing a literal punch for girl power, but she was fighting her cousin so Joe should not be cheering for her apparently fellow Latina who now looked at her with rage in golden yellow eyes. Erica snarled at her.

"What, you wanna have a go?" Joe challenged and was about to step up, before Scott jumped in front to tackle Erica to the ice. The hall filled with snarls, punches and growls as Scott fought. "I could have taken' her."

Too agitated to stand still, she exploited Scott's lapse of attention — he slammed Isaac into the ice — to saunter up to the only other werewolf not fighting. The reason she took these damned pills in the first place! He stood with both hands behind his back and gave her a seriously superior look as she approached. Well, he had a surprise coming-

"Whoa!"

Feet slipped under her and the ice came rushing towards her face. It stopped and Joe's balance nerves got thrown out of order as she suddenly was face to face with the scowling, but sexy, features of Derek Hale. He held her up by both arms, obviously not trusting her to stand on her own.

"Get off me," Joe muttered and slapped his hands away. Because she was a strong independent woman who did not need any man, not because his grip sent fireworks through her exposed skin and straight to her core. She stumbled a bit on the ice, but managed to remain upright. "Listen, dude, we gotta have a serious talk about boundaries. But first!" She gestured towards the fighting behind her. "What the hell?"

Derek twisted his head when looking at her, obviously trying to get eye contact, which only made her try to avoid it with a curl in her lip. "What pills did you take?"

"Happy pills, you should try 'em, hundred percent satisfaction guarantee," Joe said and shot him a pair of finger guns while clicking her tongue. She was close enough to seriously smell him and had to anchor through that anger to not just jump him right there and then. With an annoyed frown, she let him know: "You smell really nice! But come on, what's with the teenage disaster waiting to happen? Can't you put an ad on craigslist like a normal person? 'Looking for young and fit humans _over_ eighteen to join in animalistic based cult, now accepting applications'?"

Derek let out a snarl. "What pills, Joe?"

"Don't snarl at me!" Joe tilted her head so far to the side as she managed in disgust. "I took a little somethin' somethin' so that when Scott kicks your ass, I don't gotta face the consequences."

He let out a disbelieving laugh, the first she had ever heard from him. "You thought I would lose a fight against Scott?"

"Yeah," Joe said as if it was really obvious, which it was. She rubbed her forehead in annoyance. "Can't you like, turn it off or something? Use deodorant? Whatever?"

"Why?" Derek asked and took a step forward so there really was not an appropriate distance between them. He looked down at her with an unusual darkness in otherwise bright eyes, pupiles dilated. "You don't like it?"

Joe had to tilt her head to look up at him and she shrugged. "Eh."

Derek used this chance to look her in the eyes and reached a conclusion, sounding completely over it already. "You're high."

"Ding ding ding!" Joe let out and tapped her fingers against his chest in rhythm. " _Correctomundo_ , _papi_. By the way, good job with the diversity. You're gonna look like a college pamphlet." She gestured towards Boyd who watched Isaac and Erica getting their asses handed to them by Scott. "Tell me the truth, did you only pick him because he's black?" This only earned her an eye roll. "'Cause then you're an asshole."

"So you've told me," Derek said with a small sigh. He watched with no apparent surprise or disappointment when Scott finally took down his newfound comrades. Two blond werewolves sailed across the ice to land at their feet, out cold. No pun intended. Derek looked at Joe. "Stay back."

She automatically scoffed. He should have learned what she thought of his two-word orders by now. Putting up two middle fingers instead, she said: "No. Whatcha gonna do?"

"Fight Scott," Derek said with a flash of red eyes.

Scott was shouting something about power and gift and guard dogs, but she barely heard it as she focused on Derek. All that muscle, all that strength. All of a sudden Joe's unwavering faith that Scott would win just because he was technically the good guy here disappeared.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," she said and jumped in front of Derek to stop his stride towards Scott. Her hand landed on his chest — rock hard, by the way — and it seemed to be enough to at least make him pause. "Hang on. I have to tell you something first." She met his bright green eyes that creased a bit in puzzlement as she reached back to bring out the canister. _"Surprise, futhermocker!"_

Her finger squeezed down and a thin mist of something purple-ish shot out. It hit Derek straight in his eyes and he dropped down with a crouch and a painful roar. Joe, on the other hand, felt fine. Scott didn't know what he was talking about. It had definitely been the right pills.

Derek, snarling and coughing, tried to rub the spray out of his eyes. It was like mace. Rubbing did _not_ make it better.

"And the lesson is, girls and boys, don't mess with a bitch from the Bronx!" Joe did a little victory dance, channeling her homegirl J-Lo.

Her breath caught in her throat as Derek looked up. He did not look like normal Derek anymore. Eyes red and fangs bared. She thought Scott called out something behind her, but it was lost in the ear-deafening roar that Derek let out directed at her. His hands were out with claws extended. Her treacherous leg took an automatic step back.

"Knew I should've brought the shotgun," Joe said to herself. The stupid mace was supposed to subdue the guy, not make him angrier! Her breaths came hard, but not compared to him. The fabric of his shirt looked ready to burst at his straining chest, his red eyes roaming her intently, his scent rolling off of him in waves and waves that made her dizzy all over again. "Uh, Scotty-boy?"

_“Get away from her!”_

He must have already been runnning as he hit Derek full-speed from the side. They crashed to the ice with enough force to make the ground shake. Derek did some kind of ninja-flip that gave him the upper edge and slammed Scott into his knee. Scott was fast, but Derek was faster. Both fully wolfed out, not paying her any attention. Claws out, fangs out. Face down, ass up. Joe pondered upon that last one. She might be a teeny tiny little bit intoxicated.

They moved so fast she could hardly follow. Derek headbutted Scott, who stumbled back in obvious disorientation. She let out an involuntary cry as Derek slashed his claws _through_ Scott's stomach. Scott bent over double in pain, but Derek just used the opportunity to send an upper cut straight to the jaw.

"AH!" Joe squawked when Scott landed a hit with his elbow in Derek's chin. He might as well have hit her and goddamn when did her cousin start fighting dirty like that? Not even the pills could numb that pain and she hissed. "Motherf-"

A prickle in her neck made her look up — she had wolf-Derek’s full attention from her outburst. She rubbed her jaw with wide eyes as she tried to scoot backwards. He let out a roar that shook the ceiling.

He was not in control. Stupid asshole was _not_ in control!

His claws flexed, his jaw snapped; he came towards her. Pills or no pills, instinct made her crawl backwards on the ice. Derek was out for blood and he had her scent.

“Argh!” Scott yelled and threw himself at Derek again.

Derek responded by twisting around as he grabbed hold of Scott’s shirt and throwing him down onto the ice. Last thing Joe saw was Scott’s flailing arm as it hit her smack in the face. The back of her head crashed into the ground and her vision blurred, even as she heard the grunt of pain from Derek.

Light replaced darkness as Derek threw Scott away from her. He grabbed her by her arms and hoisted her up. Red eyes. Red glowing eyes.

His growl made her inner nerves twist and tighten before she lost consciousness.

* * *

Joe never had any animals growing up. Her dad worked odd hours and Joe spent too much time out of the house to care for anything more complex than a house plant. Her grandmother had cats, however, and one cat especially was notorious for sneaking into bedrooms if you did not fully close the door. No one knew why, but the cat in question wanted nothing more in the world than to lay on your chest as you slept. If it tried to warm you or if it liked the seesawing motion of your breathing was anyone’s guess, but the effect was waking up to a heavy lump of fur crushing your windpipe.

The cat died almost ten years ago, but the sensation was so vivid in Joe’s memory that she instinctively tried to dislodge the bulky mass that was draped over her chest. It did not budge. She struggled to sit up to make the heavy weight fall off, blinking her eyes open and regretting it instantly. An intense headache threatened to split her brain in half.

Her eyes reluctantly open, she saw that it was not her grandmother’s cat, nor any other cat, but a man’s arm that had somehow positioned itself over her. Luckily — or unluckily? — the arm was still attached to the man, not a given considering their location.

She and Derek Hale laid tightly entwined on the forest floor in what could only be the Beacon Hills Preserve. Birds twittered in the radiant March sun, but apart from that she could only hear Derek’s soft snores from beside her. His heat and scent encapsuled her in a comfortable cocoon, despite the fact that they were outdoors in the middle of nowhere.

“What the hell?” she croaked and winced at her voice. She sounded like a veteran alcoholic. In addition to his arm, Derek had draped his jacket over her, but otherwise they were only wearing their regular clothes — she was just in damn camisole — and should have died of frostbite during the night. It was only a small comfort that they were in fact wearing clothes at all.

This was nice though. This was really, really nice and if it hadn’t been for how completely impossible it was, she would have appreciated it more. He was warm, first of all, and smelled heavenly. This close to him, she had no way of tuning it out, nothing to distract or keep her from recognizing his scent. It lulled her in a deep sense of calm, that this was okay, just to stay here, a little while, feeling his comfortable mass and breathing.

With each soft exhale, his breath shifted one of her curly locks. Was this a werewolf-thing? Sleeping in the woods? How did she get here? Joe blinked more against the bright sky. Little by little, the events from the ice rink pieced together and she at least could conclude what day it was and-

“Oh no! Oh no, no, no!” Joe yelled and scrambled to get out from Derek’s limbs. His snoring turned into confused grunts, ones she did not acknowledge as she frantically patted her pockets. “Phone, phone, where’s my phone?! Shit!”

The previously twittering birds flapped away. Her phone must have been left behind in the car. Shit! Derek turned his head towards her, a leaf stuck in his messy hair. He squinted. “Joe?”

“What time is it?” Joe demanded and began searching him instead. Hands roaming both his chest and legs, not worried about being appropriate. Apparently not fully awake yet, he let her pat him down until she located his phone in the pocket of his jeans. 09:22. “Shit! I have to be at Berkeley in thirty minutes! What- how- where are we?”

Her voice echoed into the empty woods. The forest stretched on endlessly in all directions. Apparently she and Derek had slept in a pile of leaves and if _he_ looked scruffy, she could only imagine herself. They could be miles away from civilization.

Derek squinted his eyes as he surveyed their surroundings. “We’re in the Preserve.” He swallowed and looked down at himself and the still warm spot Joe had laid. “Did we...?”

“Don’t know, don’t care!” Joe snapped and kicked her feet to dislodge herself completely from him and get up. “I have a meeting with my new professor at ten sharp and you basically kidnapped me into the middle of absolutely nowhere!”

“What...happened?” Derek looked as hungover as she felt, but it earned him no sympathy from her.

“You, Mister Lifetime-of-practice, lost control, that’s what happened!” Joe shouted as she stood above Derek.

Something seemed to click in Derek’s mind as he rubbed his eyes. “Because you maced me!” He pushed himself to a stand. “With wolfsbane! Are you absolutely insane?”

“It was mace or a shotgun shell!” More memories flooded in and she sucked in a harsh gasp. “You hurt Scott!” She blinked several times. “Oh my God, you tried to kill Scott!”

Derek flinched from her sharp slaps on his arm, slaps she felt sting her own skin. “I wasn’t- he’s- damn it, Joe!” He grabbed both her wrists to keep her from slapping him. “Calm down!”

Out of hands, Joe kicked him in the shin. Well placed, unfortunately, and they both dropped with a groan. Joe croaked: “Worth it.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill Scott, he’s probably already healed!” Derek bit out as he straightened back up. He glared into the forest, putting on his listening-face.

“What, your Alpha-powers comes with GPS?”

He sighed in a way that indicated he was nearing the end of his tether. “Do you want to get to Berkeley before ten?”

“Yes.”

“Then shut up.”

Joe stuck out her tongue at him as he returned to his focused listening. What was he gonna do, piggy-back her all the way to the university? She tried to twist out of his grip when he grabbed her shoulder to point in a direction that looked identical as all the others.

“There’s a road that way, maybe two hundred yards,” Derek said and held her in place despite her best efforts. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Wait, what? Where are you-” Leaves flew in his wake as he sprinted off. Joe’s jaw dropped at the sheer speed and also the audacity to just leave her out here alone! Now already missing his warmth, she picked up his jacket from the forest floor and shrugged it on. By this rate, she could start a collection.

True enough, there _was_ a road maybe two hundred yards in the direction he’d indicated. Leaves scattered all over it, she did not get the impression it was a particularly popular one. No sign of him either.

She still had his phone, so she called Scott, needing to hear his voice. He picked up on first ring.

“ _Where the hell is Joe?”_

_“_ Scott!” Joe exclaimed as a heavy weight lifted off her shoulders. Although angry, he sounded very much alive.

Rustling and shifting. _“Joe? Where ar- u?”_

“Hang on, Scott, I think the reception’s bad.” Joe swore when she saw the one bar indicating the service. She tried to hold it higher, hoping the wavelengths or whatever would reach it better. “Scott? Are you there?”

_“-u’re br- king up o-”_

“Shit!” Joe walked backwards with the phone up high. “Scott?”

His voice sounded robotic and twisted. Joe tried to stand on her toes, but the signal cut instead of improving. Defeated, she put Derek’s phone back in her pocket after checking the time. 09:41. No way she was getting to Berkeley on time. “Great. Just great.”

She paced the old dirt road, angrily picking leaves and pines out of her hair. Stupid werewolf kidnapper guy.

A noise she had considered part of the background on Scott’s end grew in volume. She turned towards it and squinted at a dark blob that kept getting bigger. Derek’s black sportscar skidded the last few feet before the passenger door ended up right in front of her.

Derek leaned over to open the door. “Get in.”

Joe did not need to be told twice for once. She jumped inside and immediately slammed against the wall as Derek did a sharp as hell U-turn on the road. Yup, she would definitely need to buckle up for this trip. Joe held in a scream when Derek shot out onto the main road, only sheer luck preventing them from getting totaled by an on-coming semi.

Almost afraid to look at the speedometer, she realized the Camaro had a lot more juice than her Ford ever could dream of. They were trying to make a thirty minute drive in fifteen — and she was starting to think it might be possible.

When the road straightened enough, she put down the sun visor to see her reflection. Still some wayward leaves stuck in her curls and she hurriedly picked them out. Dark circles under her eyes, sallow skin and lips so pale they blended into the rest of her face. Undoubtedly a side-effect of whatever pills she’d popped last night and she scoured Derek’s glove compartment.

“With all that make up that Erica-chick was wearing, you’d think there’d be something left in the car,” Joe grumbled and shifted through several stacks of CDs, but coming up empty of anything that would make her look remotely alive. “Not even a lip balm? Come on!”

Derek’s eyes never left the road, but he cleared his throat. “We’re not together.”

“What?” Joe tried to search under the seat as well. Typical place for an eyeliner to roll.

“Me and Erica. We’re not...together.”

“Well, I should hope not,” Joe said when she emerged back up, no eyeliner to be found. “She’s sixteen years old!” Receipts, some metal screws, a pen — nothing in the side door either. Resorting to juvie-makeup, she asked: “You got a sharpie at least? Anything?”

“You look fine,” Derek said with a tight jaw.

“No, I look like I spent the night in the woods!” Joe rolled her eyes and tried the old trick of rubbing her cheeks to get some color in them. Only red she could see was her bloodshot eyes. “Smoking pot. Jesus Christ, what a nightmare.”

“What were you on last night?”

“I don’t know! It could’ve been horse tranquilizers for all I care. Probably not the right pills.”

“Probably,” Derek growled. “What pills were you trying to take?”

Frustrated with her appearance and the clock that ticked ever closer to her meeting, Joe let out a groan. “I don’t really know that either. When Kate was playing electroshock-therapy with you, Doctor Deaton gave me some sort of injection so I’d stop feeling it, at least long enough to track you down.”

“Deaton?” Derek spat and took his eyes off the road to look at her longer than she felt comfortable with considering the speed they were going. “Are you absolutely out of your mind?”

“The answer to that is getting closer to yes every day now!” Joe threw her hands up in defeat from trying to get her hair to play nice. “Can you just drive as if my academic career depends on it, because _it does!”_

By some miracle, they reached the impressive structure that housed the Sociology-institute at 09:58. Joe was out of the car before it was fully stopped. Halfway up the steps, she turned to shout at Derek who had the window open. “Stay! I need a ride back to Beacon! One hour.”

Praying he would be there when she was done, Joe sprinted down the hallway and almost missed Professor Walker’s office when muscle memory tried to take her to Professor Kane instead. Although futile, she made an effort to compose herself and exude confidence from within as her appearance would not be pitching in today.

“Ah, Miss Delgado. Glad you could finally make it,” Professor Walker said when she entered and Joe glanced at the clock. 10:01.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short light-hearted chapter with a lot of Derek :) Okay, maybe not that short, but still. Joe did not OD on the pills, but the results was not as expected either. I love the ice rink-scene from season 2 because it's so incredibly cringy and Derek is acting oh-so-tough that my heart just want to explode. I just had to inject Joe in there to throw him off his game. 
> 
> Also, Bronx-hand is not an official term and is not meant as offensive to anyone from the Bronx. It's basically channeling how AOC gestures if she had long fake nails on, if that makes sense. (And I love AOC <3) 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed. Looking forward to hearing what you think, so please leave a comment!


	27. The Ex

The midday rush of students heading for the different cafeterias or designated hang out spots for lunch hit Joe when she emerged from Professor Walker’s office. She let a flock of loud girls past her and took the opportunity to catch her breath. That woman was intense! Joe liked to think her bullshit-skills were on a higher level, but that meeting tested the very limit of her abilities.

Joe followed the stream down the hall towards the large set of doors that led outside. Her original plan had been to use last night preparing for the meeting, not wandering around high as a kite in the middle of a werewolf dispute. Or getting dragged out into the middle of the woods by a pissed off Alpha who claimed to be her true mate. Glad of the anonymity in the large crowd, she shook out her curls to relieve some of the heat that crept up her neck.

They hadn’t...done anything. Despite Derek’s confusion, they were both fully dressed with no sign of ever being in a state of undress. Sex in the woods sounded hot until you went home with your underwear full of pine needles. No, he’d just carried her out there like the wolf-equivalent of King Kong and then probably passed out himself of exhaustion. It was a wonder they both had all their fingers and toes intact. Maybe werewolves had a higher basal body temperature? She had attributed the intense heat from Derek as a sign of their — she grimaced even at the thought — ‘connection’, but maybe all werewolves were like that.

Not that a connection would do her any good at the moment. Joe emerged out from the building and saw no sign of Derek’s black sportscar. Damn it! She told him to wait! Now she had to find a phone and call Aunt Mel to pick her up and that could take hours.

“Joe!”

She turned at the sound of her name and found Derek with sunglasses on lounging on one of the nearby park benches. Joe still had his jacket, leaving him in a tight ribbed sweater and she saw the neighbor bench full of girls casting long glances his way. More importantly, he also had two lidded paper cups with the logo from the campus coffee shop.

“Thank you,” she said earnestly as he handed her one. Her pride did not stand a chance against her caffeine addiction. Joe took the seat next to him, with a Victorian appropriate distance of fifteen inches between them. The smell of espresso and heavenly steamed oatmilk enticed her when she removed the lid — an oatmilk cappucino.

“Campus security asked me to put the car in the visitor’s lot,” Derek said and took a sip of his own hot beverage. Joe would guess a plain black coffee for Derek Hale. “Emphatically. Several times.”

“Mhm,” Joe murmured, only half listening, as she enjoyed the caffeine entering her system in the most delicious way possible. The air still had a bite of lingering winter, but the sun made it bearable to sit outside. She leaned forwards on her knees, letting her eyes linger on the concrete and her muddy boots.

“So, how’d the meeting go?”

“What?” Joe peered back at him. The sunglasses made it impossible to see his eyes, but nothing else indicated the question was anything more than regular small-talk. Only, she and Derek never small-talked. “Uh...surprisingly well, actually.”

In the middle of Joe’s bullshit, she had uncovered a hidden gem. Starting the paper over would be suicide at this point, so she had proposed a compromise where she focused on the pattern recognition in rural law enforcement, using Beacon Hills as an example. It took the focus away of who done it and how they did it, but rather how effectively the police could see the connections.

“...so it still means a shit ton of work, but at least I haven’t completely wasted almost three hundred hours on this,” Joe concluded after relaying a short summary of the meeting to Derek.

His brows lifted above his sunglasses. “Three _hundred_ hours?”

“Yeah, I know, but the the TA-stuff’s taken a lot of my time too, not to mention running around after Scott,” Joe said and missed the twitch in Derek’s mouth. She should have been working full time on this paper from the beginning, not playing detective with Jimmy Carter.

Professor Walker claimed Professor Kane still wanted to keep her as a TA for the duration of the semester. Her exact words, said with a roll of her eyes, had been: _“Bridget simply refuses to let go of you and while I normally would not allow a multi-mentorship situation, I suppose it would be difficult for her to find another suitable candidate so close to the mid-terms.”_

Joe hoped that meant she had not burned all the bridges with Professor Kane after her rushed interrogation last week. The academic world was smaller than you’d think. And unless Jimmy made a comeback into her life, Professor Kane might be the only neutral source of werewolf knowledge she had.

“Why three?” she asked, deciding to go straight to the most reliable, although biased, source available. “Scott said you needed three.”

The change in Derek’s body language was miniscule, but there. He’d been completely relaxed when she talked about her paper, even though it was essentially inspired by murders his own uncle committed. Now he was alert, almost defensive. Non-verbal communication was a part of the Psych 101-course taught by Professor Walker herself and Joe tried to remember some of the cues. She mimicked Derek’s position, leaning back against the bench and keeping her arms uncrossed and open to try and show less aggression.

He glanced at the students milling past and the neighbor bench full of girls, who still shot glances at them, but mostly dirty ones directed to Joe. Satisfied no one was listening in, Derek unconsciously adopted her previous posture and leaned forwards to rest his elbows on his knees. Not defensive, more uncertain.

“The power of an Alpha comes from his pack.” She only saw the side of his face as he talked, but he seemed to glance at her for a reaction. “There’s no exact number of betas. It’s just...balance.” Derek sighed and stared ahead as the scenery of the college campus hurrying past reflected in his sunglasses. “If the Alpha doesn’t fulfill his duties, the combined power of the betas should be enough to beat him.”

“You think those three teenagers you turned can take you on?” Joe said with a slight laugh. Scott had wiped the floor with Isaac and Erica, she doubted the dynamics would shift that much with the addition of Boyd.

“Maybe,” Derek said slowly, still staring straight ahead. “In time. If I train them.” He picked at his surprisingly clean nails, considering they spent the night in the woods. “And if Scott joins.”

At the mention of Scott, Joe let the smile slip from her lips. She took another sip of her cappucino, not knowing what to say. Derek kept quiet too, so she ventured a guess: “That’s what the fight was about last night?”

He nodded slowly. “His only alternative is to become an Omega. Weak. Alone.” Joe saw her own wide eyes stare back in the reflection of his sunglasses as he turned to look at her. “Vulnerable.”

“Barking up the wrong tree here, buddy,” Joe said and downed the rest of her cappucino. “No offense.” Even if she had any sway in Scott’s werewolf allegiance, Derek was not doing a particularly fine job of convincing her he was the right choice. A 16-year-old was not old enough to consent to anything, especially not lifelong lycanthropy. Derek, of all people, should know better. “Scott’s fine by the way, not that you asked.”

“I barely scratched him.” Derek threw his empty cup in a perfect arch that landed it firmly in the nearest trash can. Joe frowned as she had a vivid memory of Scott curling up in pain over the groves in his abdomen. “I need to get back. We can talk in the car.”

“Talk about what?” Joe asked suspiciously, but got up when he did, not willing to miss her ride back to Beacon Hills. Instead of answering, Derek pulled up the sleeve of his sweater and pinched his skin. The sting in Joe’s own arm made her hiss. “Ow! Ass.”

The visitor parking lot was across a wide area of greenery criss-crossed with various paths after students took shortcuts over it. Joe walked next to Derek in silence, pursing her lips to think of anything to say. Anything at all to spur a conversation and distract from the scent that the breeze blew her way. No cappucino to stuff her nose into and she knew he would notice and say something sarcastic again if she covered her nose.

How could a _smell_ be gritty red and smooth amber at the same time? How could a _smell_ taste like smoked honey and sweet coffee beans? How could a _smell_ feel like a brisk day in the fall and freshly laundered sheets? She had heard of synesthesia, when senses mixed up and you could see music and taste drawings, but she had never experienced it with anything other than Derek’s scent. It was just downright overwhelming if she allowed herself to take him in like that, like her human senses were just barely involved in the whole process and it went straight to her heart.

Whoa, okay, hold on, that was taking it too far, even if only in her mind. For all she knew, he could smell or sense her thoughts somehow, so...calm down, Joe. Be cool. Be angry. Derek’s an ass. He’s ruined three teenagers’ lives and put them in harm’s way of psycho werewolf hunters. And he slashed your cousin’s stomach open last night, healing factor or not. _And_ he kidnapped you!

Derek twisted his head slightly in her direction, brows pulling together in confusion. “You okay?”

Joe rolled her eyes. Stupid werewolves with their stupid enhanced senses. She was about to give a sharp reply on how she was perfectly fine, thank you very much, when she spotted the couple coming down the same sidewalk they were on.

It took a few seconds for it to register.

“Shit,” Joe swore and turned her head to the side, halfway hiding behind Derek’s shoulder. Derek’s car was still a hundred yards down and the only other way to it was around the administration building. “We gotta go back.”

Derek must have caught on where she was looking. The couple, walking hand in hand, leisurely came closer, but had apparently not spotted Joe yet as they looked engaged in a deep conversation. “Someone you know?”

“Yes, I know them. Or one of them, at least,” Joe hissed from behind his shoulder. “And I look like absolute shit right now, so can we just...” She gestured frantically to the opposite direction, still time to make a smooth-ish getaway.

“Alex?” Derek guessed and she cursed her stupid heartbeat that must have given her away again. “Okay, relax. Just follow my lead.”

“Follow your what? Hey!”

Joe’s knees threatened to buckle under when Derek put his arm over her shoulder. He effectively steered her down the sidewalk again while Joe thought her rib would crack again from her muscles tensing up. She got what he was doing, but it did not change the fact that she would have preferred him wolfing out again and running off into the woods with her in tow.

Alex and her new friend, a girl, seemed so caught up in each other that Joe almost thought they would pass each other without incident. At the last possible second, Alex happened to glance up and her face split in a wide shocked smile.

“Joe! Hi!” she said while both cohorts stopped a few feet away from each other. Alex looked great, obviously, and she’d grown her hair out to a shaggy bob and bleached it to an unnatural light blonde. Most of it covered by a dark gray beanie that slouched in the back. She wore more make up than Joe remembered, her eyes lined heavily with black. “Wow, look at you and, uh, your hair!”

“Alex!” Joe said back in a voice sounding like it belonged to Stiles when he was trying to act innocent. She tugged awkwardly at her messy curls while nodding like a maniac. “Yeah, my hair’s- yeah.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Alex did the same head nod. “Uh, it’s good to see you,” Alex said and clapped her free hand on her thigh. She gestured to her companion. “Uh, this is Madeline, by the way.”

“Hi,” said Madeline, who still held Alex’ hand. She looked like a Madeline. She had pin straight brown hair that reached her pointed collar bone and dressed like a generic sorority girl with brown boots, black tights and an oversized knitted sweater-dress. Her smile came tight. “Nice to meet you. Alex told me all about you.”

Joe’s attempt at a friendly smile froze on the way to her lips. Why the hell would Alex tell her new girlfriend about her? She did not find her voice before Derek gave her shoulder a discreet squeeze. She jolted awake and indicated Derek, who still had his arm around her. “Oh, uhm, this is Derek.”

“Hey, how ya doing?” Derek said and Joe glanced to the side, horrified to see Derek smiling widely like he was just another regular friendly guy.

“Hi, yeah!” Alex used her and Madeline’s entwined hands to point at Derek. “Kelly told me she ran into you guys when she was here last month. Guess you’ll be joining our annual reunion dinner?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Derek said and easily avoided Joe’s attempt to pinch him in the side.

“So, uh, what are you doing here, Alex? I mean, uh, not like, only if you’re staying long, not that I care, but just, since you graduated I thought, uh, didn’t you move to LA?” Joe rambled and felt the flushed heat creep up her spine to meet her already burning neck from Derek’s proximity. She became aware of Derek’s thumb rubbing her shoulder gently from where he held her, almost as an attempt to calm her. It did not exactly work, as it only sent butterflies in wild chaos in her stomach.

“Oh, yeah, no, totally. Just in town to see Maddy present her paper,” Alex explained and shared a loving smile with her girlfriend.

Joe jumped at the familiar topic and tried to smile at ‘Maddy’ too. “So you’re doing your PhD here?”

“Uhm, no,” said Madeline, who honestly looked a little freaked out. She gave Alex a nervous glance. “I’m a Sophomore.”

“Right,” said Joe and wondered if her ears were actually flaming red or just felt like that. “Sorry, I-”

“Joe’s a little ahead of her peers,” Alex explained to Madeline, the Sophomore, which made her, what, 20 years old or something? Madeline did not look fully comfortable yet, but Alex seemed to squeeze her hand before facing Joe again. “You still living off-campus? Beacon Town, right?”

“Beacon Hills.”

“Right, sorry, my bad. Geography’s never been my strongest suit. I swear, if it wasn’t for Uber, I’d never make it to half my appointments outside a three block radius of my apartment,” Alex yapped on while Joe smiled stiffly.

“Babe, we’re gonna be late to see Kacey and Lu,” Madeline half-whispered in a pleading voice to Alex while tugging on her hand.

“Right,” Alex said and pointed her thumb over her shoulder. “We gotta go, sorry. Super nice meeting you, Derek. Joe, uh...” Madeline had started to tug Alex along. “Guess we’ll be seeing each other at the reunion?”

Derek gave them a solid nod. “Sure will!”

“Yeah, totally,” Joe said and tried another attempt at a friendly smile. “Nice meeting you, Mad-” The pair was already twenty feet away. “-eline.”

When she was sure they were out of ear-shot, Joe let out a soft wheeze and put both palms to her cheeks to alleviate some of the heat.

Derek, still with his arm around her, nudged her forward to keep walking. She felt his chest rumble when he talked. “Wow.”

“Shut up.”

“That was-”

“Shut up!”

“-brutal.”

Joe groaned and shrugged out of Derek’s embrace, still clutching her face. Her brain tried to delete all memories and replay the exchange at the same time. She risked a glance at Derek’s face. “Was it that bad?”

Derek gave it to her straight. “It was not pretty.” They kept walking in silence while Joe’s intense blush didn’t evaporate her into thin air. “Did you know she was dating a Sophomore here?”

“Take a wild guess,” Joe groaned. They reached Derek’s car and Joe slumped over the roof, letting her face lay on the cool metal to absorb some of the burning sensation. Derek seemed to take some enjoyment out of the situation and leaned back against the side of his car with crossed arms.

“Rough breakup?”

“It was not pretty,” Joe repeated his words. Half her jaw stuck to the car, her words came out slurred. Derek leaned over to pick a forgotten leaf out of her hair and Joe regarded it with misery as he flicked it away. She pushed her face off the surface of the car and leaned on her arms instead. “Like, technically, it’s her fault I moved to Beacon Hills in the first place.”

“I’m guessing she dumped you then.”

About to chew him out, she looked up to see a teasing smile. Still miles away from the downright toothpaste-commercial he seemed to put on for Kelly and Alex though. He straightened up and unlocked the car. “Come on, get in, we’re losing daylight.”

Feeling like a loosely connected bag of bones, Joe managed to force herself into the passenger seat of Derek’s car. He seemed content to drive in silence at a considerably lower speed than this morning. Joe never thought she would experience a comfortable silence with Derek Hale, but maybe seeing her being utterly humiliated put him back on solid ground regarding the whole mate-thing.

Joe grimaced at her own brain. She had to stop thinking about that like it was a real thing. Professor Kane claimed it was a myth, Derek claimed it was real. She needed a third opinion, preferrably unbiased. Scott, bless his heart, was probably more clueless about his new reality than Joe. She did not know any other werewolves except those teeny-boppers Derek just turned and...Jimmy. God, what she wouldn’t give to ask him a few questions right now.

The Camaro, Derek’s undisputed territory, seemed to make her relaxed and agitated at the same time. This morning she’d been too stressed about the meeting to give it much thought, but now it was back with vengeance. The car, his jacket and Derek himself was a triple threat of hormonal subconsciousness giving Joe’s body all the wrong ideas.

She glanced at the guy in question. Sunglasses on, one arm leaning on the windowsill, one hand on the steering wheel. He’d listed all the symptoms that he meant proved their connection. Smell, pain, attraction. The first one she assumed was less applicable considering he had super-smell anyway. He obviously felt her pain too, as Kate proved when she broke Joe’s rib. The only thing Joe could not wrap her head around was the attraction part.

Joe knew she wasn’t _un_ attractive by conventional standards, but she was nowhere near Kate’s caliber. Where both Derek and Kate were solid tens in their respective category, Joe was maybe a tentative seven on a good day. The only inkling she’d ever gotten of any sort of attraction from his side was last night’s wolfed out kidnapping. So either the human Derek had the self-restraint of a celibate monk, or he simply wasn’t particularly attracted to her. It made sense, right? For only the wolf to want her? If they did indeed have some mythic super strong connection it was through the wolf, and it left the human side unaffected.

Derek suddenly grabbed his rearview mirror to adjust it and Joe jumped in her seat, afraid she’d been caught staring. He did not pay her any attention though and a small twist in his upper lip indicated annoyance. Joe turned around to look out the back and saw a police cruiser trailed them with lights flashing. It beeped its sirens briefly, leaving no doubt.

“Were you speeding?” Joe asked as Derek pulled over. He shook his head and reached across her into the glove compartment to retrieve the registration. She watched him fumble with a wallet to get out his license as well. “You _were_ exonorated, right?”

He turned his head in his seat to give her that standard Derek-look, a mix of displeasure and disappointment. “Yes. I was exonorated.”

It was a Beacon County-car, Joe noted, and a man in a Beacon County -uniform exited and walked the short distance up to the sportscar. Derek rolled down the window and Joe noted his tight movements, ready to react in an instant in case of threats. The Argents had already proved able to infiltrate the police department and Joe reached slowly for the passenger door in case she had to bolt.

Instead of a deputy, fake or otherwise, Sheriff Stilinski himself leaned down to stare into the sportscar. He gave both Derek and her a nod. “Mr. Hale. Joe.”

“Sheriff Stilinski?” Joe asked in puzzlement while Derek deflated a bit and gave the Sheriff a relucant nod.

“Joe.” Sheriff Stilinski looked at Derek with a skeptical frown before addressing her: “Mind stepping out for a bit?”

Mind reeling with possible scenarios of what could have happened, she unbuckled with shaky fingers. Aunt Mel got in an accident. Scott got in an accident. Aunt Mel _and_ Scott got in an accident. The Sheriff came over to her side to open the door for her, and shut it firmly while marching her a few feet away from the car.

The Sheriff sighed, as if the following pained him to say. “I got a frantic phone call from my son last night.” Joe’s eyes widened. Something happened to Scott. “He claimed you’d been kidnapped by Mr. Hale here, last seen heading into the Preserve.” Now her jaw dropped open while the Sheriff scratched the back of his neck with a frown. “And I’m sorry, but it’s my job to ask this. Are you currently being held against your will?”

Scott and Stiles, two idiots of unknown proportions, had reported her missing. Scott had seen an out-of-control Alpha-Derek run away with her into the woods, and he’d called Stiles who in turn called his dad. Idiots. Complete idiots.

“Joe?” the Sheriff prompted, now a little more urgency in his tone.

“I’m not,” Joe cleared her throat, “being held against my will, sir.”

“Sheriff’ll do,” said Sheriff Stilinski with a wry smile. He gave her a once-over, probably noting the messy hair and the oversized men’s jacket she wore over just a skimpy camisole. Joe tried to keep her face neutral, but could not help the blush rising back up from its short reprieve after the run-in with Alex. “Then I assume the tales of your so-called kidnapping has been mildly exaggerated?”

“Mildly,” Joe confirmed and tried to relax her body language a bit. “I’m- we’re fine, Sheriff. Uh...we’re-”

“None of my business, Joe,” the Sheriff said hastily and picked up his radio from his belt. “This is Stilinski. Cancel that APB on Derek Hale’s Camaro.”

“ _Copy that, sir.”_

“All right,” Sheriff Stilinski said with a large smile. He put his hand on Joe’s shoulder to lead her back to the car and leaned into the door when she got in. “Everything seems to be in order. Sorry to bother you. Drive safe.”

Joe tried to stare straight ahead when Sheriff Stilinski returned to his car. Putting her seatbelt back on gave her an excuse to at least not look at Derek, so she took her time until the police car zoomed past, heading for Beacon Hills. She could _feel_ Derek’s eyes boring into her. He’d probably heard every word she and the Sheriff said and was undoubtedly plotting revenge against the notorious duo already.

“Your cousin,” Derek started the car with an angry shift of gears, “is an idiot.”

Joe slumped into her seat and shrugged. “I know, I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have reached friend(ly) territory! Whoop whoop! Or at least not downright arguing...
> 
> Hope everyone is staying safe and healthy! Cases are picking up in my country now and things are getting closed down again, so I will keep posting chapters hoping to distract you from the shitshow that is 2020 and instead let you dream your way back to the more innocent days of 2011-2012 when Teen Wolf first aired. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and please leave a comment if you want to!   
> Also, specific question, any tags I'm missing for this story? I still feel new to AO3 and not sure if there's anything particular I should add/remove?


	28. The Kiss

The good thing was that Sheriff Stilinski had not taken his son entirely seriously when Stiles reported her missing. This meant he had not alerted Aunt Melissa as he wanted to make further enquiries first. The bad thing was that he now probably thought she and Derek were a thing and might mention _that_ to Aunt Mel at some occasion. The other bad thing was that both Scott and Stiles pounced on her the second she walked in the front door to subject her to the weirdest cross examination in the history of men.

It started of normal, with the usual questions of: “Where were you?”, “What happened?”, “Are you hurt?” and “Why exactly are you wearing his jacket?”

Joe, after the initial thank-God-you’re-alive hugging was done and over, made a one-bowl microwave mac and cheese while the boys bombarded her with questions. She could not even remember the last time she ate. When the final question came about the jacket, from Scott, she sat cross-legged on the counter with her back against the kitchen window.

“Uh...” was her brilliant reply and she shuffled more macaroni into her mouth to buy time. To be honest, she’d forgotten about the jacket and Derek obviously had too as he hadn’t asked for it back. She could have gotten away with telling Scott and Stiles that she had just woken up in the Preserve, disoriented, but unharmed, if they hadn’t seen Derek drop her off at the house. He sped off without looking back as Scott and Stiles ran out the front door. “It was...cold?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Stiles intercepted and put one hand on his hip while his other emphasised his words in the air. He had a large bruise on his forehead, courtesy of the only female werewolf they knew of. Apparently she’d clocked him with the starter of his car and tossed him in a dumpster — Joe could not help but smile a little bit at that thought. Just a little bit though, it looked like a painful bruise. “Derek _gave_ you his jacket because you were cold? While he was still all,” Stiles gestured to his own face, “wolfy and stuff?”

“I don’t know, actually,” Joe said and stabbed more pieces of gooey pasta onto her fork. She’d just woken up with the jacket over her — she could have taken it herself at some point for all she knew. Those pills seemed strong enough to result in a complete blackout and loss of memory. Not that she was going to dig deeper into that, it was more comfortable to think she actually did remember everything.

“Does this have anything to do with that you-feel-what-he-feels thing?” Stiles asked with squinted eyes. Scott had the decency to look a bit apologetic when Joe glared at him, as he was obviously the source of that particular fun-fact.

“I dunno,” Joe mumbled and focused on her food. Blushing and stuttering in front of these two high school idiots was not acceptable. She shrugged. “Maybe.”

Stiles threw his arms out. “Well, does he feel what you feel?”

Another shrug and Stiles scoffed loudly. Scott seemed lost in thought, like he was recalling something. “At the ice rink...when you fell down, Derek flinched.”

“So it goes both ways!” Stiles exclaimed and turned to both Scott and Joe in turn. Joe chewed on in silence. “Do we know why? Did you both get struck by lightening at the same time or mix up your fortune cookies or something?”

Joe’s fork stopped in the bowl. “What?”

“Really? You don’t know Freaky Friday? Scott, come on, you know it. What? Do any members of this household keep up with generic pop culture?”

Scott kept quiet with his arms folded. The large slashes on his stomach after Derek’s claws were almost completely healed. He still seemed to restrict his movements slightly so she imagined he was somewhat sore. Apparently the wounds healed slower because they’d been inflicted by an Alpha, an interesting tidbit provided by Dr. Deaton. How he knew what he knew or why he hadn’t said anything before was still anyone’s guess. Maybe Derek had a point to trust that guy about those pills.

“He said I wasn’t strong enough to keep you safe,” Scott murmured and Joe recalled Derek saying those exact words in the underground torture chamber. “He told me over and over that I should leave you out of it when we were trying to stop Peter...”

Uh-oh, thought Joe. She increased the speed of her eating, to ensure she had a full mouth when Scott inevitably reached a logical, but misguided conclusion.

“Are...are you and Derek together?” Scott finally asked with wide innocent eyes. Stiles had apparently not considered this to even be in the realm of possibilities and did a large double take with his whole body. Both of them stared at her and awaited her reply.

“‘ry,” Joe garbled and pointed at her mouth. Chew, chew, chew — she shook her head and indicated again to just give her a minute. Her brain went on full speed to come up with a reasonable explanation for anything. Problem was, not even the truth was a reasonable explanation. In the end, she swallowed heavily. “No.”

“But he’s gotta have a crush on you?” Stiles guessed and Joe’s macaroni went down the wrong pipe. Coughing and sputtering until Scott came forwards to thump her back, her eyes ran over with tears. Trying to eat, laugh and gasp at the same time did that to you.

“No,” she croaked out and wiped her face. Something about the word ‘crush’ was so high school drama that her mind instantly conjured images of Derek drawing pink hearts in a diary around her name. Derek Hale probably had not had a ‘crush’ since middle school. Derek Hale could have an interest in someone, he could have desire for someone, but he could not have a ‘crush’. Especially not on her.

Stiles shook his head and paced around their kitchen. “Okay, even if we attribute the kidnapping to some weird loss of control spurred on by that spray-thing you used, which burned like crazy, might I add.” At her furrowed brows, he sighed. “I might or might not have given it a little test spritz to see what it was when we picked up your car and I might or might not have held it the wrong way. _Anyway_ ,” he raised his voice to stave off any comments, “that does not explain why he drove you to Berkeley and back again!”

“Maybe he felt sorry for kidnapping me,” Joe theorized and picked up the bowl of mac and cheese again. That was a question she’d asked herself too, but no easy answer presented themselves other than she’d been so pissed off when they woke up that he felt he had no other choice.

“I’m sorry, are we talking about the same Derek Hale here?” Stiles asked incredulously. “The guy who’s been turning our classmates into werewolves left and right this week? Who snatched away Scott’s only chance of a cure? Who threatened, on multiple occasions, to rip my head off?”

Joe mumbled into her bowl. “I said maybe.”

“Oh my God, Joe, would you _stop_ eating?” Scott yelled as his usually endless source of patience ran thin. Joe paused with the fork still in her mouth. “Don’t you think there’s a little bit of an issue with you being randomly connected to Derek Hale of all people?”

She put the fork back in the bowl with a clink. “No, I think it’s great!” At his surprised gawk, she rolled her eyes. “What do you think, Scott? Of course I think it’s an issue! But what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know? React at least? Freak out a little bit?”

“I’ve already done that. It didn’t help much. So now I’m like on stage three of dealing with this.” At his completely lost expression, she rolled her eyes. “Stage three is bargaining.”

“First thing’s first, we should find out how it’s done. It’s gotta be some kind of werewolf mojo, maybe a trap left over from Peter,” Stiles piped up, leaning forward over the other kitchen counter like a Roman general over a map of Normandy. “If we find the source, we can find out how to break it.”

“Maybe we can just let me handle this?” Joe’s question seemed to go unnoticed. “Guys?”

Scott and Stiles were too busy making battle plans to hear her protests. From asking Doctor Deaton to consulting the internet to performing an exorcism, they provided plenty of options. Stiles wanted to test the connection as well — maybe distance mattered? Or intensity of pain?

“Wait, I can ask Allison,” Scott suggested suddenly and now ignored Joe’s panicked look. “Maybe someone in her family’s heard of something similar.”

“Great idea, Scott!” Stiles said earnestly.

Joe hopped of the counter. “No! No, not great idea! That’s like telling the Argents about Derek’s biggest weakness. It’s a hell of a lot easier to catch me than him! I don’t have super healing.”

“She’d have to be sort of elusive,” Stiles said in agreement and Joe groaned. “Hypothetical.”

Joe grabbed Scott by his shoulders. “Okay, Scott, listen to me, you can _not_ tell this to Allison, understand? My torture quota is filled for the year.”

“Allison’s not gonna torture you-”

“Oh my God, Scott!” Joe resisted the urge to smack Scott over the head.

At least Stiles caught on. “No, Allison’s not gonna torture anyone, but her crazy grandfather might! Using Joe as leverage to get to Derek sounds exactly like the kind of thing he’d do!”

“And what happens if Gerard catches Derek? If he kills him? What happens to Joe?” Scott tore around to question his best friend. “Maybe my boss knows and maybe he’ll tell me, but I still think our best shot is with the Argents.”

Stiles stuttered out something unintelligible and Joe gave up.

“Scott, I already know what it is!” She threw her head back when he turned back to her in shock.“Sort of. Maybe. I think.” Joe rubbed her face tiredly — she wanted a shower, a face mask, a large coffee and some time to herself.

“Well?!” Stiles squeaked when Joe’s artistic pause dragged on too long.

“Okay, if I tell you, can you _promise_ me you’ll keep it to yourself? Both of you? I’m trying to figure out how to deal with it, if it is what he said it was, I just need some more time.” Joe waited until both boys nodded and made various promises on their lives and livelihood. “And...no laughing.”

Joe leaned against the kitchen counter and focused her gaze somewhere on the handle for the lower drawer. “Derek says it’s something super rare, even for...” Vague hand waving at Scott. “I don’t know how it works or why it’s happening, but he says it’s because we’re, uh,” she cleared her throat, “mates.”

There, she said it. Out in the open. In public. To her sixteen year old cousin and his best friend, unfortunately her only trustworthy confidantes lately. A long silence followed in the kitchen and Joe went through a dozen different scenarios on how it could play out.

“Like...soulmates?” It was Scott who said something first and he had that confused frown on his face, like when faced with a particularly nasty set of chemical equations.

“No, idiot, like wolf mates,” Stiles hissed and slapped Scott on his chest. No humor on Stiles’ face, brows drawn together and his mouth in a tight line. He looked at Joe for confirmation. “Right?”

“I guess,” Joe said with a shrug while the blush crept up and up for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. “It’s like a...physical thing, I don’t know. That’s how we’re connected.”

“I don’t really know what wolf mates mean,” Scott admitted slowly and Stiles did an eye roll that encompassed his whole body.

“Dude, seriously? Okay, remember Biology with Mr. Paulson? When he taught us that some animals are polygamous and other monogamous?” Stiles blinked at Scott’s still confused face. “It means either dating different people or sticking to one your whole life. Wolves, like normal wolves, are monogamous, they mate for life. So if Derek and Joe are wolf mates, it means they’re-”

Scott finished the sentence. “...destined to be together.”

Joe squirmed when both Scott and Stiles stared at her like she was an interesting specimen under a microscope. This was the part about mates she knew, and tried to avoid thinking about. It just made it so unbelievably creepy!

“Okay, you’re kinda skipping a few steps here,” Joe said to pierce the uncomfortable silence. “One, the only person claiming this to be true is Derek himself, not the most reliable source of information as proved when that whole thing with his uncle hit the fan. Two, we’re not talking normal wolves here, are we? You’re still part human and humans are polygamous. Three, ‘destined’ to be together? Really? We’re gonna bring destiny into this? Come on, that sounds like the biggest bullshit I’ve ever heard.”

Joe gestured, trying to make sense of something that in its essence didn’t. “It’s a physical thing, all right? Compatible pheromones or whatever. Sympathetic nerve responses. Placebo effect. Lots of perfectly sound, reasonable, logical, and medically sort-of-possible options.”

Again, Scott was the first of the pair to speak up. “Uh, how physical are we talking exactly?”

“You’re asking if we had sex?” Joe snapped and crossed her arms. The two teenagers blushed and Scott stuttered out some sort of response that made no sense. “The answer’s no, but if you want, I can give you two a play-by-play if we ever do.”

Their replies were instantaneous:

“Noooo, that’s okay,” Scott said with horror written all over his face while Stiles looked like he wanted to blend into the shadows: “We’re good, thanks, that’s, uh, no thank you.”

“Great, so, the practical side-effect of this whole shtick is that I feel pain when Derek’s hurt and vice versa. Let’s just leave it at that for now and worry more about this other _thing_ that’s tearing people apart, okay?”

They agreed, probably just to avoid hearing her talk about sex.

* * *

The ‘thing’ Joe referenced earlier was some sort of humanoid creature that attacked Allison and Scott the same night Joe helped bust Isaac Lahey out of jail. Last night, when she was cuddling with Derek Hale in the woods, it had killed one of the hunters employed in the Argents’ service. It used some sort of venom to paralyze its victims before tearing them apart with its claws. Last part made it similar to a werewolf, but the first was not something commonly associated with larger landbound predators.

Venomous animals were usually smaller than its prey, relying on the poison rather than brute force. Snakes, scorpions, spiders and lizards. It did not make sense from an evolutionary perspective for any creature to have both claws and strength to tear a person to shreds in addition to paralyzing venom.

Scott overheard Doctor Deaton explain some of this to the Argents, who’d brought their fallen comrade to the veterinarian for a second opinion. When Scott said he overheard, it became clear that Doctor Deaton made sure he overheard the conversation. He had also admonished Scott to get his hands on some book with all the recollections of the Argents through the centuries, hoping a similar sort of creature had been referenced earlier in history.

_That_ Scott had been allowed to discuss with Allison later at night, as they would probably need her help, but he had promised to keep the whole Derek-Joe thing to himself.

Not that there was a Derek-Joe thing, other than the supernatural pain connection.

Joe found herself scouring old blog posts on Jimmy’s website. He collected news from all over the world, put them together in the light of paranormal existence and drew new conclusions. If the creature only had one purpose in life, as per Doctor Deaton’s description, any other instance of the same thing would have left a significant body trail. She ran into a problem when she realized that most of the blog posts Jimmy had involved a large body trail and suspicious deaths by maiming. The hunter’s death had not even made the news, so the police probably weren’t even aware. Joe wondered how many other deaths the Argents had covered up in their career.

She also wondered how many fake deaths they had covered up as well.

One problem at a time. Jimmy’s website was five years old and he had posted two-three times a week on average. That meant a lot of posts and a lot of cross-referencing to find a pattern fitting the murder of Oscar Lahey and the hunter. Again, she found herself missing Jimmy. She hoped he was all right.

Derek’s second jacket in her collection sat in another plastic bag next to her closet. Something about having his scent close without having him gave her a headache. Not willing nor wanting to analyze that whole can of worms, she stuffed the jacket in plastic to trap the smell and buried herself in work instead.

Scott had her car to go see Allison, which was fine by Joe who had no plans of leaving the house for the foreseeable future. Stiles had left to pick up his Jeep from a garage. Apparently Erica using his starter as a blunt force weapon left it in less than pristine condition and he needed to get it replaced. He’d moaned about the cost and Joe felt his pain, cars were expensive and Stiles did not have Derek Hale showing up unannounced to do the work for free.

In a tight-fitting tank top.

Joe stopped typing in another search word and grimaced at herself. She was starting to creep herself out. Thinking of Derek only in terms of his looks made her no better than Kate. Thinking of Derek only in terms of what he could do for her made her no better than Peter.

Solution: don’t think of Derek at all.

It worked fine for all about five minutes when one of the plastic bags containing Derek’s jacket buzzed twice. Joe stared at it silently. She’d forgotten about Derek’s phone. Still grimacing, she held her breath as she opened the bag and rummaged around until she located the buzzing phone. He had a new text message.

The number was not saved to Derek’s contacts, but Joe knew it by heart. That was her number. She’d completely forgotten about the old Nokia, seeing as it was useless for checking her e-mail or looking up cute kitten-videos, where most of her included data of the month went. She had assumed it was left behind in her car, but that meant Scott had texted Derek the cryptic message.

“Beacon Hills Railroad Depot,” Joe read aloud with a raised eyebrow. That was it, that was the whole text. The railroad closed down a decade ago, as did its depot. After checking the location on her PC, she found that it was down in the warehouse district, but no listed owner. Abandoned, most likely.

She tried calling her own number from Derek’s phone, but no one picked up. Weird. Maybe Scott did not have her phone after all, but then who did? It could have been left behind at the ice rink, when she was stumbling and sliding all over the place. One of the newly turned werewolves could have it, or someone completely else. But no one knew _she_ had Derek’s phone, except maybe Derek.

A trap. It had to be. A set up. Someone was trying to lure Derek to the old railroad depot posing as her. The Argents? Jimmy? The venomous creature of unknown origins? Who would know that she and Derek even knew each other? Jimmy, obviously, but none of the Argents except Kate. Unless Scott had in fact told Allison and everyone knew by now.

Or, maybe, she was being paranoid and Derek had her phone, must have realized she still had his, and texted her a neutral meeting location to conduct an exchange.

Either way, she was bringing the shotgun.

At least whoever was waiting would not see her coming in Aunt Melissa’s old clunker of a car. They would hear her though as something was definitely not running smoothly in the machinery, but they would not know it was Joe if they expected the Ford Fiesta. Aunt Mel was already in bed, evident by snoring from inside her room, and Joe tip-toed downstairs and picked the car keys off the dresser. So, taser, shotgun, mace and night vision binoculars. If this went on, she would need to invest in a bigger backpack.

The night seemed eerily quiet as she drove. The waning moon only reminded her of the full one a week ago. It seemed like a lifetime. She passed a pair of ambulances heading the opposite direction, must have been some sort of accident. Regular accidents did still happen in Beacon Hills, she told herself, to stop from worrying something had happened to Scott. Like a madman with a broadsword. When she reached the warehouse district, she checked the location again on Derek’s phone. Life was so much easier when you had a smartphone with internet and GPS.

She parked far away from where the depot should be located. Rest would be done on foot. The binoculars were saved for a potential stake-out, mace put in her back pocket and now she had to decide between taser and shotgun...Worst case, it was the Argents or the venomous creature who was after Derek. Best case, it was Jimmy or Derek. The first two she would not mind shooting, the last two would heal anyway. Shotgun it is.

Skulking in the shadows, she felt like a kid playing spy-games. Joe crept towards the Beacon Hills Railroad Depot, stopping every few seconds to check her surroundings, and keeping light on her toes to avoid making unnecessary sounds. God, if a security guard happened to catch her in her dark attire with shotgun in hand, she would have some serious explaining to do down at the police station.

Nothing jumped out of the shadows, nothing stood lurking behind a corner. Joe reached the entrance to the depot. The heavy door was unlocked, but made an intense whining sound when she pried it open. Joe made a face and squeezed through the smallest possible opening. If it was Jimmy or Derek waiting for her, they would definitely have heard that. They would have heard her already anyway, because of her heart thumping almost painfully hard in her chest.

Shotgun loaded, safety on, she crept into the dark building. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dark, but she almost wished it hadn’t. Every shadow of old equipment and outline of machinery morphed into something sinister and threatening. Joe knelt on the ground and touched her finger tips to the heavy layer of rust and grime. Footprints? Abandoned warehouses like this were ideal locations for squatters or illegal parties, but then she would have expected more garbage, like cigarette butts and old beer cans.

Still on the ground, she became aware of a muted sound. Like crashes or something slamming into the foundation. It was coming from...beneath her. Joe searched around until she found a likely door leading to a stairwell. Taking each step with care to avoid creaking, she made her way downstairs and saw a dim light protrude around the frame of another door. The sounds were clearer down here; it sounded like fighting.

Joe gripped the shotgun tightly for the little comfort it brought. Her initial plan, if you could call it that, was to stake out the meeting location to find out who had her phone trying to snare Derek Hale. Now she felt like the one being ensnared — remote underground location? Major deja vu. No escape routes, no one to hear her scream.

The door opened to a large underground warehouse, obviously used for storage back in the day. Old discarded subway carts lined the walls along with oil drums and large coils of plastic tube connectors. Maybe some kind of repair workshop. 60s-style ceiling lights lit up the large space and thick steel beams supported the roof.

Up ahead, she heard grunts and crashes. Joe swallowed thickly and made sure the shotgun was loaded before creeping forward, trying to keep out of sight. There was almost a rhythm to it — grunts, snarls, crashes before it ended in a heavy slam to the floor. Rinse and repeat. It made no sense until she was close enough to see it.

Isaac Lahey dashed through some kind of obstacle course made of crates and barrels, trying to attack Derek, who was back in a white tank top Joe could not help but notice. Isaac performed some moves a professional traceur would envy, but Derek still caught him in the throat each time and proceeded to thrash him to the concrete floor.

A split second later, another figure pounced at Derek from the top of a subway cart, but Derek twisted the assailant and flung her, Erica, to the floor next to Isaac, both of them groaning.

Derek scoffed and dropped his attentive stance. His voice echoed out. “Does anyone wanna try not being completely predictable?”

Training, Joe realized. He was training them. That was as far as she got before Erica pushed herself off the ground with alarming speed. Joe’s breath stopped and she instinctively dashed forward, out in plain sight. Not that any of them noticed her, because instead of clawing his face off like Joe feared, Erica latched onto Derek with her feet around his waist and, well, kissed him.

Kiss was a pretty generous word, to be fair, and Joe was reminded of how they used the term ‘sucking faces’ back in high school. It was, as kisses went, pretty aggressive and seemed to last for an eternity. No way of telling if Derek was into it or if Erica had such a good grip on his head that he had no choice. Well, he probably had around fifty pounds of muscle on her, so he _did_ have a choice.

Joe felt her stomach drop somewhere to her ankles at the sight and how her fingers tightened around the shotgun. Get a grip! She was not gonna shoot a high schooler over some kissing...and groping....and grinding. She was _not_.

She took an automatic step back when Derek snarled and slammed Erica back onto the ground so the floor shook. He wiped his lips with distaste.

“That’s the last time you do that.”

Erica, on the floor, looked more angry than embarassed. “Why, because I’m a Beta?”

“No, because-” If it was her scent or the fact that she stood in plain sight, she had no idea. Derek had finally noticed her. As they were a common entity, Isaac and Erica’s heads swivelled towards her as well. “Joe?”

“Statutory rape, huh?” Joe said brightly and put the shotgun over her shoulder to cover up for the fact that she would rather evaporate than look at him at the moment. “Nice.”

Derek’s eyes scoured over her, resting on the shotgun. His nostrils flared as he came towards her, effectively positioning him between her and the teens. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Looking for my phone,” Joe insisted with a shrug. She pulled out Derek’s cell phone and held it as evidence. “I got a text that gave me this location. Well, okay, technically _you_ got a text from _my phone_ , which makes absolutely no sense because this looks to be your,” she cast a glance over the subway carts filled with personal belongings, “lair?”

“And you brought a shotgun?” Derek snarled and Joe shrugged even wider.

“I thought it was a trap!”

The disappointed anger shone from Derek’s eyes. “You thought it was a trap and you still-”

“I thought it was a trap for _you_ ,” Joe clarified and waved her hand in his direction. “They wouldn’t expect me. With a shotgun.” Luckily, Derek looked too angry to talk and she took advantage of the opportunity to make a quick escape. “Anyway, give me my phone and I’ll be on my merry way.”

Derek crossed his arms. “I don’t have your phone.”

Joe glanced at the betas on the floor, and now noticed Boyd sitting on a nearby staircase, almost invisible in the dark. “Okay, how about your brainwashed kids?”

“Here,” Erica said as her arm shot out. The Nokia came flying at high-speed, heading straight for Joe’s face. Knowing how much those old phones could handle, Joe would have looked at at least a broken nose and a concussion if Derek’s hand hadn’t struck out to catch the projectile mid-air.

He turned towards the girl and Joe could only imagine the look on his face as Erica cowered backwards, but still not backing down completely. Joe had no idea if she was challenging him or trying to flirt.

Joe, on the other hand, let out a long breath of relief. “Oh thank God.” This earned her the spotlight again and Joe couldn’t help but laugh. “I just...I came here expecting the Argents with guns blazing and then it’s just this high school drama stuff.”

It explained the kiss. Erica had wanted her to see that. Somehow, that made her feel a little better.

Still smiling, Joe took down the shotgun from her shoulder to empty it. Running around with a loaded gun was how you accidentally shot someone and even if all the other occupants in the room would heal, it would still hurt like crazy first. She stopped as a low growl came from the two kids on the floor.

Not surprisingly, the source was Erica who had her stare fixated on Joe with her lips twisted to bare her teeth — well, fangs. The teenage crush was evident and Joe found herself ignoring the outright challenge, if that was what it was. She made a big show of emptying the shotgun to put the shells back in her pocket.

Erica’s growl intensified and Derek apparently had enough. He tore around and released a roar, much like the one at the police station, that rattled the steel framework and made Joe’s insides turn to gush. Both Erica and Isaac whimpered and retreated into the shadows. Poor Isaac hadn’t even done anything but stare at the whole scene in fascination, but Joe guessed the roar didn’t differentiate.

“Dude, relax, they’re literally just kids,” Joe said and pulled the trigger of the now empty shotgun. It was a best practice her dad taught her from shooting ranges that would tell anyone who paid attention that the gun was now out of action.

“Relax?” snarled Derek as he turned back around and his eyes dimmed from intense red to his normal green. Joe struggled to stand her ground, but did. “I got less than three weeks to teach them everything I know! If they’re not ready by the full moon, they’ll be easy pickings for either the hunters or the thing that killed Isaac’s dad!”

“Maybe you should have thought of that _before_ you decided to sink your teeth into them?” She refused to back down when he redirected his anger to her. “Hey, the lunar cycle is kinda straightforward, buddy, don’t blame your poor planning on me. Maybe you should all have a group session on anger management instead of play fighting?”

“I’m _not_ teaching them to fight, I’m teaching them to survive and first lesson was _not revealing our hide-out!”_

The last part he practically roared over his shoulder to the still whimpering Erica. Derek’s fists were clenched and unfortunately, one of those fists still held Joe’s phone. The old school Nokia she thought would be the sole survivor of a nuclear blast could not withstand Derek’s unnatural strength. The _crack_ echoed in the warehouse when Derek’s shout died down.

“Are - you - kidding - me?” Joe said slowly as Derek held up his hand like he was surprised to see the broken parts of a cell phone fall from his fingers. Two phones now lost because of Derek. “Are you actually,” she swore, “kidding me?”

Erica let out a snort while Joe shooed Derek away so he stepped back. She put the shotgun strap over her shoulder and knelt down to sift through the pieces, hoping he hadn’t snapped her SIM-card in half. It was still in one piece and Joe brushed dirt off it when she got back up. She held it between two fingers for inspection and saw Derek’s face behind it, locked in a neutral angry expression.

Now she regretted emptying out the shotgun prematurely; she really wanted to shoot something.

Instead, she swallowed thickly, pocketed her SIM-card with care and brought out Derek’s phone again. His face blanked, probably understanding her plan, as she tossed the phone into the air. Holding the shotgun like a baseball bat, she swung from her hip and hit the cell phone with everything she had, beating it into the wall behind Erica and Isaac with a satisfying crash.

“Now we’re even,” Joe said with as calm a voice she could muster. Shotgun back on her shoulder, she stormed towards the stairwell to make a fast exit, flinging her middle finger at him. “Asshole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Stiles to the rescue, much to Joe's chagrin. Things are back to where they're supposed to be: Joe confused and pissed off at Derek. Don't worry, it'll get better.
> 
> Thank you for reading as always and please comment if you have any thoughts :) Always brighten up my day to see stuff sitting in my inbox.
> 
> I cross-post to FF.net and there was some drama in the reviews over there about a (perceived) plot-hole regarding Joe's dad. So I'm gonna say the same thing here as I said there:  
> This story's not gonna win any literary awards. I'm writing this for fun and I'm writing it fast, without much editing and without a Beta-reader. English is not my first language and I'm not gonna spend hours researching too much stuff that's not relevant to the plot, not when I can spend that time writing awkward conversations between Joe and Derek.  
> I try to keep things semi-realistic, but only in the same manner as the show that it's based on. Things will not always make sense like it would in the real world, because it's fiction, set in a fictional town with supernatural elements.
> 
> Sometimes I will tweak things from the canon to fit better with the plot and sometimes I will have plot holes because I haven't mapped out every chapter from start to finish like I do with my original work. So, there's that disclaimer for you. Hope you guys will keep reading regardless, because I'm halfway through writing season 3 now and it is SO MUCH DRAMA and fun and I can't wait to post it :)


	29. The Reborn

Beacon Hills had a trapshooting range a few miles out from the city limits. It was ran by volunteers from the wildlife association and used by bird hunters and gun enthusiasts. They had been granted some kind of funds from the local government to invest in a few fully automatic clay pigeon throwers that reacted on the shooter’s command to send a small orange disc of clay into the air. The thrower was called a trap, stemming from the old practice of using live pigeons and releasing them from a trap whenever the shooter was ready.

“Pull!”

The thrower reacted and sent a single bird, which was another leftover terminology from the old days, flying over the field. Joe followed the trajectory and pulled the trigger. The disc exploded with a rain of orange dust as a reward. The shotgun had some kickback because of its narrow choke and Joe wondered if Derek felt the systematic hits as well as she did.

“Pull!”

Another disc, this one coming at another angle and elevation. Follow, don’t stop, shoot — a solid kill, hitting it straight on. She wore large over-the-head ear muffs to protect her hearing. A pair of older men in flannel were practicing in the lane next to her, but took frequent brakes to roll cigarettes and talk amongst themselves.

“Pull!”

Joe caught the next one too, right on. Shotguns were a lot easier than rifles or handguns. You were supposed to point and not aim a shotgun. It was something therapeutic to see the shower of orange dust every time she pulled the trigger too. After last night, she really wanted to shoot something, but would rather not have the police show up if she just tried hitting beer cans in the forest.

“Pull!”

Scott had come home late last night after picking up Stiles from the garage. Instead of getting his Jeep back, Stiles had been a first-hand witness of the mysterious creature taking out the mechanic. As Scott told it, Stiles had been paralyzed as well, but not from a cut to the back of his neck like the Argent-hunter had. It would seem that any contact with the secretion would leave the victim incapacitated.

“Double!”

Two discs now, released a second from each other. Joe took the first one down, waited the split second for the automatic reload, and let her final shot trail the last disc before it too exploded. Joe called over the range officer to confirm her shotgun was empty before putting it back in the stand to let it cool for a second.

She cracked her neck and rolled her shoulder to ease some of the tension. This morning, she had the uncomfortable conversation with Aunt Mel to let her know her contribution to the household budget would be less than usual this month. She needed the money to fix her broken phone and while Aunt Mel was understanding, Joe knew it would mean a tighter grip on the finances. At least Scott got that pay bump and could cover some of his own lacrosse expenses and pitch in for gas every time he borrowed one of the cars.

Joe twirled her finger around in the air, a way of letting the range officer know she was starting a new round of ten shots. Last one, as her academic leave was coming to an end and she had a hefty stack of assignments to grade waiting for her back home. She loaded up the shotgun with four shells in the magazine and one right in the chamber. Four plus one. The range officer signalled for everyone to put their ear muffs back on; the old men kept taking theirs off to talk to each other. Another man entered the last lane to her right, but Joe did not pay him any attention as she brandished the shotgun back up against her slightly sore shoulder. It was the perfect weight; light enough to point, but still heavy enough to avoid the worst recoil.

“Double!”

Joe went straight for two discs at once, both coming from different places over the field. One down. Two down. Both hit right in the center, but the second split in half instead of exploding completely. Without thinking, Joe aimed the shotgun again, shot the left half of the disc, reload, and took the right one too. Orange clay mist rained over her lane after the downright pigeon massacre. She kept it up until her ten rounds were all reduced to fine dust.

The range officer complimented her shooting when checking her weapon and she just shrugged. It’d been years since the last time she used a shotgun like this, it might be beginner’s luck. The old men had moved on to drinking coffee in the shed and the last shooter looked to be between rounds, so Joe took off her ear muffs on her way to the car.

_“Looks like that shotgun went to the right person.”_

Joe turned to see Chris Argent smiling at her while reloading his own shotgun in the lane next to hers. She hadn’t recognized him because of the ear muffs and sunglasses, the first one hanging around his neck and the latter pushed onto his forehead. He held the barrel of his gun out towards the field as was common practice on the ranges. “Nice shooting.”

“Thanks,” Joe said and pushed the strap of her shotgun firmly onto her shoulder. “I, uh, had a good day I guess.”

“That was more than a good day,” Chris said with a wry smile. He put the magazine back in place and switched the safety on. “Your technique is solid. Who taught you how to shoot?”

“My dad.”

“Ah, right.” Chris nodded and put his sunglasses back in place. “The FBI-agent, of course. You any good with a hand gun?”

“No,” Joe answered honestly.

“When was the last time you tried?” Chris asked and she just shrugged. “There’s a range up by the interstate. I go there Tuesdays and Thursdays, if you ever want to tag along.” He placed his ear muffs back on and Joe followed suit. He shouted over his shoulder while putting the shotgun up. “Not projecting, by the way, just a friendly offer. _Pull!_ ”

His shot decimated the clay pigeon. Joe waved at him to say good bye and he gave her a solid nod before calling for another shot. The noise echoed in the range and Joe kept her ear muffs on until she reached her car. Chris Argent’s friendliness did not feel forced, he seemed to genuinly like her, but then again, so had Kate. His last name alone was enough to warrant suspicion and she could not see how he had anything to gain by providing her with weapons and target practice. Maybe he just liked seeing girls being able to protect themselves. He was definitely projecting, but Joe wasn’t sure if it was Kate or Allison.

It was still early so neither Aunt Mel or Scott was home when she got back to the house. Aunt Mel worked the early shift so she could catch Scott’s lacrosse game later that night and Scott was hopefully at school, paying more attention to his classes than he was chasing after that Argents’ book of monsters. Joe checked her e-mail to see if there were any responses to her ad. Getting the phone fixed at a store would wreck her finances, so she’d placed a local ad if any amateur tech geniuses could do it for a more reasonable price.

The cheapest and closest offer was from Matt Daehler. Some internet sleuthing revealed him to be a high schooler in Beacon Hills, same year as Scott. He seemed legit and responded instantly when she accepted his offer; they would meet at the game later that night, a nice, safe and public location. He could at least not break it any further, Joe thought and studied the pitiful remains after Stiles slammed it into the floor of the veterinary clinic. She hadn’t even bothered picking up the pieces after the old Nokia as Derek’s fist reduced it to practically dust.

She needed a working phone. One thing was how she needed it to call for backup whenever she inevitable landed herself in life threatening situations, but it was also the easiest way for Jimmy to contact her if he needed help. Like, say, if he was regularly losing control and killing off people left and right using paralyzing venom and large claws. Stiles had claimed the creature to look reptillian and like it already knew him. Professor Kane had said that some people who were bit turned into something other than a werewolf, maybe gigantic snake monster was on that list? Jimmy’s role as a double agent would make him somewhat of a snake anyway.

Oscar Lahey, the Argent-hunter and a mechanic...Joe rubbed her eyes. The killings seemed random, but they did not feel random. It had not gone after Stiles, for example. And none of the kills, maybe with the exception of Isaac’s dad, were particularly easy targets.

Downstairs, the front door opened and shut. Aunt Melissa called out: _“I’m home!”_

“Okay!” Joe shouted back automatically. She had checked the news report on the mechanic’s death. It had been ruled an unfortunate accident, as Stiles wasn’t exactly forthcoming with the truth. The mechanic died of crushing after the car lift descended upon him while he was lying on the floor. No mention of a toxic report, but Joe was not sure if they regularly performed those as part of an autopsy or if maybe the results weren’t in yet. It seemed a far-fetched theory no matter which way you looked at it. A car lift had safety features that made it lower at almost snail pace and if the mechanic hadn’t been paralyzed, he would have had plenty of time to get away.

She and Aunt Mel decided to take Joe’s car to the match, because it had a miniscully better mileage. It was another cold night in March and they were both bundled up in scarves. Joe would meet Matt by the popcorn booth before the game and let Aunt Mel go find them some seats. Matt Daehler turned out to actually be on the lacrosse team, as he was in full gear with the Beacon Hills’ Cyclones’ colors. He also had a large camera strapped around his neck.

“Delgado?” he asked when Joe came closer and Joe nodded. Like almost all sixteeen year old boys she’d come across lately, he was maybe an inch taller than her and had clean features with short dark hair on top. “You’re Scott’s cousin, right? Think I’ve seen you around. You got the phone?”

“Yup, in its broken glory,” Joe said and handed it over. She was sure she had never seen him before ever; it was not like she frequented high school hangouts all that often. As she tried to place him, he turned the phone around to study the cracked screen and asked her some general questions if it would turn on at all and if she ever replaced the battery before. Both answers were no.

Feeling watched, even though she knew that technically was impossible, she glanced up and scanned the crowd on the bleachers. Automatically, her eyes were dragged to the far forest line. If anyone stood just beyond the trees, they’d be invisible from the brightly lit lacrosse field. Unless they had glowing eyes, but she couldn’t see any of that.

“Okay, the screen’s easy, but there might be something wrong with the processor.” Matt was shaking her phone, hearing something rattle inside and Joe’s attention pulled back to him. “I think I have one that would fit, but it’s a couple of hours work.”

Joe grimaced. It sounded like something expensive. “How much?”

“Twenty for the screen, fifty for the processor if I gotta replace it,” Matt said and glanced up at her with a half-smile. “We got a deal?”

“Yeah, fine,” Joe huffed and saw any clothes shopping for the reunion dinner wave goodbye. “How long’s it gonna take?”

A couple of days. He’d send her an e-mail when it was done. Coach Finstock called him away for the pre-match shouting session and Joe, after throwing the dark forest another curious glance, located Aunt Mel sitting on the bleachers, rubbing her hands together to keep them warm. Joe checked her pockets and deduced they could afford two cups of coffee, if Joe relinquished her weekly dose of oatmilk cappucinos.

“Oh, thank you so much,” Aunt Mel said as she accepted the paper cup from Joe. She sipped it right away, but hissed. “Hot.”

“That’s the point,” Joe murmured and they fell silent when the match began. Scott was on the field as usual, while Stiles was on the bench. Joe furrowed her brows when she realized he had not even changed into his gear, but sat in a tracksuit with the school colors. Maybe he had doctor’s orders to keep from playing after last night events.

No, Joe concluded after watching the kid, he was up to something. Normally spazzy and unable to sit still, he seemed to be on ecstacy or something the way he bounced in his seat and looked around the bleachers every few seconds. She followed his gaze to where he paid most attention and it was of course Gerard and Allison Argent.

Gerard had taken over the role as the high school principal, after the old one disappeared without even a two weeks’ notice. Joe was left to wonder yet again on how far the Argents’ influence really went. The way Gerard gave Allison his coat and made sure she was fully bundled up made it almost possible to believe his whole doting grandfather-act, but even when he smiled at Allison, it did not reach his eyes. No sign of Allison’s parents and Joe was not sure if she should be comforted by that or not.

“Oooh!” the whole crowd simultaneously exclaimed when one of the larger players from the guest team tackled one of Scott’s team mates. It was without a doubt the largest high schooler Joe had ever seen and the Coach shouted obscenities while demanding to see the kid’s birth certificate.

Aunt Melissa had grabbed Joe’s hand and gripped it so hard she was sure even Derek would feel it at this point. It looked bleak for the Beacon Hills-team and would mean they were out of the semi-finals unless something miraculous happened. The Beacon Hills-team was also losing players left and right and the Coach was down to his last reserve.

Except Stiles wasn’t even there. Joe scanned the bleachers and caught the edge of his tracksuit sneaking away from the field. Coach Finstock shouted for him, but no one else had apparently seen Stiles leaving. The referee informed the Coach he was down a player and would have to forfeit the match unless he could produce another one. Unacceptable, apparently, as Coach Finstock resorted to scanning the home crowd bleachers until he found a suitable candidate.

“You! You play lacrosse?”

Joe’s heart jolted at the sight of Erica and Boyd sitting tightly together at one of the top rows. Coach Finstock wanted Boyd to join the game, and even though Erica looked skeptical, she let Boyd go down to get suited up.

Everyone’s attention was on the new player joining the game, so only Joe caught how Erica snuck down from the bleachers and followed the exact same route Stiles had taken. It might or might not have been because Joe had studied the girl from afar, wondering how the hell she managed to look that good even though she was only sixteen. Joe had mentally blocked her own year book photos from high school, in the days before she learned to tame her curls and cover up blemishes.

No way would Erica and Boyd just be casually attending the game. Derek would have to know about Gerard Argent attending the game and he had not given the impression he trusted his newly fledged werewolves out on their own. This meant Derek was here somewhere as well. Closing her eyes, mostly because she felt like an idiot, Joe inhaled deeply through her nose. Not a hint of Derek, so he wasn’t here.

“I gotta, uh, pee,” Joe said and detached herself from Aunt Melissa’s grip. She kept her head down as she darted between the crowd, following in the footsteps of both Erica and Stiles. It led her to the parking lot and there was no sign of any of them. Inhale, sniff. Nope, no Derek either. This was weird in so many ways. Stiles did not have his car back yet and the only destination reachable on foot was the school building. Entering through the front doors, she tried to listen for any sounds to indicate either Stiles’ or Erica’s location.

Nothing.

Joe was torn between investigating further and running back to her car to retrieve the shotgun. A small whiff of a familiar scent made her pause. It was faint, but present. Derek.

Never in a million years would she have thought she was going to walk through the hallways of a high school being lead by her nose. It was like a game of hot and cold. Whenever she reached an impasse, one of the directions would have a slightly stronger scent than the other. Eventually, Derek’s scent was joined by the smell of chlorine and she pushed the doors open to the swimming pool.

Derek stood with a basketball in his hands, a defeated look already in his eyes as he’d probably heard her coming for a while. “Really, Joe?”

“Really, Derek?” Joe retorted instantly and let the doors swing shut behind her. Could only hope he hadn’t heard her literally sniff her way here. No Stiles or Erica. “With Gerard Argent right there out on the field? Really?”

He tilted his head. “This doesn’t concern you. For the last time, _go home_.”

“Can I just ask you like a practical question?” Joe said, completely ignoring both his words and his irritated growl. “What happens if one of us dies?”

His chest expanded as he sighed. “I don’t know.”

That was not the answer she’d expected. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I mean: I - don’t - know!” Derek repeated slowly with a raised eyebrow. “I guess it depends.”

“On what?”

“If it’s a natural death or not,” Derek said with an annoyed shrug, his clawed fingers spinning the basketball around in front of his chest. No jacket, Joe noted, he was probably out. “My great-grandma lived on for years after Pop passed away.”

Joe could not help her smile. “Pop?”

“Shut up.”

“Okay, but,” she ignored his frown, “you’re saying that if it’s a non-natural death, I could die if you do?” She waved her hand loosely in the air. “Because then I’d say it’s a pretty big concern for me if you get snuffed by the Argents.”

“I’m so glad you care,” Derek said in a deadpanned voice. “But since i don’t see your shotgun, I’m not sure how you were planning to help?”

Joe was not sure either, but was spared answering when the doors behind her burst open. On some pretty impressive high heeled shoes, Erica waltzed through with Stiles in tow. Literally, as she dragged him there by his neck. At the sight of Joe, she lifted her lip in a slight snarl while Joe only raised her eyebrows in return.

“Stiles,” Derek said calmly when Erica let Stiles go to take her place next to Derek.

“Derek,” said Stiles while rubbing his skin where Erica probably had dug her claws in. He gave Joe a disturbed look. “Joe?”

“Are you okay?” she asked instead continuing the name round. Pushing his hands away, she saw the intrusions in his skin. “What the hell, Derek?”

“I just need to ask Stiles some questions,” Derek said calmly and Joe noticed how his stance had changed when Erica arrived, how he immediately became cockier. She also noticed the admiring gaze Erica had fixed him with and it appeared the events of last night had not done much to repudiate that crush.

Any warmth disappeared from Erica’s eyes when she looked at Joe instead. Joe did not need a PhD in human behavior to recognize jealousy when she saw it. She could not blame the girl, Derek was both hot and an authorative figure in Erica’s probably chaotic life. The tilted power-dynamics was always a cause for trouble. It was the equivalent of girls falling in love with their History-teacher. Derek, as the adult in lack of better designations, had the responsibility of shutting down her illusions, hopefully before Erica clawed Joe’s face off for something that did not even exist. At least Joe hoped they were illusions. As high as Derek’s creep factor was, he did not strike her as a cradle robber.

“What did you see at the mechanic’s garage?” Derek asked Stiles while he caressed the basketball.

“Uh, several alarming EPA violations that I'm seriously considering reporting.” Stiles backed off a few steps when Derek pierced his claws through the basketball’s exterior and deflating it with his hands. “Holy God.”

“Let’s try that again.”

“Look at you, bringing out the props and everything,” Joe commented while rolling her eyes.

Stiles relented. “All right, the thing was pretty slick looking. Um, skin was dark. Kind of patterned. Uh, I think I actually saw scales. Is that enough?” Stiles shrugged irritably at the pair of werewolves. “Okay, because I've somebody I really need to talk to-”

Derek tilted his head again and Stiles made an impatient sound, at least sounding as disgusted as Joe felt. “Hrr. All right, fine, eyes. Eyes are, um, yellowish. And slitted. Um, has a lot of teeth.”

Hang on. Erica and Derek were paying less attention to Stiles and more to something behind Joe and Stiles. They were looking up slowly to the diving platform over Joe and Stiles’ head. Joe found herself tilting her head up too, slowly, like a dumb chick in a horror flick.

“Oh. And it's got a tail, too. Are we good? What? Wait, have you seen it? You have this look on your faces like you know exactly what I am talking about.”

Erica took a step back and made a soft, scared sound, her widened eyes fixated on something above Joe’s head. Joe and Stiles turned at the same time to see the exact creature Stiles had described — it screeched. Not a roar, not a howl, a terrifying screech like a pterodactyl from a low-budget dinosaur’s movie.

Stiles grabbed Joe and dragged her away when the creature dropped to where they had just been standing. It placed Derek between them and the creature; Derek crouched down with claws out and let out a challenging roar.

The creature had immense strength as it tossed Erica away like she was nothing and she grunted when she hit the far wall and slid down, completely out.

“Run!” Derek yelled at Joe and Stiles. He turned his back to the creature and Joe hissed at a swiping pain in the back of her neck. Derek tore around in confusion, ready to fight, but the creature had disappeared into the shadows. Joe and Derek both felt the back of their respective necks. Her fingers came back bloodless, so it must have hit-

“Derek, your neck!” Stiles shouted and Joe saw the thin welt of blood in Derek’s exposed neck. By how Doctor Deaton explained it to Scott, it used almost surgical precision to infect venom straight into the nervous system in the spine. Maybe Derek’s healing factor would fight it before he got knocked out?

“Joe,” said Derek and she saw his unfocused eyes and slugghish movements. No such luck then. She and Stiles darted forwards to catch him before he stooped completely, but he shoved her away. “Run. _RUN!_ ”

Her legs almost moved on their own accord.

“I got him! GO!” Stiles pushed Derek’s arm over his shoulder to keep him up. “Get Scott!”

Joe stumbled backwards, every stupid instinct telling her to go towards Derek instead of away, but the creature screeched again and she dashed out into the hallway before it got her.

Nothing followed her, but she did not slow down until she was back across the parking lot and onto the lacrosse field. She had to get Scott! Even if she had to drag him off the field, she had to get Scott!

Instead of the dispersing crowd at the end of a match, everyone was huddled together on the field. In the midst of it was Scott, being supported by Allison, talking to no other than Gerard. Around him stood both teams and most of the spectators — including Aunt Mel. It would take some serious explaining to do if Joe appeared to drag Scott away now.

Shit! Joe backtracked and ran off the field again. Lungs burning in her chest, she went straight for her car and threw herself across the backseat to snatch up the shotgun. 4+1 shots, her fingers shook as she loaded it. She could not count for a chance to reload, but stuffed more ammo in her pockets. Sending a short prayer to whatever deity was listening, she went back inside the school.

Would the thing have super hearing like a werewolf? She had to assume it did and tried to keep her breath under control, her chest aching with the effort. Without knowing the school layout, she was forced to take the same route as before and took a moment outside the door to catch her breath. It came out in a shaky huff. No sounds from within, which meant that either it had already killed everyone, or Stiles and Derek got away. Which left Erica, unconscious and unable to defend herself. Shit. She was not getting out of this, huh?

She pushed the door open with the shotgun, trigger finger almost cramping at the effort of _not_ shooting right away. The only light in the room came from the lit pool, in the midst of it she saw Stiles and Derek floating. Their frantic splashing indicated it took some effort. No sign of the creature and Joe crept towards Erica, placing two fingers on her throat to confirm a pulse. Steady, strong, she was just knocked out.

Derek’s voice came between desparate breaths of air. _“Get me out of here before I drown.”_

_“You're worried about drowning? Did you notice the thing out there with multiple rows of razor sharp teeth?”_

_“Did you notice I'm paralyzed from the neck down in eight feet of water?”_

Ice gripped Joe’s insides. Derek was paralyzed, which meant Stiles was the one holding them both up. Derek was a big guy with a lot of muscles, heavy muscles.

Stiles began moving the pair of them towards the edge of the pool. _“Okay. I don't see it.”_

“Wait, wait, wait, stop, stop,” Derek admonished and Joe froze herself, scanning the large hall for whatever Derek had noticed. Unfortunately, her gaze landed on Derek who was staring at _her_ with wide and near panicked eyes. “You’ve gotta-”

His face disappeared under water when Stiles spotted her as well, temporarily losing his grip on Derek’s neck. Derek reappeared, sputtering and coughing, and Joe just put a finger to her mouth to keep them from drawing attention to her. The pure rage in Derek’s eyes would cause her nightmares down the line, she was sure of it.

“Wake up, Erica,” Joe hissed softly under her breath and prodded the unconscious girl. “Put those claws to use, girl, come on, _mija._ ”

Erica murmured softly, but her eyes remained shut. Damn it! How long would it take a werewolf to recover from some light trauma to the head?

“Joe!” Stiles’ shout echoed in the hall. “My phone, it’s there — call Scott!” He nodded his head towards the edge of the pool and she saw the small rectangle laying abandoned on the floor. Unfortunately, his shouting attracted the creature.

Larger than any werewolf, it stalked the opposite side of the pool on all fours. More reptillian than snake-like, it had a long tail that swayed behind it. It must have some sort of stinger, Joe realized, but she was luckily not close enough to tell. It made a hissing noise towards Stiles and Derek and tried to step onto the water. It screeched at the contact and retreated to the wall — it did not like water. Which was the least helpful fact she could think of at the moment, as she was several feet away from the pool.

Slowly, so slowly her muscles ached, Joe got on the floor. She laid on her stomach, shotgun in hand down by her leg, and tried to keep her breaths as steady as possible. The creature hissed and spat against the pair in the pool and trailed along all edges of the pool, obviously looking for a way to get to Stiles and Derek. Animal, she thought, not cognitive. Not like a werewolf, probably, that still had human capacity for planning.

Joe held her breath when it passed her and Erica. There was this strain of goats whose defensive mechanism consisted in playing dead at the first sign of danger. They were called fainting goats and zoologist had spent years trying to figure out why the goats had developed this mechanism. As it turns out, fainting goats only had one real enemy in the animal kingdom: snakes. Snakes have even worse eyesight than humans and can usually only detect movements.

If she stayed still, the creature would remain focused on the struggling pair in the pool. She hoped.

The creature stalked past without even sniffing at her and Joe took another shaky breath. Little by little, inch by inch, she tried to get closer to Stiles’ phone. Derek and Stiles were shouting, wasting their breaths at snapping at each other, but Joe did not pay them any attention. The more they distracted from the creature, the better chance she stood.

Slowly, she reminded herself, slowly. Her heart kept beating so hard it pushed painfully at her chest. Lungs straining, but that might be because of Derek struggling to breathe. Damn it, this was the stupidest side-effect she had ever heard of! What was the point of feeling each other’s pain, it just made them twice as vulnerable! If either of them got caught, the other would suffer. It made more sense that if one got caught, the other got stronger or something to be able to come to the rescue. It just proved it more how it was all a big, stupid pile of stinking bullshit!

“I don't think I can do this much longer,” Stiles shouted and the sheer desparation made it cut through Joe’s concentration. She had no idea how long they had been in the pool, how long she had used to get to the phone. Derek was probably 200lbs of pure muscle and Stiles was probably 150lbs of gangly teenager. It was a miracle they had stayed afloat this long. She had to call Scott. Now!

The phone now within arm’s reach and she had to clench her arm down when the creature came to their side of the pool again. Her eyes watered as she did not dare to blink. Don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t think — don’t do anything.

All five claws on either of the creature’s forelegs clicked against the tiles. They passed right by her eyes and she saw how they were almost see-through, probably filled with the paralyzing venom. Sharp teeth, large claws, a venomous tail. Apart from the water, it did not appear to have any weaknesses. Its hide looked thick and scaly and she was not sure the shotgun slugs would be able to penetrate it. If Derek couldn’t fight it, what chance did Scott really stand?

Clicking receding, it passed her. Her head swam from the lack of oxygen, but she gradually edged her shotgun-free arm forwards. Finally, her fingers locked around the edges of the phone and she pulled it gently towards her.

Behind her, Erica moaned.

She must have moved as the creature stopped on the other side of the pool, its slitted yellow eyes peering their way. Damn it!

Joe peered back at Erica who was sitting up slowly and clutching her head, unaware of the imminent danger. The creature screeched loudly. Joe snatched the cell phone and managed to press Scott’s name before the creature bounded towards them.

The thing went straight for Erica with all its claws out. Behind Joe, the shouting from Stiles and Derek echoed in the pool hall, trying to shout a warning. Not up to speed yet, Erica only managed to press herself to the wall an whimper.

Joe swore internally, dropped the phone and flipped on her back. “Hey!”

She clenched her bladder to avoid pissing herself when the thing focused on her. Shotgun up, she fired. One, two, three shots. The thing was hella fast. It screeched and jumped into the rafters, her shots hitting just inches behind it each time. Breathing fast, she jumped up and ran to Erica, who almost recoiled at her approach.

“Come on, get up, get up!” Joe shouted and hefted the younger girl up. She either had to jump in the pool with her or get her out of here, Erica was not in any condition to fight.

“JOE!”

Derek’s roar cut through any of Joe’s hyper-focused thoughts. She let go of Erica and tore around with the shotgun already at her shoulder, firing when she had the thing in sight. The pellets tore into the side of the creature and it let out a shrill cry. Blood splattered on the light tiles. It darted away when she fired again, hitting nothing but the poolside bench.

Heart pounding almost through her ears, Joe held the shotgun up and twirled full circle, searching for the creature. A hiss, a flicker of a tail, it seemed to melt into the shadows.

“Go,” Joe hissed at Erica, who had crawled up to a hesitant stand again. “Get Scott!”

Erica’s eyes darted to the pool instead. Her instincts must be compelling her to help Derek. Even in her weakened state, whatever bond was between an Alpha and his Beta seemed to overpower her survival impulse. Swearing, Joe grabbed Erica’s arm to force her to look her in the eyes.

“Erica! Get Scott!” Joe shouted and the girl’s eyes widened before she nodded. She turned to run, but only went two steps before the creature dropped down in front of them. Erica stumbled back while Joe pointed the gun at the creature. “Back off!”

It hesitated, stopped. It knew what a gun was. So much for non-cognitive.

The slimy blood down the side of its torso had already stopped running, so she could not have hurt it too bad before. Still, it hesitated. Joe’s arms protested, but she kept the barrel steady, aiming at the creature’s head. They circled each other as Joe tried to get Erica closer to the exit. It hissed, but recoiled when Joe let her finger hover over the trigger.

“Back - off!”

The creature dropped to a crouch and screeched again. Joe squeezed the trigger, closing her eyes to avoid getting brain spatter in them. The gun clicked. She pulled the trigger again, but nothing happened. 4+1 shots. Three plus one plus one — she was out.

“Shit,” was all she had time for before the creature jumped her. By sheer luck, she managed to avoid the first swipe of its claws, but not the second one. It grazed her stomach, ripping through her jacket and t-shirt and skin, leaving hot stings in its wake. Derek shouted behind her. The creature did not hesitate before spinning around and kicking her backwards.

Her foot caught on a pool float and she tumbled back into the water. Brain screaming at her to hold onto the gun, but her fingers were already turning numb. The claws! The venom crashed her system a lot faster than it had Derek, his werewolf-gene probably slowing it down, and Joe realized she was sinking down into the pool. No matter how much she tried to kick her legs, she could not even feel them. She could not feel anything!

The water slipped over her head, muting the shouts from Stiles and Derek.

_“Get her!”_ she thought she heard Derek roar at Stiles before she sank, but it seemed too melodramatic to be real. The chlorinated water burned her eyes and she saw Derek’s limp body being held up by Stiles’ kicking legs. The shotgun floated down next to her, out of ammo and out of reach.

How long could she hold her breath? How long before her body overrid her mind and forced her to take a breath, even though she knew it would fill her lungs with nothing but water? Blood mixed in with the pool water in a thin red mist from her stomach, but she did not even feel it. No pain.

Ears ringing, lungs screaming. She couldn’t take it much longer. Bubbles slipped out her nose, but they became sparse as her system used the little oxygen she had left. She closed her eyes, biting her mouth shut, but it was getting harder and harder and she-

Something crashed into the water and Joe’s eyes opened, half-expecting to see the creature’s glittering sharp teeth. Instead it was Erica with her blonde hair around her in a halo. She grabbed Joe under her armpits, even though Joe couldn’t feel it. Only Joe’s functioning balance nerves told her they were going up.

She gasped in a desperate gulp of air when they breached the surface. Her wet curls laid plastered over her face and she tried to shake her head to get them off, her arms still floating uselessly in the water. Nose clogged,

“To be clear,” Erica’s voice came from right next to her ear, “this doesn’t mean I like you.”

“You don’t even know me!” Joe protested and coughed up more water. She managed to sling her hair away and the disgruntled snarl told her it had hit Erica instead. Well deserved, even if she had just saved Joe’s life.

“Your dislike of me is only based on internalized misogyny,” Joe gasped again to get more air in, “that have skewed your notion that we can exist as,” Joe sputtered when a splash of water hit her face, “mutually empowered individuals because,” she coughed, “it upsets the patriarchal hegemony of society!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Erica shrieked in her ear. “I don’t like you because of how you treat Derek!”

“That’s what I just said!”

“Oh my GOD!” Stiles’ shout echoed in the pool hall, overpowering even the screeches of the creature. “Really, guys? You’re gonna do this _now_?” Joe tried to tilt her head to look at him, but her neck was basically limited to just holding her head up. “Erica, I’m gonna go for the phone!”

“No, no, wait!” Derek shouted, but Stiles wasn’t listening. He pushed Derek over to Erica before diving under, swimming hard towards the pool edge. Joe’s head dipped under water as Erica was forced to make a grab for Derek before he floated down.

“Oh God,” Erica grunted and Joe bobbed back up to the surface. From what she could gather from her position, Erica had one arm around Joe’s chest and one around Derek. She heard the splashes of Erica kicking her feet to keep all three of them afloat. Werewolf strength or not, it was taking its toll.

Derek coughed up water and the proximity of the sound meant he was probably right behind Joe. Unable to turn her head, Joe’s eyes twisted as far as they went in Stiles’ direction. He had grabbed the phone less than an inch away from being swiped up by a large clawed hand.

“Hurry!” Erica shouted and Joe’s head slipped back under when the girl apparently lost her grip. She sailed down alongside Erica and Derek’s bodies. Joe tried to move her arms or legs or anything, but nothing listened. She could not feel anything from her neck down. This meant that she _did_ feel a clawed hand grabbing onto her hair and hoisting her back up.

“Aargh, no hair pulling!” Joe yelled when Erica had her back over the water.

“Oh, sorry, I should just let you drown then?” Erica bit back. “Did you get him?”

The last part was addressed to Stiles who gave his phone a disgusted look. His face said it all. Scott wasn’t coming. Derek groaned and the sound drifted away from Joe, presumably as Stiles took over again.

“Can’t you fight it?” Joe asked Erica as they contined to bob in the water.

“Not like Scott!” Erica protested, fear laced in her voice. “I’ve only been a werewolf for like a week! I’m not strong enough!”

“Get Boyd!” Derek’s voice sounded far away, but it ran across the large hall. “And Isaac. The three of you together, you can do it.”

Erica’s breaths came in heavy bursts. “What about her?” Whatever Derek answered was lost as Joe went back under water and when she came back up, Erica protested intensely. “No! I’m not leaving you to drown!”

“Shotgun,” Joe coughed and her head bobbed when Erica shifted her grip. “My shotgun. I got ammo in my pocket.”

“It’s at the bottom of the pool!” Stiles pointed out.

“I can hold my breath long enough for one of you to get it,” Joe said and hoped it was true. “If we can weaken it, Erica should be able to take it!” She hoped that part was true too.

“I can’t-” Stiles gasped for air. He did not have werewolf strength or stamina and he’d been holding Derek afloat for hours now. “I can’t hold both of you.”

“Erica can throw me to the floor, it’ll cause a distraction.” Derek protested through sputters, but Joe ignored him. They were both out of the game, it was all down to Stiles or Erica. “It’s our only chance!” Joe shouted, mostly directed at Erica. An Alpha was supposed to make her stronger, right? Stronger than Scott had been when he was newly turned. It could work!

Erica swallowed and said: “Deep breath.”

_“Erica, wait, no!”_ Derek roared, but Erica had already dropped Joe and dove for the shotgun. Joe drifted down again as Erica swam next to her. Eight feet down, the shotgun lay glinting at the bottom of the pool. Erica’s hand closed around it and she grabbed Joe on her way back up.

“Is it even gonna work?” Erica asked, out of breath and she whipped her hair back.

“Just make sure there’s no water in the barrel,” Joe gasped. She wanted to rub her eyes, clear her nose, but without working arms it was futile. “Get the ammo, come on!”

Erica grunted with effort of holding both Joe and the shotgun while simultaneously searching Joe for more shotgun shells. “Which pocket? Left or right?”

“Uhh-”

“This one or that?”

“I can’t feel which pocket you’re in!” Joe screamed and Erica growled while presumably patting Joe down. She eventually produced three more rounds that she put in the shotgun under Joe’s directions. “Keep in mind that it’s fast, so let the barrel trail it maybe a foot further than you’d normally fire.”

“Normally? I’ve never fired a gun before!” Erica and Joe both went under as the girl tried to get the gun the right way up. “Uah! I need something to hold onto if I’m gonna be able to get you out!”

Joe’s view was limited to the glass dome in the ceiling. Water splashed over her face as Erica swam towards the diving platforms.

“Guys, it’s coming for you!” Stiles shouted from behind them. The water in Joe’s ears kept her from hearing the creature’s soft hisses and the clicking of its claws. Joe whispered encouragements to Erica instead whenever she managed to spit all the water out. Plan was simple: throw Joe to the floor, shoot the thing when it’s distracted, multiple times if possible, then kick its ass using whatever werewolf-stuff Derek taught her.

Derek yelled at Erica to be careful. Joe coughed up more water, her taste buds saturated with chlorine. “You got this!”

Joe felt Erica’s deep breath — they must be close to the edge. “Ready?”

Erica did not wait for an answer. Joe’s vision shifted from the ceiling to a blur as she sailed from the pool to the far wall. She only heard her body hitting the tiles with a wet flop, but felt it when her nose crashed into the floor as well. Derek let out a harsh grunt from the pool and blood replaced the chlorine water in Joe’s mouth.

She shifted her head to the side and stared straight into multiple rows of razor sharp teeth. Joe could not even scream, but the creature screeched and the force alone made her eyes water.

With a loud snarl, Erica erupted from the pool with the shotgun ready. Her finger squeezed the trigger, multiple times, but no shots. The creature turned its head to peer at the newcomer, tail flicking. Erica squeezed the trigger over and over, now panic in her eyes. “It’s not working!”

“The safety!” Joe’s voice was muffled from her awkward position. “It’s a button behind the trigger!” Joe screamed when the shot rang out above her, Erica apparently figuring out the safety.

The creature howled, hurt and confused with multiple potential victims. Erica pumped the shotgun barrel — even though this was an automatic — and fired again, this time missing completely as the wall clock exploded over Joe’s head. The plaster drizzled onto Joe’s face and clouded her vision.

Growls, snarls and grunts from Erica; hisses, screeches and bellows from the creature. Panicked shouts from the pool— Stiles could not hold him and Derek up any longer!

All noises ceased half a second before a heavy roar erupted into the room. Joe tried to huff the plaster away from her eyes. It did not sound like Derek, so that left: “Scott?”

The new werewolf, presumably Scott, joined in on the fighting. Joe squeezed all the muscles she could reach, struggling and trying to get movement back into her body. She had no idea if it had any effect. Based on the sounds, the creature was still proving to put up a good fight against two werewolves. Joe used her forehead to twist her body over, but she could not even engage her core so she was stuck in the awkward position on her stomach.

She yelped when another figure flopped down beside her, but it was just Stiles. Soaking wet and gulping for air, he pushed the hair away from her face. “You,” he gasped, “okay?”

Joe nodded as much as she could. If he was out of the water, where was Derek? Completely immobilized, only her eyes darted around, seeing nothing.

Stiles flinched and threw himself over her at the sound of a large crash and what must be glass scattered over the floor. The creature screeched and Stiles’ breath came in short puffs, as if he was trying to keep as quiet as possible.

“What’s happening?” Joe hissed, but never got her answer. More sounds of fighting that ended in another crashing noise of glass shattering, but coming from above. Stiles deflated completely and laid on his back next to Joe, his rib cage expanding with several inches as he tried to catch his breath.

“It’s,” Stiles began, had to stop for a breath and swallowed, “gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was probably longer than it needed to be. Sorry, not sorry :) 
> 
> Thank you for the kind comments on the last chapter and thank you for continuing to read this story :)  
> Much love and I hope all of you stay safe and healthy!


	30. The Liar II

“Is that even a language?”

“How are we supposed to figure out what this thing is?”

Joe huffed from where she laid propped up in the passenger seat of her own car with the door open. “Guys!” The boys had her laptop out on the hood with Gerard Argent’s thumb drive connected. “Guys! Let me see!”

“Maybe it’s in code or something,” Stiles mused and she saw him scroll through whatever format the bestiary came in. He had asked her before if she knew what a bestiary was, obviously to prove some sort of point to Scott.

“Guys!” Joe yelled and Stiles rolled his eyes before putting the laptop into her line of vision. The venom still affected her — apparently it had taken Stiles almost three hours before he could get up again and he’d only been exposed through the skin, not blood like Joe. Scott had carried her out from the pool and laid her in the car while she waited to regain some sort of feeling in her body. The crusted blood around her nose itched and it was pure torture not being able to scratch it.

She squinted at the screen, Stiles was holding it a bit too close, but it looked familiar. “It’s a form of Latin.”

“A form?” Scott asked and she saw him briefly in the corner of her eye. “There’s more than one Latin?”

“Scott, I love you, but you need to take school more seriously,” Stiles said, saving Joe the breath. He asked Joe: “Can you translate it?”

“Give me internet, a couple of days and a gallon of coffee, then maybe,” Joe answered, still squinting at the text. Language was not her best subject. Not classical Latin, a lot of the letters were unrecognizable. Old Latin maybe? “There’s no pictures?”

_“It’s called a kanima.”_

Both boys straightened up as Derek approached from behind the car. Joe only saw him in the side mirror. He flexed his hands, only recently regaining his mobility, and was flanked by a partially dry Erica. At least her hair frizzed after being wet, Joe thought, as her makeup still looked pristine somehow. Unfair.

“You knew the whole time.” Stiles sounded disappointed.

“No,” Derek clarified and Joe strained her eyes trying to keep him in her line of sight. “Only when it was confused by its own reflection.”

One of the glass shattering noises during the fight had been a mirror. Scott looked contemplative. “It doesn’t know what it is.”

“Or who.”

Stiles snapped. “What else do you know?”

“Just stories, rumors.”

“South American,” Joe piped up. Her fingers were starting to tingle briefly, but no movement yet. “ _Kanaima_ , Caribbean folklore. Vengeance spirit.” Stiles and Scott gave her confused expressions. “Guys, this is _literally_ what I do for a living.” Ignoring their open mouths, she continued. “It’s supposed to be this spirit that possesses people and causes them to turn into deadly animals.” She swallowed thickly. “Anthropologists believe the myth comes from using some sort of snake poison to get into a frenzied trance.”

“I think it’s a bit more than a frenzied trance, Joe,” Stiles bit out and rubbed his still damp hair irritably.

“Yeah, well, obviously,” Joe murmured and tried to turn in her seat to no avail, she felt like an idiot talking to the side mirror. “Snake part checks out though.”

In every myth, there’s a sandgrain of truth...

“It’s like us?” Scott asked Derek.

“A shapeshifter, yes,” Derek confirmed from somewhere out of sight. “But it’s- it’s not right. It’s like a-”

“An abomination,” Stiles concluded and Joe recalled Professor Kane. _Some did not turn into what was expected._ She had thought that meant they did not go full wolf, not that they went full snake-monster instead. Joe assumed Derek nodded or gave some other non-verbal confirmation of Stiles’ words as she couldn’t see any of them!

Scott stepped forward and blocked Joe’s view of the mirror. “Derek? We need to work together on this. Maybe even tell the Argents.”

“You trust them?” Derek’s voice was flat and Joe squirmed further to turn around.

“Nobody trusts anyone!” Scott snapped and disappeared from view as well. “That’s the problem. While we’re here, arguing about who’s on what side, there’s something scarier, stronger and faster than any of us, and it’s killing people and we still don’t even know anything about it!”

Derek practically growled and Joe strained every square inch of muscle she could reach, trying to see them. “I know one thing. When I find it, I’m gonna kill it.”

Joe swallowed. Blue eyes. Killer of innocent. She squeezed her core trying to turn around to actually look at Derek bef-

_“Uaa!”_

Joe’s shriek broke the tense silence following Derek’s proclamation as she toppled over from the passenger seat. The asphalt came full speed towards her face before it stopped abruptly. It went in reverse as Derek, judging by the smell and the sound of an annoyed sigh, tilted her back up in the seat by the collar of her jacket.

“Sorry.” She gave him a tight apologetic smile through her wet coils of hair laying across her face when her head was against the headrest again. He did not actually roll his eyes, but it looked like a close call.

“You okay?” Derek seemed very aware of the audience as he studied her face, focusing on the blood around her nose and mouth.

Joe tried to smile and not just lose herself in his eyes, which at the moment were very much not blue. “I’d shrug and say yes, but you know...”

He brushed away her wayward curls from her face, his touch leaving a fiery trail in his wake. The gesture also sent butterflies scattering in her imagined stomach, almost like phantom pain. “You are without a doubt the most frustrating person I have ever met.”

His dark tone contrasted his gentle behavior and he shook his head in silent defeat before disappearing.

“Uh, here.” Erica popped up next and she gave Joe a nondescript look of displeasure. She laid the shotgun awkwardly across Joe’s body, looked like she wanted to say something, but changed her mind and left.

“Thank you!” Joe called after the pair of them, mostly directed at Erica. That left her alone with Scott and Stiles, both looking a little worse for wear. Both also looking a bit disturbed.

“You really weren’t kidding ab-”

“Shh!” Joe and Scott both hissed at Stiles. Unless Derek pulled another superspeed-stunt, he was probably well within hearing distance.

Stiles shrank down and whispered: _“Sorry!”_

“How’re you feeling?” Scott knelt down to Joe’s eye level as Stiles returned to the laptop, twisting his head almost upside down to see if the letters made more sense then.

With some effort, Joe wiggled her fingers. “I don’t think I should be driving.”

“I’ll take you home. I gotta pick up Mom from work. She got a last-minute call to cover a shift,” Scott said, but did not look like he was in a hurry to leave as he leaned his head against the doorframe. He sighed. “You ever get the feeling that no matter how fast you are, you can’t be everywhere at once?”

“You’ve always been there when we needed you the most,” Joe said and relished the small smile that came on Scott’s face. “I for one really appreciate all this life-saving you’ve been doing. Great work. Keep it up.” She tried to give him a thumbs up.

“Yeah, well...” Scott’s face darkened again. “You’ve saved more lives than me.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “If the kanima doesn’t know who it is, how are we gonna find it? How are we gonna stop it before it goes after someone else?”

Joe wiggled her finger in his direction in a ‘there-there’-motion. “You’re sixteen, Scott. This kanima-thing’s not really your responsibility.”

_No_ , thought Joe as Scott only shrugged, _it’s mine._

* * *

It took almost five hours before Joe could walk again. Scott carried her up the stairs to her room and put her in bed like an invalid. Gradually, the movement spread from her fingers to her arms, her upper body and then legs. By the end, she sat up and massaged her shins. Pins and needles pricked and scratched for another hour before she could _finally_ stumble into the bathroom to pee. She knew Scott would have helped if she asked, but she would rather ask _Derek_ than him at the moment.

The scratches on her stomach were shallow. Thin red welts, already scabbed and healing. She would have to keep an eye on them, in case they were infected, but they hardly hurt when she prodded the red tissue. Wonder if Derek felt that.

The stack of ungraded assignments waited for her and she went downstairs to make a large cup of coffee, put in extra creamer because she deserved it and went upstairs to work while the rest of the house slept. It had been a while since her last all-nighter, not that she felt she was running on a surplus of sleep anyway.

Professor Kane taught her students what psychological marks folklore leaves on a society. How it affects human behavior and where it originated. The _kanaima_ -legend was much like the werewolf-ones, because neither was restricted to a specific region or tribe. Almost every country in Europe had some sort of werewolf-myth, and the same was true for the _kanaima_ for South America. It was a known legend to both the indigenous people living in the Amazon jungle as well as the natives on the Caribbean islands.

Joe had never done much research on the topic herself, but she knew she had read a paper from one of the grad-students where they explored how different cultures incorporate folklore to explain recreational use of narcotics. If she recalled correctly, people seeking vengeance would invite the _kanaima-_ spirit into their body by using hallucinatory drugs.

Was the kanima simply a werewolf with an opioid addiction?

It was impossible to sort fact from fiction anymore. The world had been a lot simpler when she believed all of the folklore to be superstitious bullshit stemming from a need to tell stories for their own sanity. Now she knew _some_ of it to be real, but not all of it.

Neither Derek or Jimmy had mentioned making a pact with the Devil to become a werewolf and that was one of the most popular myths of them all, probably spurred on as an excuse for the church to burn people they didn’t like back in the 12th century. Like they still did in less enlightened parts of the world. Joe considered that thought. If all the things that lurk in the shadows actually existed, maybe those so-called less enlightened had the right idea after all?

Joe had agreed to take the bestiary with her to Berkeley the next day, hoping maybe someone in the history department could translate it. It certainly beat the idea Stiles proposed on how Joe should seduce Derek to gather intelligence. Despite all the moral issues, Joe doubted Derek would fall for it if she was to suddenly show up on his doorstep with a flirty smile and a lot of questions. No, Berkeley was the better option.

She stuck to the heavy trafficated I-5, still reluctantly impressed with the Ford’s performance lately. Professor Kane was in her office and perked up when Joe appeared with the stack of graded papers. When Joe was on leave, Professor Kane had done all the work herself.

“Ah, Miss Delgado, excellent!” Professor Kane said and flipped through the stack. “Alphabetic order, yes, truly wonderful. Please, have a seat, I do wish to speak to you.”

That was a turn of events, Joe thought and slid down into the chair. She was supposed to be meeting Professor Walker in a few minutes. “Everything okay, Professor?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” the Professor said while searching through her crowded desk for something. “Ah! Yes, this is the midterm test. Can you look over the questions and give me your feedback by the end of tomorrow? I apologize for the short notice, but things have been hectic around here.”

“Uh, sure.” Joe put the handwritten test questions into her backpack. “Was that all?”

“Um, no,” Professor Kane admitted and took off her glasses. She used her long silk scarf to clean them, the slick fabric squeaking against the glass. The scarf reflected the red sheen of her knitted dress that had a definite look of homemade. “Sarah tells me you have moderated your research paper. While I do consider the workings of the law enforcement somewhat mundane, I can understand that was what you wanted.” No one but Professor Kane could refer to six mysterious deaths as mundane. “I have followed the news regarding Beacon Hills. Do you mind me asking, just how many werewolves are there in the town now?”

Trap, Joe’s mind screamed at her.

“Not sure,” Joe said and that was an honest answer. It was either five or six, depending how you looked at it. “Why do you ask?”

“Hm? Oh, no reason. Nothing important, at least. Just got a telephone from an old friend, that’s all.” Professor Kane’s gaze was focused out the window instead of Joe. Professor Kane was a lot of things, but she was seldom elusive. “Yes, well, thank you, Miss Delgado. Don’t let me keep you, I know Sarah is a stickler for rigid routines and thinks punctuality is next to godliness, or she would have, if she was not such an agnostic.”

“Actually, Professor, I have a question.” Joe ignored Professor Kane’s attempt of dismissal. “Earlier, you mentioned that Roman emperor who tried to make an army of...” Joe swallowed, but the word was not coming out of her mouth. “Remember? You mentioned that some turned into something unexpected. What...what could cause something like that?”

Professor Kane sighed deeply. “You certainly don’t go for the easy questions. The easy answer, however, is emotional issues. It can cause the actual shapeshifting to go wrong. Deep-rooted identity issues, maybe following trauma such as abuse or-”

“Bullying?”

“Certainly, that would be a classic example. Whether it’s looks or behavior, bullying is typically focused on some aspect of the ‘self’, and given enough time, the ‘self’ will be cause of objective hostility as well.” Professor Kane tilted her head and Joe was reminded that this woman was considered one of the best in her field worldwide. Not to be underestimated. “This does not exactly fit the pattern of your earlier line of questions. Did something happen?”

Joe shrugged, not wanting to discuss the kanima, and got up from the chair to avoid looking at Professor Kane. “Not sure. I’m gonna be late for Professor Walker. I’ll e-mail you the midterm comments.”

She ended up only being five minutes late and unabashedly used Professor Kane as an excuse. Professor Walker, looking striking in a pair of immaculate gray slacks and a silk shirt, rolled her eyes. “That woman considers time as imaginary as her folklore. Do you have your logbook?”

Joe had, but did not disclose that she had scribbled all the entries in this morning. Professor Kane had never required her to keep a log of anything. Joe was reprimanded for failing to secure interviews with the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department. Professor Walker did not consider the fact that police were too busy investigating new murders as mitigating circumstances.

“Your theories are decent, but you need more ‘flesh on the bone’,” Professor Walker said as she handed the logbook back. “Back up your claims with facts. Thank you, you may leave.”

Treading carefully around the campus, in case Alex and ‘Maddy’ were still strolling around, Joe made her way to the history department. She had taken a few classes there, as her field of cultural sociology was closely related to some historical events. The main difference was that where historians were concerned with what happened, sociologists looked at the why.

“Archaic Latin,” said the first available TA she came across for the Ancient History intro course. He barely glanced at her laptop. “Original alphabet. Very niche.”

Archaic was just a fancy way of saying ‘old’. So it was just Old Latin. Joe questioned the means of translating it.

“When’s the manuscript from?” asked the TA and sighed when she could not answer. “Then it’s near impossible unless you’ve actively studied it. Depending on the year it dates from, it could have been written either from right to left, left to right, or alternating between those two directions. Also, in the oldest texts, they didn’t differentiate between the g- and k-sound. Before A the letter K was used for these sounds, before O or V, Q was used, and C was used elsewhere. The letter G was later added to the alphabet to distinguish these sounds.”

“What?” asked Joe and the TA sighed once more. In conclusion, she needed a linguist. Berkeley did not have a linguistics-department. Joe left the building feeling both disappointed and slightly patronized.

Before heading home, she made a quick detour to the library. As much info that was available on the internet, it was really Eurocentric and she could only find a few anecdotes about the _kanaima._ Berkeley, being in California, had a pretty decent section on Latin American culture. The texts were in Spanish, but that should not pose much problem for Joe who’d grown up with most of her extended family conversing only in Spanish. For some reason, Scott had never learnt in fluently like Joe had even though both his parents were of Hispanic descent.

Cross-referencing the search words in the library database, Joe found some promising texts.

_‘Kanaimà, a term which refers both to a practice and the practitioners, is a form of mystical assault that ritually requires the extensive physical maiming of its victims...’_

Joe flipped ahead, skipping all the colonial bullshit that always accompanied indigenous legends. Missionaries had been the first to write down the stories passed down by mouth for generations and usually added their own commentary into the mix.

_“... as spirits of vengeance, the Kanaimà attack and kill their victims in retaliation for some injustice. In order to accomplish their goal, Kanaimà will possess the bodies of animals or people. In such possessed form the host becomes enraged, wild, and will violently attack it's victims...”_ Joe read aloud in Spanish, stumbling over the old grammar styles. “... _the Guayana are vague on the nature of such possesion, but have a proverb: ‘Si no muere, se vuelve loco’...”_ Joe furrowed her brows and whispered under her breath in English: “If he does not die, he goes crazy.”

Could possession mean bite in this instance?

Joe moved onto another book. _“Carib people seeking revenge for a slain relative, sometimes invited the Kanaimà spirit into themselves. This was considered a justified form of blood-revenge, permittable by law, as the Kanaimà will only choose murderers as its victims.”_

The last sentence stuck in Joe’s mind and even though she kept reading, it was futile. It will only choose murderers as its victims. She replayed last night’s events at the pool. Scott had a theory that the kanima was after Stiles because he witnessed the events at the mechanic’s garage, but that theory rubbed Joe the wrong way from the start. If the kanima worried about witnesses, it would have killed Stiles at the garage. If the Carib legend was true however, the kanima had been after Derek, not Stiles.

Blue eyes. Signs of a killer. And even if that part was highly exaggerated by Professor Kane, although Joe could not see why Professor Kane would lie about that, Derek _had_ killed Peter Hale. Did the kanima care that it had techically been a form of vengance itself? If you kill a murderer, the number stays the same.

And Jimmy had no lost love for Derek Hale. Now she just needed to find the idiot before Derek did.

* * *

Somehow, Joe found herself in front of the underground entrance to the Beacon Railroad Depot. She should have told Scott what she was doing, but then he’d ask why and she did not really know why herself. It felt...right? Joe shuddered at the soppy mentality. She blamed Aunt Mel for putting that whole ‘our family are healers’-grill into Joe’s head. Joe just didn’t want anyone to die.

Anyone.

Steeling herself and checking quickly if she suddenly had erupted warts around her nose or if her hair had leapt completely out of her half-bun hairstyle, she pushed the door open and went downstairs. Her steps echoed as she made no effort to be quiet and not surprisingly, Derek’s voice rang out when she pushed the second door open to the underground warehouse.

_“No shotgun this time?_

He’d probably heard her since she parked her car up on street level. Shadows flickered among the subway carts, but she could not see him. Instead, she just held her palms up to the empty place in front of her to show that she was indeed unarmed.

Because she’d been expecting him to suddenly appear out of the shadows, she didn’t jump when he did just that. He wrenched off some thick leather gloves and effectively halted her from going further down to where she guessed their main base of operation was. No sign of his betas, but that didn’t mean they weren’t around.

“No shotgun,” Joe confirmed and folded her arms awkwardly. She stopped instinctively at a respectable distance from him, before his smell got too pungent. “Can we talk?”

Derek raised his eyebrows in quiet amusement and crossed his arms slowly over his chest. “Now?”

“What, you’re busy?” she shot back and his face went back to blank nothingness.

Something moved behind him, on the floor, but Derek must have caught her looking as he took a step to the side, his broad shoulders filling her line of vision. He cocked his head towards his right and led her into one of the carts. She leaned against one of the seats while he did the same against the doorway, effectively blocking her escape route.

Joe took a deep breath, regretted it when her brain clouded with Derek-ness, and stared hard at the floor to regain her train of thoughts. She tried to find a way to start. “I, uh, did some research on the kanima.”

Derek said nothing and when she looked up at him, he only nodded to make her go on.

“Based on what I found,” Joe wrung her hands together, “while taking into consideration that some things are exaggerated, it might seem like the vengeance part of the myth holds true. Not sure about the spirit part, because those old missionaries used the word spirit for practically anything and everything.”

Still no response, just quiet contemplation from Derek. No flared nostrils, no tightened muscles, just a general sense of alertness. She licked her lips, nerves filling her system like buzzing bees.

“Um, also, if you analyze what happened last night...I think, or, uh, I _believe_ the kanima was after you.” Joe could not look at him, so she focused on her hands instead, rubbing them like they were going numb from the paralytic venom again. “The, uh, book said that the kanima only went after murderers.” She mumbled the last word, but imagined a guy with super-hearing would catch it anyway. She stuttered on, trying to explain. “And, you, uh, Peter, uh...”

“Revenging my sister does not count as a murder,” Derek said in a low voice, laced with anger. “By our law, it’s justice.”

“That’s not how the law works,” Joe mumbled, but realized just then that when he said ‘our law’, he was not talking about the US Consitution. She sighed and flexed her hand to stop wringing them. “Anyway, just, be careful?”

Without looking up, she heard him shift in the doorway. His voice came darker still, but not angry, not...exactly. “You’re worried about me, Joe?”

“I know what blue eyes mean, Derek!” Joe blurted out, unable to take the tension. She looked up to find him flexing his jaw. “So, just...please?”

Derek said nothing, but now it looked like he was too vexed to get words out.

“I don’t know the details, okay, I don’t know what it means for you,” Joe babbled on to fill the uncomfortable silence. “But you had blue eyes way before Peter, and I don’t think Peter would classify as innocent anyway, not that I’m sure what supernatural court of justice determines or coined that term, but I would guess it’s something related to the soul or something else and-”

“Who told you?” Derek cut her off. His anger must have drifted so far over that it had returned to neutral, flat, dead even. “Did you find Carter?”

“No,” said Joe, and even if she did, she wouldn’t tell Derek about it. She noticed Derek’s eyes narrowing and scoffed. “Stop sensing me! I’m not lying!”

“I know,” he said with infuriating calm, if she could call it that. She would have preferred him visibly angry. Pinching the bridge of his nose, rolling his eyes or curling his lip — he was just cold. “Scott knows you’re here?”

“No.” Joe hugged herself, as if Derek’s chill rubbed off on her. “I can’t say that I don’t care about it.” She let the sentence drift off, not wanting to anger him further by saying it out loud. “But I’m willing to hear your side of the story,” her voice dwindled to nothing, “if you’d tell me.”

He stayed quiet for so long that Joe wondered if he had heard her at all. When he finally answered, his voice was hollow. “It’s not what you think.”

“I don’t know what I think, Derek,” Joe said and pushed off from the seat with a sigh when it became apparent Derek was still his usual esoteric self. “Just be careful.”

If he was touched by her outright concern, she did not know, but he sighed and released the immobile stance. He stuffed the leather gloves into his back pocket, already sounding defeated. “Is there anything I can say or do to make you stay out of this?”

“You really need me to answer that?”

They held each other’s stares for several seconds before Derek looked away with a growling sigh. “Guess not.”

He moved away from the doorway to let her pass, but not far enough for comfort. Joe tried to hold her breath, but of course his arm shot out to grab her. He leaned close to her, either for dramatic effect or because he did not want his super hearing betas to overhear it. Joe barely heard it herself with her head swimming full of dopamine.

“If you find Carter, let me know.”

His husky voice was in between a whisper and an order. In a daze, she nodded, knowing she had absolutely no intention of doing that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some short kinda sweet moments in this chapter that I hoped felt in-character for both Joe and Derek. 
> 
> Can't wait to hear what you think. Thank you for reading and please stay safe <3


	31. The Runaway II

Joe knew she was not much to look at this early in the morning, but the way the Sheriff’s face fell when she appeared in the door of his office kind of stung. He rubbed his forehead tiredly and waved her in.

“There is still no reason to suspect any foul play regarding Mr. Carter’s so-called disappearance,” Sheriff Stilinski said in a voice that indicated he had not slept in the last few days. “McCall, Joe, there’s not much more I can do.”

“Say I have the make of a car and its license plate number,” Joe said undeterred by the Sheriff’s displeasure, “what would be the easiest way to find it? As a civillian.” For good measure, she added: “Legally.”

The Sheriff leaned his elbow on his desk and sighed. “If Mr. Carter has left on his own volition, you have no legal grounds to pursue him.”

“He owes me money.” Her words came fast and hard, before she could overthink it and spoil her bluff. He did not seem believe her at all.

“Joe, I just lost my best, no, my _only_ witness to the ongoing murder investigation. I have not had the best morning,” the Sheriff grumbled, mostly to himself. He got up with slow movements, the shirt wrinkly from several days’ wear. “Coffee.”

Joe darted up from her chair and followed the Sheriff out to the coffee machine in the hallway. “Listen, Jimmy made his living by running this blog about weird things happening. He was almost fanatically dilligent in posting on social media and internet discussion boards.” Joe danced around the Sheriff, trying to force him to look at her. “Even if he left Beacon Hills because of trauma or whatever, why would he give up what was essentially his whole life online? No posts, no comments, no trace of him anywhere on the internet.”

The machine sputtered out some weak pre-made coffee while the Sheriff leaned against it with one arm.

“I’ve checked the hospitals in the whole Bay Area. Same with jails and morgues. I know he took his car, because it’s missing as well.” Joe stayed on the Sheriff’s heel when he brought the coffee back to his office. “Look, Sheriff Stilinski, there’s been a lot of stuff going on in the county lately. As in your still ongoing murder investigation. I’m just worried something happened to him!”

The Sheriff stopped in front of his door without letting her in. The sigh he let out seemed to rack his whole body. “If you have the license plate number, you can contact the DMV to see if there are any violations attached to it. Accidents, unpaid parking tickets, stuff like that. Claim you are in process of purchasing the vehicle as a private citizen.”

“Thank you!” Joe exclaimed and did a small cheer inwardly. “Also, this is probably not the best time, but if you have room in your schedule for an interview for my paper, I’d be-”

The Sheriff just closed the door in her face.

“Okay, thank you!” Joe called through the door again and left the station. She wished she could say the visit to the local DMV-office was quick, but it was anything but. The clerk gave her a doubtful look when she listed not one, but two different vehicles to look up. They were two very different cars and very different price classes. Kate’s KIA turned out to still be impounded as potential evidence as the Argents hadn’t laid claim on it. Jimmy’s Nissan turned out to be for sale in the neighboring town’s used car dealership.

The clerk raised her eyebrow at that one, as Joe claimed she was trying to buy it from the original owner. “Must’ve gotten the numbers mixed up. Thanks though!” Joe said as she made her escape and jumped in her own car. Of course Jimmy would have changed vehicles. His default state was paranoia and the werewolf-stuff probably hadn’t helped exactly.

Without a phone, she had no choice but to drive out to the dealership. Joe thought she saw an SUV, almost looking like the one Joe saw in Jimmy’s parents’ neighborhood, but when she turned off to the dealership, it continued. Paranoia, Joe thought, not a good look on you.

The dealership sat on the side of the I-5 with one of those generic inflatable arm flailing tube men. Mud squelched under her boots as she trawled the lines of used cars, most of them coming under the definition ‘clunkers’, looking for a murky green sedan. Unfortunately, the sleazy salesman who wore a clip-on tie located her first and spent several minutes trying to make her consider another and more expensive model.

In the end, he relented and took her to the only 2008 green Nissan Sentra in the lot, an oddly specific request as he called it. Joe’s eyebrows raised at the state of it. Jimmy kept it pristine, like his apartment, but it had the definite look of being exposed to the elements for a prolonged period of time, even if the dealership had made an effort in cleaning it.

While the salesman rattled off specifics (“Less than 50,000 miles, automatic transmission and a decent 24 miles per gallon!”), Joe peered inside the car. Scratched seats, she noted, deep groves in the gray fabric interior. Her fingers trailed it. If you allowed for a slightly bigger hand, it looked like the result of claws. Werewolf or kanima?

“Ah, yes, uh, we reduced the price by a couple of hundreds. Shouldn’t cost you more than fifty, maybe sixty bucks to replace.”

Even Joe knew that was bullshit. Pine needles stuck in the door frame, rust spots on the roof...she circled the car and found moss growing on the bumper. “The guy who sold you this-”

“Oh, no, not a guy. We collected it as an abandoned vehicle.”

Abandoned. Joe straightened up after noting vines still entwined in the hubcaps. “Okay, listen, I’m gonna need the exact location where you found this.”

“Sorry, miss, but we’re not allowed to give out that kind of information,” Clip-On said with what he probably thought was a charming smile. It stiffened when Joe dug something out of her pocket.

“I’m gonna need the exact location where you found this,” Joe repeated and held up the stolen and possibly fake police badge from the Argent-deputy. Heart hammered while she waited for the shoe to drop — she was screwed if he asked to see some more identification.

Finally some luck, the salesman deflated. “Look, miss, uh, ma’am, we have an arrangement with the county to collect abandoned vehicles. We ran the plates — it’s not reported stolen or connected with any other violations, it’s a fully legal procedure.”

“I’m gonna need,” Joe said again, keeping her face a hundred percent straight, “that location.”

It took the salesman several phone calls, but he did produce the directions to a sideroad deep into the Preserve. She left him with a promise to contact him if she ever wanted to consider having dinner with him, and headed into the woods. No phone, no backup.

Not that she would need it. It was just Jimmy, right?

As she drove, her hand went down to under her seat to feel the comforting stock of the shotgun. Daylight dispersed through the tall foliage of the pine trees with the occasional interlude of birch this close to the mountains. The road got worse the farther she went and she was afraid the whole chassis would come apart with all the bumping around.

It wasn’t hard to see where they’d picked up the car. A large rectangular grove still indicated where the car had been left and the wilderness had not had time to reclaim the territory. Joe got out of her car, but left the door open. Just in case. She span around, the sheer size of the area overwhelming. She had joked about Jimmy living in a secluded cave eating rabbits, but she hadn’t in her wildest dreams thought it to be real!

“Jimmy!” she shouted, careful not to go too far from her car. Her voice echoed back to her. “ _Jimmy_!”

_Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy..._

“I just want to talk!” Joe threw her hands up, adressing the forest as a whole. “I’m not mad at you!” The mocking edge of the echo came back and she huffed. “Okay, I _was_ a little mad, but I’m over it! Jimmy!”

“Please! I just need to talk to you!”

The frustrating silence got the best of her and she threw her head back in angry, human roar. “AARGH!”

Not surprisingly, this did not warrant a response either. She kicked at the layers of leaves on the forest ground, but got no satisfaction from it. He’d been on foot from here, but how far could a werewolf travel on foot? He could be in Canada by now.

She stalked back to her car, pausing before getting in, in case Jimmy wanted to do a dramatic entrance. Nothing. The whole forest was quiet. No birds, no insects, nothing. Too quiet, almost like the time wh-

A rustle of fabric and her vision went black.

* * *

On instinct, Joe fought violently. Her assailant had covered her head with a dark hood, leaving her blind. Next thing she knew, her feet disappeared from under her and she landed on the soft bed of rotten leaves. She squirmed, but her arms were pulled back and locked together with a plastic noise she associated with zip ties.

“Hey!” she shouted through the hood. The thick dark fabric muffled her cry. Still on her stomach, she kicked her feet in hope of hitting something, anything! In seconds, the attacker — or attackers — had her feet locked together as well. Like an eel, Joe writhed on the ground, the wet leaves slithering over her exposed skin as her shirt rode up.

“Goddamn it, motherf-”

The air knocked out of her when someone hefted her into the air and onto a shoulder. She kicked, she screamed, she tried to knock her head into the person— not to hurt her attacker, but herself, so at least Derek would know something was amiss. She failed on all accounts.

Sputtering curse words, she calmed down only to reserve her strength. The hood across her face made it difficult to breathe. Whoever carried her did so with ease and the slight seesawing gait reminded her of horseback riding back at Alex’ grandparents’ ranch. The hood filled with her own emitted carbon dioxide and she felt herself become dizzy.

Her tailbone slammed against the ground when she was deposited like a sack of potatoes. Without being held in place, she flopped backwards. “Can’t - breathe.”

The hood lifted, but only enough to uncover her mouth and nose. She sucked in a deep breath of fresh mountain air, trying to find any reference points. Her bound hands made it hard to reach the ground, but it felt like sand and rock under the pads of her fingertips. A rustling sound meant her kidnapper was still nearby. She smelled burnt wood and-

“Jimmy?” she asked unseeing and turned her head in all directions. The rustling stopped, hesitated, before resuming. “Jimmy, I know it’s you, okay? I can smell the chamomile.” No answer, so she hopped around trying to get a comfortable seat while being bound both arms and legs. “Where are we? Are we in a cave?”

No answer this time either, but it felt like someone not wanting to answer instead of just ignoring her.

“God damn it, Jimmy!” she barked and tried to shake the hood off, but it was laying across her eyes completely stuck. “If you didn’t want to talk to me, fine, but why go through the trouble of bringing me here blindfolded? I _know_ it’s you!”

A sigh. And then, a voice she hadn’t heard in months. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Like what?” Joe asked instantly while her mind tried to piece together if he would be able to talk so clearly if his mouth was filled with razor-sharp teeth. “Jimmy, come on!”

“I told you to leave me alone!” Jimmy snapped somewhere in front of her. His voice sounded different, deeper, but it was still just Jimmy. The sound of a long inhale and he whispered something like: “ _Relax, release, ease...”_ and let the last word stretch on. He cleared his throat. “Now, were you followed?”

“No,” Joe said adamantly and shifted to get her feet more under her than to the side. She did not have core muscles strong enough to maintain balance. “No, no one followed me into the middle of the Preserve to your secluded literal man-cave!”

Jimmy sniffed. “It’s not a cave, it’s a cavern.”

Joe’s mouth dropped open. Here she sat, hogtied and blindfolded, and he wanted to discuss semantics?! She let out a howl of frustration and tried scooting towards his voice. “God damn it, Jimmy! Let me go!”

“No.”

The sound of a kettle whistling made Jimmy get up, judging by more rustling, and Joe almost dislocated her neck trying to get the blindfold off. She ended up toppling over, but instead of her skull crashing against a rock, a hand stopped her fall abruptly. Long hard claws grazed her scalp.

“Oh no, no, no,” said Jimmy and holding her head like a ball, he straightened her up. He manhandled her so she was propped up against something hard, most likely the cavern wall. “Wouldn’t want you to get hurt, would we?”

“Can you sound any more like a supervillain?” Joe asked and shifted to stop a rock from digging into her calf. He never answered, but she heard him pour water into a cup, presumably making tea. “What the hell are you doing here, Jimmy? What do you mean you don’t want me to see you ‘like this’?”

‘Are you a giant snake monster, Jimmy?’ was what she wanted to ask, but it seemed tactless.

Jimmy slurped at his tea. “I am not presentable at the moment, let’s just leave it at that. What can I do to make you stop harassing me and my family?”

“I was not harassing anyone!” Joe spat and tried to tilt her head back in case she could get a glimpse of him. Just a quick confirmation he didn’t have scales would do. “I just talked to your dad, like, once. He really is very nice by the way and those toffees were amazing.”

“Oh, the coffee-flavored ones from Christmas? Family recipe, they’re delish.”

“Just the right amount of gooey too, you know? Like it’s a little resistance, but not like you break your teet- _oh my GOD_!” Joe interrupted herself and tried to focus on the anger and the suspicion. “You tried to shoot me, Jimmy!”

A spoon tinkled against a cup. “Yes. But if it’s any consolation, I knew Derek would save you. It’s his instinct, he wouldn’t be able not to.”

Joe bit in the instant reply she had poised on her lips. As if — _as if! —_ Jimmy had considered Derek’s reaction an inch when he pulled that trigger. Sure, now it was a handy excuse, but she had seen Jimmy’s eyes. They had not been the ones belonging to a rational being. Instead of opening up that can of worms as she _was_ tied up and blindfolded in the middle of nowhere and at Jimmy’s mercy whether she liked it or not, she sighed deeply.

“Yeah, that’s partially what I want to ask you about.”

“About mates?” asked Jimmy and Joe couldn’t help the shudder that passed through her. “How is that skepticism serving you lately, Delgado?”

“Is it really a thing?” Joe asked, not acknowledging Jimmy’s question. “I know Derek thinks it’s a thing, I can’t see why else he would bother with it, I mean, bless the guy, but subterfuge is not his game. But is it actually a thing outside lycanthrope bedtime stories?”

“It’s really rare,” Jimmy said evenly and Joe strained to hear if there was a slithering sound to his movements. “I never thought I would witness it first-hand. Mathematically speaking-”

“Okay, I heard that one before. Once every hundred years or whatever,” Joe muttered into the solid darkness of her blindfold. “But I also heard it only happens between two already turned...”

“Turned?” Jimmy prompted.

“Turned...” Joe said slowly and her face underwent a lot of different grimaces. “W-we-wolves.”

“And you’re not a werewolf.” Jimmy guessed where she was going. “Hmm, yes, I can see how that’s problematic. That’s part of the old legend itself, that it can only be between two werewolves. The story goes about a girl and a boy being in love, blah blah blah, one is turned into a werewolf and the other eventually after a lot of plot twists, also chooses to become a werewolf and they discover their connection, their bond, stronger than ever, unbreakable, blessed by the moon, yadda yadda yadda.”

At least Jimmy sounded as disgusted at the premise as Joe was.

“Anyway, I e-mailed with this old Chinese lycanthrope back in the day who claimed the real reason it only was between two turned werewolves, is because the turning should be a choice. Something about how a forced turn has greater potential in going wrong. If all werewolves go around and senses their mate in human form, they would presumably try to turn them given a chance and that could end badly.”

“So...it’s not supposed to be noticeable for or with humans because it could end in genocide?”

“The abridged version, yes. Based on your lack of physical strength and perception, I guess you _are_ still human?”

“Through and through,” Joe muttered in defeat, not bothering to care about the slight insult. Her arms strained from the awkward position. “This is ridiculous! Can’t you let me go? The straps are digging into my wrists. Starting to hurt.”

“I can tell you’re bluffing, Delgado. Nevertheless, I’ll take you back to your car shortly. I’m sorry, but as I have told you, I am very particular about my privacy!” Jimmy cut off Joe’s growing protests. “Was that all for now?”

“No,” said Joe and decided to jump right into it. “When are you coming back?” Shuffling around, trying to pinpoint the approximate direction so she was facing Jimmy head on. “ _Why_ are you hiding out here? Peter Hale is dead, you know that, right?”

“By my estimation, I should be done in a few months’ time.”

“Done with what?”

“Let’s just say I have taken some steps to ensure my survival.”

“Like killing Kate?” It slipped out before she could stop it. The silence that followed was torture in her blinded state. She wiggled around a bit. “Jimmy?”

His voice sounded guttural. “Kate died of her injuries at the hospital. Why would I need to kill her?”

Joe sighed and explained what she had found when checking the surveillance tapes. Jimmy sucked air in through his teeth, at least that’s what it sounded like with her _still being blindfolded!_

“Derek,” said Jimmy and Joe rolled her eyes behind the thick fabric.

“I already asked him and he said no.”

“And you just believed his word?” Jimmy sounded surprised and Joe shifted around. It sounded a bit stupid when Jimmy said it like that. “Ah, well, of course, you would believe him instinctively I suppose.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m some sort of...” Joe struggled to phrase it and settled for: “Some sort of dumb animal that’s not capable of autonomous decisions! If anything, all my instincts are telling me to _not_ believe a word Derek says-”

“I think you’re confusing your instincts with-”

“-and _anyway_ ,” Joe shouted to drown Jimmy out, “if we’re being honest with ourselves, who’s more likely to splice surveillance footage? Derek’s not actually the definition of covert.”

“The Argents!” said Jimmy in an ‘eureka’-voice. “The closed casket at the funeral, it makes sense!”

“So you _were_ at the funeral!” Joe hopped forward on her bound knees. Jimmy had at least reached the same conclusion she had, but given their joint level of paranoia it was probably to be expected. “I knew it!”

“Yes, with the arrival of Gerard Argent, how could I not? The man is a legend, or more applicably, infamous.” His soft footsteps padded over the cavern ground. Barefoot most likely. “Oh, this is not good. Kate Argent alive, in any condition, is _not_ good.”

Joe kept quiet, not necessarily keen on reminding Jimmy exactly _why_ Kate was alive.

_“Hmm, hmm, I wonder how her mental state is? Scratches that deep by Alpha claws...”_ he muttered and his voice grew more distant, as if he moved deeper into the mountain. Joe used the opportunity to bend backwards, trying to blindly find the zip ties around her ankles with her bound hands. What kind of psycho brings zip ties with him to his secluded cavern in the wilderness? And a damn kettle?!

Keeping half an ear on Jimmy’s distant mumbling, Joe bent so far back as she managed and put the edges of the zip ties against each other. When she was little, she abhorred the training sessions her dad put her through every time he came home after a new case that ended badly. Who knew she would appreciate them so much now after Scott turned into a werewolf?

The friction between the ragged edges of the zip ties and tension in the material as she strained her hands and feet as far apart as they went — _snap_. Joe kept quiet for half a second, in case Jimmy heard it, but he sounded fully enraptured by his own thoughts. Joe wrenched off the stupid hood and blinked against the harsh glare from several camping lanterns in the-

Okay, Jimmy was right, this was a cavern. So high under the ceiling they could probably fit the entire McCall house in here. Joe’s mouth dropped open when she got up gingerly, rubbing her sore wrists. Guess where all that furniture from Jimmy’s apartment had gone? The kettle she had heard before was propped up on a gas-powered stove and some thick wires went from a small generator up to the ceiling lights.

Spinning around, her eyes landed on Jimmy. She let out an involuntary gasp and put her hands over her mouth at the sight. It was not scales, but in so many ways, a lot worse.

“Are-”

Jimmy let out a harsh snarl and leapt to the side and out of sight.

“-you okay?” Joe finished and managed to pry her hands away from her mouth. Her legs tingled from being so awkwardly placed for so long and she wobbled a bit when she took a hesitant step forwards. “Jimmy?”

_“I told you I wasn’t presentable!”_ His disgruntled voice came from somewhere in the shadows. His voice echoed. “ _Don’t laugh at me!”_

Joe covered her mouth again to stop the panicked noise from escaping. “I’m not! I’m so sorry, I just- I wasn’t expecting...that.”

Jimmy was definitely a werewolf. From the brief second she had eyes on him, she saw both the fangs and the excessive side burns and the slight protruding at the nosebridge. It was just more advanced than what she had seen on any of the other werewolves. His neck had expanded to over his head, making him almost hunchback, while his whole face had elongated like he was closer to a snout than a mouth. He’d been skinny, but now muscles protruded at odd places, almost like large swellings. Not symmetric either, just wrong.

The beard still covered most of his face, but in the visible spots he had red angry hives on his skin, and almost blisters on his hands and exposed feet.

“What happened, Jimmy?” She remained standing in the outer part of the cavern, near the remains of her restraints. “Why are you...” Not knowing if he could see her, she gestured to her own body.

_“I’m between states!”_

Joe took a tentative step backwards. Jimmy sounded agitated, and when a werewolf sounded agitated it made an impression straight to a more primal part of her brain. _Large predator bad, danger!_

His voice changed to a frantic whisper. _“Relax, release, ease. Relax, release, ease. Relax-”_

Taking another step back, Joe stumbled over what happened to be a stack of CDs. Meditation tapes. Oh, this was getting weirder and weirder. She tip-toed towards the brief spot of daylight she hoped meant the cavern entrance. Or exit, in her case, very much an exit.

_“Relax, release, ease. Relax, release, ease...ARGH!”_ The echo of something crashing and Joe saw Jimmy’s shadows move around deeper in the cavern, illuminated by the lanterns. Was he...growing?

Blue eyes, she realized and her breath hitched. Jimmy had blue eyes. Frozen in spot, too terrified to move, the shadow of Jimmy hunched over and he made some choking and growling noises. Between states. What did that mean? What states?!

Dust rained from the ceiling as Jimmy shouted: _“Get out!”_

Eyes wide, hands trembling, Joe shook her head. “No. Jimmy, do you need help?”

A blistered and clawed hand came around the corner, gripping the cave wall so hard that it crumbled like dust. “ _You...can’t help me.”_

“Let me try, Jimmy,” Joe said and her voice was tight from tears threatening to fall. “Jimmy, pleas-”

Jimmy roared so the bedrock trembled. Before she turned to run, she saw the glowing blue eyes appearing out of the shadows. She stumbled out of the cave, hearing the heavy footsteps of what used to be Jimmy hot on her heels. The cavern opened up into a secluded part of the woods and any direction was as good as the other as long as it was away from Jimmy.

Her pulse drowned out her own breathing as it throbbed in her ears. Still daylight, although dwindling, and twigs snapped as Jimmy crashed after her. Her boots slid on the wet ground when he jumped ahead of her, roaring in her face. He looked sick! Instinct took over and she dashed off in another direction, not looking back. That’s how the stupid chicks in horror flicks always got snuffed, when they turned to look back at their pursuer and stumbled and fell.

She was not stupid!

Pumping her arms, running for everything she had, she shrieked when Jimmy threw himself at a tree right by her side. The heavy trunk split with a loud crack. Joe jumped between the branches, wincing as they whipped her in the face, wondering in the back of her mind if Derek felt that.

By some miracle, she spotted a familiar shape through the trees. Her car!

Door still open as she’d left it, she threw herself in, gulping violently for air. Not thinking, only reacting, she slammed the door shut and locked it, like that would hold out a livid disfigured werewolf. At least the car started right away, like it always did now after Derek changed the engine. A sense of deja vu as her tires spat mud from reversing so fast, from when Jimmy took off from the Hale house, and she did a sharp turn to get back on the road.

Nothing followed her, at least not visible in the mirrors.

* * *

Halfway back to Beacon Hills, Joe could think straight again. Fingers gripping the steering wheel, sweat still running down her forehead, she realized that it was not a miracle she had found her car. He’d herded her there! The speed he possessed, she should not stand a change of outrunning him! As much as she cursed his name, she could not help but admire the deceit.

The pink skin around her wrists looked to be superficial damage at best. Just like the scratches on her stomach, they were already healing. Her clothes were in a worse state with thick mud caking her pants and her sweatshirt torn apart from branches. She picked a whole twig out of her hair, but gave up with all the pine needles and leaves. Home, shower, sleep. That order.

The McCall house was dark when she got there and the only car on the curb was Stiles’ Jeep. She furrowed her brows a bit, but hurried up the steps and unlocked the door before the neighbors saw the state she was in. The lock clicked open, but the door didn’t budge.

“Are you kidding meee?” Joe sang, not in the mood for anymore bullshit today, and rattled the handle. It sounded like something was holding the door in place, like if someone had shoved a chair under the doorknob. Swearing, she threw her shoulder against it and hissed at the sharp pain. Then she yelped as the curtains on the side of the door twitched open.

Stiles’ wide innocent face stared at her through the window. _“Joe?”_

“Oh my God, Stiles, I get that we made you a key, but you can’t lock us out!” Joe leaned against the window to stare at the idiot child. His wide eyes were more fearful than innocent she realized. They kept darting to something behind her, so much that she turned around. “Oh great.”

Derek, of course, stood on the other side of the road accompanied by all three members of his troupe. They just stood their immobile as she raised her eyebrows at the sight. She sighed and turned back around to Stiles. “What the hell is going on?”

_“Uhh...Derek’s here to kill Lydia because he thinks she’s the kanima-”_

Joe did not bother to hear the rest. Enough bullshit for one day! She marched straight to her car, retrieved the shotgun and loaded it as she stalked up to the idiot band of werewolves.

“You’re gonna shoot me, Joe?” Derek asked with a smug smirk when she was halfway across the road. “You know it’s gonna hurt you as much as me.”

“Worth it!” barked Joe and pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out in the empty night and missed Derek’s head only because he dropped to a crouch. A split second of wide disbelieving eyes before his eyes glowed red and his mouth opened in a snarl.

_“No!”_ he growled at the other three who were hovering around, ready to attack. Derek straightened up without taking his eyes off her. “Go. I got this!”

The betas rushed off. Locked in an impasse, she and Derek circled each other. His hands were out from his side, claws ready, and he twisted his head as if to hold back the full transformation.

“She’s sixteen!” Joe bit out, wondering how many times she had to repeat that phrase.

“She’s gonna get all of us killed!” Derek took a step to the side and Joe followed, keeping him at the end of her barrel at all times. “If she doesn’t kill us herself.”

“Then help her! Like you did with Scott.”

Her breathing came rushed through her nose, but no amount of pheromones was going to bite at her now. Her anger clouded everything else. She hoped Scott would be able to handle the betas, as long as she kept the Alpha locked in place.

“If you hurt me-”

“I know, I’ll hurt too,” Joe spat, wondering how it felt to be shot close-range by a 20 gauge shotgun. “Same if you hurt me.”

“The difference is,” Derek rushed forwards and grabbed the barrel, “I heal!”

He forced the barrel upwards and her next three shots hit nothing but air. His breath struck her face as much as the blast of air from the shots exiting as he growled. Joe let out a snarl herself, but before she could get her foot up to kick him in the balls, he ripped the shotgun out of her hands.

Derek span her around with one arm over her chest and it was like fighting a goddamn wall as she clawed to get loose. Okay, self-defence class, go! Joe screamed and stomped her boot down over his instep. The pain came instantly and they both grunted. Solar plexus, Joe thought, and jabbed her elbow into Derek’s rock hard abdomen.

“Ugh!” The impact made her lose her breath, but at least Derek’s grip slackened enough for her to spin around and slam the heel of her hand into his face. It never reached its target — Derek grabbed her wrist and his nostrils flared as he applied pressure to force her arm down, obviously feeling the same bone crushing sensation that Joe did.

“Stop!” he ordered, even though Joe already tried to kick her knee up into his groin. He managed to get both her wrists in a lock and flipped her over again to hold her in a tight bearhug. His voice came breathlessly in her ear: “Fighting me is only hurting you!”

“Worth it,” Joe bit out again and squirmed to slacken his hold. He was so freakishly stupid strong!

He sighed in frustration. “I wish it didn’t have to come to this.”

Something in his voice made Joe pause for a split second, long enough to feel a sharp sting on her arm. She looked down to see a mirror piece coated in something opaque and slimy. Her fingers were already going numb.

“Oh you sonnuvabitch.” She swayed in his arms as her legs gave out. Not this again! “Asshole.” While her torso was still working, she filled her lungs. “ _SCO_ - _mmm_!”

He covered her mouth with his hand and dragged her backwards. Where was Scott? Where was the cops? Did they not have neighbors?! She just fired off a shot in a populated area! Her body limp and useless, only her mouth was working except that Derek was covering it with his stupid big hand!

“Ah, are you kid-”

To his credit, Derek didn’t drop her when she clomped down on his finger. He tore his hand away from her bloody mouth, but the wound was already closing up.

“Asshole,” Joe hissed from her awkward position where he held her up. “You motherf-”

Derek licked the remaining blood of his finger. She heard a car door open and tried to shut down her nose when she realized he was putting her in the backseat of the Camaro. She tried, she really tried to get any muscles to listen, but the paralytic venom had already claimed her whole system.

Head flopping backwards, she still choked out: “Don’t!”

Derek’s face filled her vision, bright eyes wide with worry, but not remorse. “I’m sorry.”

The car door slammed shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Cause you're hot then you're cold...  
> Also, everyone's favorite weirdo is back! Sort of :)
> 
> If anyone was confused about what was on the floor of the last chapter, it would be Jackson as Derek had just tested him with the kanima venom and Isaac threatened him to retract his statement. Just so everyone know where we are in the timeline as Joe is too busy with her own stuff to notice everything ^^ 
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this new chapter and I can't wait to hear what you guys think so don't hesitate in leaving a comment!


	32. The Ex II

If anyone wondered, there was nothing remotely interesting about the interior roof in Derek’s car. Didn’t even have a pattern so she could count stuff. This was disappointing as it was more or less her entire field of view, unless she brought her eyes all the way to the side to glare at the driver’s seat. Shortly after Derek stuffed her in the car, she’d heard a screech that could only come from the kanima and next thing she knew, they were on the road.

“So was it or wasn’t it the girl?” Joe asked from her prone position in the backseat while Derek drove like a madman. Derek refused to answer. He had refused to answer any of her questions, insults or threats. He had the window open, obviously on the trail of the kanima. Joe’s body slid forwards when he braked, but he pulled a soccer-mom and held her in place so she didn’t tumble off the seats.

“Was-”

“Shut up,” he bit out and she strained her eyes to the side to see if he had his listening face on. He did. From the awkward angle, she could just barely see how his eyes flickered to her when he said: “Please.”

Well, at least he said please. Whatever he heard, he didn’t share it with her, but he did stop the car so that meant they were close. And she was incapacitated in the backseat of what now felt like a very flimsy structure. And her nose itched like crazy.

Derek made an annoyed sound and he turned around to face her. Face her as much as he could with her laying on her back only able to move her eyes. “What happened to your clothes?”

At least she didn’t have to worry about any bodily clues giving her away. “I fell.”

“You fell?” For some reason he still did not sound like he believed her.

“Repeatedly.”

“I didn’t feel-”

“I landed soft, okay?” Joe snapped and wriggled her nose, trying to scratch the incessant itch. “That was my day, why don’t we go back to discussing yours? Specifically how you were willing to kill a sixteen-year-old an hour ago? At our house?”

He made an impatient sound. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you were the one trying to blow its head off at the pool just a few days ago.”

“That was before I knew it was a person!”

“So you just thought there was a random reptillian monster running around?”

For a few seconds Joe could only blink, still stretching out her face to scratch that damned itch. “Yes! How is that less realistic than anything else going on? I’m sorry, I’m still not entirely sure where to draw the line here! ”

“There’s no random monsters,” Derek said with what she assumed was a sarcastic roll of his eyes that she couldn’t see. Again that pause, as if he’d stopped breathing to listen instead. “It’s close.”

“Wait, you’re just gonna leave me here?” she asked, as the thought just ocurred to her when Derek unbuckled his seatbelt. As much as she hated how helpless she sounded, it did not change the fact that she was, essentially, helpless.

“If it shows up you can just try to reason with it, seeing as it’s just an innocent sixteen-year-old after all.”

“You’re an ass.”

“So you’ve said,” Derek muttered and his shadow fell over her as he leaned into the backseat. His face hovered over hers with an indescribable expression. Indescribable as in it was probably the closest she had seen him to genuine joy. His bright eyes roamed her face and for a second she worried he would take advantage of her paralysis and she flinched when she felt his fingers touch her cheek.

Instead of leaning in for, say, a kiss, Derek lightly scratched the side of her nose.

“You had an itch,” he simply said to answer the obvious question shining in her eyes. His lip twitched in amusement. “Stay here.”

“Mentally, I’m giving you the finger right now!” Joe shouted, knowing he heard her even though he both closed and locked the doors as he got out. She had not planned to spend most of the day immobilized like this! Assholes, both he and Jimmy!

Forty-six cars passed wherever Derek parked, as she counted every time headlights lit up the interior. She kept expecting the snake-like head of the kanima to appear in the windows, tail flickering and teeth glinting. It never did. To pass the time, she tried to recall all the words of some rap song they kept playing on the radio.

_“...excuse me, you're a hell of a guy you know, mmmmthing for American guys, I mean mmm mmmm' eyes, I can tell you’re-”_ She froze at the sound of approaching footsteps, but it was just Derek who threw himself in the car. He did that thing where he put the hand on the back of the passenger headrest when he reversed. “Did you get it?” The tightly flexed jaw told her everything. “You didn’t get it.”

Without a word, he span the car around and got on the road again.

“You know, based on the blood revenge laws of the Amazonian tribes, the girl is well within her rights to target you since you’re the closest living relative of her attacker,” Joe said conversationally as Derek drove them somewhere else.

She had no idea how he was tracking the thing. He shouldn’t be able to catch a scent while driving, at least not to her understanding of his powers, but Derek was doing something to concentrate at least.

“It’s not the girl.”

“What?”

“It’s not Lydia.”

“Then who is it?”

Derek tore around to snarl at her. “I don’t know!” He thumped the passenger seat when she only raised her eyebrows. “Ask your cousin!”

“I’m sorry, I seem to be all tied up at the moment!” Joe shouted in direction of the ceiling, as that was where she was still stuck. “A state you so recklessly put- DAMN IT, DEREK!”

He’d stopped the car and rushed out before she was done yelling at him. Grumbling, she slumped back with her head, the only moving part of her body. Wherever they were, not a lot of cars were coming this way. She thought she heard music, this sort of steady deep bass, but it was too muted to make out any specific songs. Could they be near a party? Party meant people.

Joe tried shouting for help, but either the car was soundproof or there just weren’t any party people around. She tried the Kill Bill-shtick where she talked to her big toe trying to wiggle it. Nope. She tried flexing every muscle in her body, any she could think of, and she _thought_ she was doing it, but not getting any response so it was impossible to tell.

Until her fingers tingled.

It was hard to tell, but it could not have been as long as the last time she was paralyzed. Starting with the fingers, she wiggled them, gritting her teeth at the effort. Joint by joint, her fingers trembled at first, them moved with deliberation. She didn’t know if the venom was older, more diluted or if she was building a resistance, but it was leaving her system a lot faster than before. She still panted at the effort of getting her arms working.

“Come on,” Joe grunted and willed her lower arms to get up from where they laid like dead fish on her stomach. “Come on!”

It was slow, but it was movement! Joe’s breath came in short bursts, it was like trying to swim through syrup or as if an invisible force was holding all of the cells in her arm down. By the time she got her upper arms functioning, she heard screaming.

With a loud moan, she lifted her arms and grabbed hold of the seats and pulled herself to sitting. Legs were still long gone, but her torso was at least semi-operational. She got the door open and it let in the screams at intensified volume. A lot of them, panicked, running, this wild chaos you get when people are just trying to get away. Probably had something to do with those approaching sirens.

No sign of Derek.

Joe collapsed out of the car and hit the wet concrete with a smack. She was not sure how it worked with Derek when either of them were paralyzed. He had probably been fighting the kanima earlier that night and she had felt absolutely nothing. That could also just mean he was good at dodging blows.

Running footsteps came towards her, but unless Derek had changed into six inch heels, it wasn’t him. A pair of long legs in fishnet stockings passed by a few feet from the car. She called for help, but no one heard through all the chaos. More people followed, but all moved too quickly or too panicked to notice Joe sprawled out on the ground hidden halfway behind the car door. She pulled her legs out after her, flopping down like a stranded mermaid.

“Help!” she tried calling, but it drowned out by the stampede. All were dressed up, more or less, but some were explicitly dressed down and were shirtless or in really skimpy outfits. Joe frowned at the sight until she realized they were just a few buildings down from Beacon Hills’ one and only gay bar. A lot of the patrons were underage and probably worried about getting out if the police were involved. Or something truly terrifying had happened.

God, she hoped Derek hadn’t actually killed someone.

She pulled herself along the concrete, barely avoiding getting trampled, until she could see several ambulances and police cars parked in front of the main entrance to The Jungle. The flashing lights of the emergency vehicles went in tune with the neon strobe lights. Several stretchers were loaded up and the police had their hands full calming people down.

_“Wait is that-_ oh my god! Joe!”

A familiar voice rang out and next thing she knew, Alex, of all people, leaned down next to her. The alcohol on her breath hit Joe in the face as Alex tried to help her stand up. “Joe! Oh god, are you okay? _Can we get some help please?!”_

“Alex?” Joe’s brows furrowed while the sweat still poured off of her. Alex signalled to the EMTs that they needed help while getting Joe over to the curb where she could sort of sit down. “What-” She was about to ask what Alex was doing at a gay bar in Beacon Hills, but the answer was kind of obvious. “What happened?”

“I don’t know!” Alex’ voice was fast and hard, but the alcohol still mangled her speech. “People started dropping on the dance floor and next thing we know, we’re being hoarded out and the police show up! _Hey! Can we get some HELP?”_

Alex kept talking while an EMT came to check on Joe. “I didn’t see nothing because I was in the booth with Madds-”

Joe tried not to make a face.

“-but Raja, one of the bartenders, said he saw some guys with those UV-contact lenses fighting and then one of the girls says something about a dinosaur. It’s a mess, babe, I think someone’s been handing out bad drugs.”

“Miss, can you feel this?” the EMT prompted and Joe had to look at him pinching her calf before shaking her head. “All right. _Hey, Dave, got another one over here!”_ He moved on to check her eyes, tongue and other signs of overdosing she knew of. “Did you take anything tonight?”

“Uhh, no,” Joe said and it was technically true. She felt Alex’ eyes on her and tried to elaborate. “J-just had a Diet Coke to drink.” With the state of her clothes, she wondered if they would even believe she had been at the club. Seemed like they had bigger issues to worry about than her wardrobe at the moment though.

“All right, stay here, the police are gonna want to talk to you. Don’t worry, just routine,” the EMT said as he was called away to the next patient. “You got someone to take you to the hospital?”

Joe started to say no, but her mouth shut as her eyes widened at the sight of Scott, of all people, bounding down the steps from the Jungle. He went straight for one of the stretchers and leaned over to talk to whoever was being taken to the hospital in an ambulance. “Uhh...”

“I’m sorry, but we have to save the ambulances for our most critical patients.” The EMT moved on to someone completely paralyzed, but told Joe to take a cab if necessary. Alex leaned in the second the EMT was out of earshot.

“You got anything on you?” she hissed and Joe blinked, still paying more attention to Scott. “You just lied to that guy. You took something, right? You want me to get rid of it?”

“Nothing on me,” Joe said breathlessly and watched Scott run from the ambulance to Stiles’ Jeep. “ _Scott!”_

He turned around in a frenzy and spotted her in the midst of wandering policemen, EMTs and clubbers. Scott gave her a quick once-over, looking genuinly surprised to see her, and shrugged as to ask what she was doing here. She shrugged back, finding it hard to non-verbally communicate that Derek had drugged and kidnapped her. Scott hesitated and shrugged again, now apologetic which he mostly conveyed through his distraught expression. He seemed antzy to get back to the Jeep.

Alex had turned at Joe’s shout. “Is that Scott? Isn’t he still in high school?”

“He’s, uh, that age where you kind of wants to explore...” Joe started, but trailed off at Scott’s confused look even from this far away. “He should probably just go, now that I think of it.”Alex made a face at Joe, but at least Scott heard her and gave her a praying hand gesture in thanks before he took off. Still no Derek.

“Hey.” Alex tucked a messy curl behind Joe’s ear and she almost flinched at the sudden contact, focusing back on Alex instead of everything else. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting spazzy.”

Her warm hand against Joe’s cheek made her confused. It was warm, but not hot and Alex’ lips were less than ten inches away from Joe’s. She could see every glittering pore on Alex’ skin and the scars after various facial piercings she had regretted over the years. Her breath smelled of whiskey, Alex’ drink of choice. It was as familiar as it was unfamiliar. The aftermath of the intense day must be messing with her emotions, Joe thought. Hard to tell one thing apart from the other.

And Alex had a girlfriend, which was also a valid point.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Joe said and pulled away from Alex’ hand. Was her heart beating hard or was it just her imagination? She had never thought about her heartbeat so much since after meeting Derek Hale. Joe cleared her throat. “Where’s, uh, Maddy?”

As if suddenly remembering she was there with her girlfriend, Alex looked around. “She was DJ-ing, I think she’s being questioned by the cops since she was one of the only sober ones in there.” She sighed and sat down next to Joe on the curb with her legs splayed out. “I’m sorry, I should have called before coming here, this town’s too small. I just didn’t think you’d be at a gay bar-”

“Why, because I’m not gay?” Joe asked, unable to mask the resentment.

“ _No_ ,” Alex insisted in the direction of her own knees visible through her ripped jeans. “Because you don’t like going out. At all. And besides,” Alex sighed drunkenly, “you’re with that guy Derek now.”

That guy Derek...

Joe grimaced and turned around. As suspected, the Camaro was long gone. Not a stickler for large crowds that guy Derek. She and Alex sat in silence for a while in the midst of the chaos. An unfortunate byproduct of dating someone from within your friend group, is that if you break up, you either have to leave said friend group or learn to live with seeing your ex more often than comfortably. Joe had sort of gone for a mix of those two. She was fine seeing Alex a few times a year during reunions or special gatherings, but they hadn’t been just the two of them since that final argument where Joe took her stuff and left for Aunt Mel’s.

“So, uh, Maddy,” Joe started and tried to sound disinterested, “she’s a DJ?”

Alex blinked, probably feeling the aftermath of the booze pulling her down into fatigue. “Yeah, she does gigs all over the state. Pretty good paycheck for a part-time thing.” She pulled in a breath. “And Derek, what does he do?”

“Uh...” He did not, as far as she knew, have a day job. Guy lived in an abanoned railroad depot. Joe racked her brain for a fitting profession for Derek. “Modelling?”

“Nice,” Alex made a face, “if you’re into that kind of thing, I guess. You two, uh, been together long?”

Now Joe made a face. By now she had to keep the lie going because the alternative was just humiliating. “No. Just, uh, a few months. You and, uh, Maddy?”

The answer came after some hesitation of Alex’ side. It was somehow worse than Joe had expected it to be. “A while.”

It ended up being Maddy who drove Joe to the hospital, as she was sober whereas Alex definitely was not. Joe perched awkwardly in the backseat, as much as she could perch with her legs only somewhat working, while Alex lounged in the passenger seat. Conversation was kept to a minimum and Joe tried to not overhear the few things that was said. Maddy complained about a car following them, but Joe couldn’t turn around to determine if it was a sportscar, a Jeep or an SUV. As Maddy mentioned this for the third time, Alex sighed and checked herself.

“Just a car, Madds. Nothing to be paranoid over.”

When they reached the ER, it was clear Maddy had no intention of getting out and Joe tried to avoid hearing the exact words exchanged between Alex and Maddy.

“Thanks, guys, I can just...” Joe intercepted and pointed her thumb towards the entrance to the ER.

Alex turned around in her seat. “You can barely walk, Joe. Hold on, I’ll come with you.”

From what Joe could hear through the intense whispered discussion that followed, Maddy was _not_ staying to help Alex’ drugged up ex-girlfriend walk up some stairs. If Alex insisted on doing so, she could take a _bus_ back to Berkeley.

After Alex helped Joe out of the car, she supported her on the sidewalk while they watched Maddy speed away. “Sorry ‘bout that,” Alex said quietly and hoisted Joe’s arm further up on her shoulder. “Think the club-thing kind of spooked her. Got some steps coming, you ready?”

“I’m paralyzed, not blind,” Joe muttered, but steeled herself for the short steps up to the ER. The ambulances from the club had arrived before them and rushed the stretchers inside on the ramp. Alex helped her inside the waiting area and got her seated in a chair. When Alex took the seat next to her, Joe sighed. “My aunt’s working here, so you don’t have to stay if-”

Alex shrugged and got comfortable. “I gotta wait ‘till the morning for Madds to realize she was overreacting and offer to come pick me up anyway.”

Joe raised her eyebrows at that, but said nothing. As Alex had a degree in psychotherapy, she was eerily good at reading people. By the rate the ER was processing new patients, Joe would be back to normal long before they could do any tests on her. Unfortunately, with her name on file as a patron of the Jungle, she could not just ditch the hospital either — it would look suspicious.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Aunt Melissa cut through the waiting crowd in the ER and hugged Joe while she still sat in the chair. “Front desk tells me that my niece is here half-paralyzed? Jesus Christ, Joe! Were you at the club? Did you take anything?” Her eyes flickered to Alex, who in many ways looked more out of it than Joe did. “Hi, Alex. Didn’t know you were back in town.”

As concerned as Aunt Melissa was, she repeated the same steps the EMT had and checked for physical signs of drug use. At the repeated question if Joe had taken anything, she shook her head, because it was technically the truth, right? Derek had been the one to practically inject her with the venom...and then left her at the Jungle before she could even walk. Not that she blamed him, with the police presence it would only be a matter of time before the Argents showed up. Had he seen her leave with Alex?

Or, God forbid, had he been injured or paralyzed himself?

Aunt Melissa got Joe processed, took her blood and got one of the doctors to look at her. He ordered an overnight stay at the hospital, which unfortunately was in a multiple patient room with flimsy curtains between the beds to provide some semblance of privacy.

“Looks like the paralysis is leaving the body on its own,” Aunt Melissa said and flipped through Joe’s charts. “Rate seem to vary from person to person. Yours is going a bit faster than the guys’. The tox report’s gonna tell us more, but with the backlog, it won’t be in before a couple of days.”

The lights were off in the room and the sound of the other occupants breathing or shifting in their sleep echoed over the empty floor. Alex snored softly from where she laid splayed out in a chair next to Joe’s bed.

Aunt Melissa surreptiously tilted her head towards Alex, as if to ask what was up with that. Joe shook her head, not wanting to talk about it now. Not to mention, she did not know what was up with that. Maybe Alex wasn’t as petty as she thought? Or she had been drunk enough to be sympathetic and not drunk enough to be mean. Fine balance when it came to Alex.

Despite the fatigue lingering in her veins after the venom had evaporated or whatever it did, Joe could not sleep. Like most people, she wasn’t a fan of hospitals. Even if Aunt Mel had claimed she was pulling strings to void most of the bill, it seemed excessive to spend the night just because of some major paralysis. Hey, look at that, now she was thinking like the rest of the idiots aware of the supernatural happenings in Beacon Hills. It was easier to blame the hospital than her own mind that would not stop racing. She was trying to make sense of too many things where she had less than half the clues.

Unable to lie down, she slipped out of bed quietly to avoid waking up Alex. Instead of hospital gowns, she was in a pair of Aunt Mel’s sweats due to the state of her own clothes. Her shoes stood by the bed, waiting for her when she was released. She padded out of the room in her cotton socks and tried to open the door as little as possible to not wake any of the other residents. It was quiet in the hall, but the lights were on at least and she headed for the handicap bathroom, wincing at the pins and needles tingling in her calves. At least the toilet handles came in handy, no pun intended, and she was able to use it with those as her only assistance.

As she washed her hands, peering at her sullen face in the mirror, someone knocked on the door.

“Just a minute,” she croaked out and dried off her hands. Her hair looked like an actual bird’s nest and it would take some serious conditioner to get it back to its normal state.

Another knock.

“I said, just a minute!” Joe repeated a little louder. Tired, and a little malicious, she took her time in studying herself, picking out stray leaves still entwined in her dark strands.

A heavier knock.

“Oh my God, I said-” Joe opened the door and froze. Before she had the chance to say anything, Derek pushed himself inside the bathroom. She blinked at the empty space in the door and then at him. “Did you just listen to me p-”

“No,” he said to cut her off. Derek shut the door Joe was still holding and locked it.

“Umm...” The locked door worried her, but not as much as the red pattern crawling from his hands to his elbows. Dried blood stains. “That’s not sanitary, dude.”

Derek caught where she was looking and with a tired growl, he pulled up the sleeves of his sweater and Joe found herself for the first time attracted to a pair of forearms. Suppressing that thought, easier to do when dead tired, she watched Derek stalk over to the sink and almost slam on the faucet.

Something had gotten to him. Still muddled with the lack of sleep, she leaned against the changing station on the other side of the room. Derek focused on the task at hand and she studied him in the mirror; the deep furrow between his brows and the increasingly darker five o’clock shadow growing on his face. He lathered up his hands with soap, scrubbing as far up as the elbow, before trying to rinse. The water colored the porcelain pink.

“Did you kill anyone?” Joe finally asked. She should be more freaked out at Derek trapping her in a handicap bathroom in her defuddled state, but did not have the energy. She resisted adding the word ‘else’ onto her statement.

“Tried,” Derek said and he glanced at her in the mirror. “Failed.” He continued scrubbing his skin, to the effect where her own arms were starting to twinge. Whatever indication she made, he caught onto it and slowed his movements. “Sorry.” Before Joe could reply, he sighed and leaned one forearm on the mirror over the sink, resting his head on it. “I’m sorry.”

He was not apologizing for the harsh scrubbing transferring to her. Seeing as this was the first time Derek had apologized for _anything_ , Joe kept quiet and just stared with big eyes. With gentler movements, Derek resumed cleaning his hands without looking at her.

“You get that this thing’s dangerous, right?” he asked.

“You’re dangerous,” Joe pointed out and instantly regretted it when she saw his shoulders flex. She hadn’t meant it like that, just on the general basis that all werewolves were inherently dangerous. “I’m sorry, I-”

Derek shook his head and she shut up. He wiped his hands and chucked the used paper into the bin before leaning forwards on the sink. “I thought I had it.” She saw his hands tighten around the edge, the way his muscles flexed, how she knew he could tear the whole contraption off the wall if he wanted. “Did you talk to Scott?”

Joe shook her head.

His head still hung over the sink as he sighed. Finally, he pushed himself off and turned to look at her properly. He did not keep her fixed in his stare, rather shifting his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“What are you gonna do if I say no?” Joe asked before thinking and watched Derek’s eyes go straight to her face, to gauge how serious she was. The tension built and she huffed while crossing her arms. “I really don’t appreciate being kidnapped.”

“I was only trying to keep you safe,” Derek murmured softly somewhere in the direction of Joe’s left elbow. His brows pulled together. “I thought that if I could keep you out of the way while I foug-”

“And I don’t appreciate you trying to fight my cousin all the time,” Joe cut him off. “Or killing his friends! Or making my decisions for me!” The last part slipped out and she grimaced at the dark scowl he made. “If I’m stupid enough to go running after some giant snake monster, let me! And I’ll let you know if I need help.”

“Really?” he asked, eyes finally landing on her face instead of everywhere else. He did not sound like he believed her. “You would?”

The intensity made her bravado falter. “I mean, maybe.”

He took a step towards her with a rimrod back. “Do you promise that you’ll let me know if you need help? Scream, shout, call, whatever?” When Joe only retreated instead of answering, he pushed on: “Do - you - promise?”

He looked like he just barely managed to hold himself from grabbing and shaking her. Whatever had happened tonight had left him more thrown off his game than she’d seen him.

Joe bit her lip. “Do you have a choice here, Derek?”

At his confused expression, she shook her head, a lump pushing up her throat, not knowing how to explain.

“Why are you trying to keep me safe?” she asked and blamed the adrenaline crash for the tears that sprang. Tears that gave Derek that unmistkeable male expression of wishing he could sink into the ground. “Are you doing it because you care about me or because you feel like you have to? Or worse, because you literally can’t help it?”

Joe tried to draw a breath. “I guess it’s your instincts or whatever, but can you ignore them? If you tried? Do you have a choice about the way you-”

_feel about me?_ She snapped her mouth shut before she could finish her question. It made her sound soppy and melodramatic and like a lovestruck girl. Leave feelings out of it.

“It’s complicated,” Derek said and Joe used both hands to wipe tears away from her face. That wasn’t a ‘yes’. His brows furrowed as if he was trying to grasp some impossible concept. “Do you want me to ignore them?”

“I want you to do things because _you_ want to. Not because you feel like you have to.” Joe huffed and pushed the wayward curls out of her face. “I know I’m not like you and maybe there’s some things I don’t know or can’t know because of that, but I don’t think it’s fair for you to keep running after me because of some stupid story.”

The tears ruined the effect of her speech and she sniffed heavily and wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of Aunt Mel’s sweatshirt. Derek kept quiet for a while. Joe just felt sorry for him. He kept running after her, saving her, helping her, all because of some unnatural connection he felt between them. It was not fair for him. He deserved a choice.

“If you didn’t insist on jumping headfirst into every dangerous situation you can find, I wouldn’t have to keep running after you,” he said after a while, the hint of an uncertain smile on his lips. It disappeared as quickly as it came, leaving Joe to wonder if she imagined it. The hard expression that replaced it was in stark contrast. “If you want me to back off, say so.”

“I want,” Joe said again, wondering if they were speaking two different languages, “you to make decisions for yourself.”

Derek’s eyes flickered to the side. “I need a yes or no, Joe.”

“What?”

“Do you want me to back off, yes or no?” he asked and she got the impression he was paying more attention to her body language than her words. They were definitely not speaking the same language. Even worse, she did not have the answer to that question.

“I don’t know, it’s complicated...”

“Because of Alex?”

“What? How would this be about Alex?”

“I didn’t mean Alex specifically,” he said and the pace he used indicated he was not sure how to phrase it. “Is it because you like girls?”

Talk about ignoring the issue here. Joe couldn’t help herself and let out a short laugh that burst the tense bubble left by her earlier words.

“I’m not gay, Derek.” She laughed further at his dumbfounded, or maybe even relieved, expression. “If it isn’t obvious, I just like people, okay? I’m not picky about gender or stuff like that.” Or even species, as it turns out. “Relax, you know I think you’re hot.”

Again, a twitch in his jaw, barely detectable if you weren’t paying attention. For a while they sat there on each side of the bathroom, her leaning against the changing station and him on the sink. His brows furrowed as his head tilted to the side.

“Why do you smell of chamomile?”

If he could smell the chamomile, he could definitely smell whatever nerves that question brought up. “I, uh, I’m trying to quit coffee.”

“I don’t need to listen to your heartbeat to know you’re lying about that.”

There were more ways to lie. She cleared her throat and pushed off from the wall, gesturing vaguely to the empty space between them. “Is this real, Derek? This mate thing. How does it work? Are there rules? Is it permanent?” Joe ran her fingers close to her scalp, tangling them in her messy curls. “Why us? Like, why did this happen?”

By now, his sigh was as expected as it was familiar. “I don’t have the answers to all of that.” At some point, he’d crossed his arms, but now he held one hand out to her, sleeve still rolled up. “You tell me if it’s real.”

Hard to say if it was a challenge or an olive branch. Keeping her arms folded, she looked at his hand. A part of her wondered how it could be calloused when he had supernatural healing ability. Another part of her wondered what would happen if she took that hand in hers. The feeling from the coffee shop almost made her skin tingle just at the memory. She’d touched him after that — hell, just earlier this evening she’d tried to fight him and even if he didn’t have the werewolf strength it would have been a futile battle. But those touches had been fleeting and accidental or she’d been too occupied with something else to notice. If she took his hand now, what would she feel?

By the time she was halfway to sorting out her thoughts, he dropped his hand to fold it back along with its twin over his chest, time obviously up. He looked at the floor. “You should get some rest, you’re exhausted.”

“There’s been a lot going on lately,” she said as an excuse and still stared at the empty spot his hand had been. Joe cleared her throat and rubbed her cheeks to get rid of the remaining tears. Satisfied she looked semi-presentable, she shuffled over to the door and unlocked it slowly. “I just want there to be a choice, Derek. For both of us.”

Derek made no move to stop her or any indication he’d heard her; he just stood with his sleeves rolled up, staring into the floor. “Just,” he waited for Joe to pause and turn around, “promise me you’ll call if you need help.”

“Dude,” she said, because she saw the annoyance in his eyes when she did that and right now she would do anything to cut the tension, “you can literally feel if I get hurt, right?”

Nothing but open honesty in his bright eyes as he glanced at her. “I’d prefer it not to come to that.”

“Fine, but since I’m currently without a working phone thanks to someone,” she half-smiled at his disgruntled look, at least it was better than the worry. Joe slipped out the door with a larger grin, “I’ll howl if I need you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess no one was thinking we'd seen the last of Alex, so here she is again. Not a 100% happy with the flow in the middle here, but I'm done trying to rewrite it.   
> Keep in mind that both Joe and Derek are under a lot stress now, so I'm hoping neither are acting OOC.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it nevertheless and I'm always looking forward to hearing your thoughts on the chapter. Stay safe and healthy <3


	33. The Lunatic II

As Alex predicted, Maddy did turn up the following day to pick her up from the hospital. Joe kept a respectful distance when they left the ER and did this awkward half-hug-half-handshake thing when saying good bye. Alex had woken up when Joe returned from her little bathroom talk with Derek, and they trawled the hospital corridors for some coffee before ending up in a pair of uncomfortable wooden chairs where they talked for the rest of the night. It had been...nice. No heavy topics, just the energetic discussions they used to have about normal stuff ranging from their studies to music to politics.

Aunt Mel listened to Joe explain this as she drove them both home, nodding with understanding and the obvious conviction that Joe was full of shit.

“Uh-huh, yeah, so it was pretty much like before you started dating?”

Joe sighed in relief that Aunt Mel got it. “Yeah, exactly, like before we got so involved, you know?”

“Yeah, that’s not a good thing!” Aunt Mel said and held up her finger to keep Joe from replying too fast. “That’s a red flag, right there. You can be civil, you can be angry, but you can _never_ go back to where you used to be, okay? Too much history. And besides, didnt’t you say she has a new girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” Joe said sullenly and slumped in the seat. “Maddy. The DJ who dresses like an extra in Dawson’s Creek.” She did not even know why she was jealous, if that’s what this was. She did not want Alex back. It was just easier to think about Alex than thinking about Derek.

She hadn’t told Aunt Melissa about the rave Alex had invited her to next weekend, where one of Maddy’s DJ-friends were playing. VIP-ticket available, if she wanted it, for her and Kelly who also happened to be at Berkeley next Friday to organize the reunion dinner that approached quickly. Joe had not asked if Maddy both knew and was okay with it. It did not matter, Joe had no plans of attending, especially not after Aunt Melissa’s outburst.

“Now, can we please talk about the fact that Scott’s failing two classes?” Aunt Melissa asked and Joe saw the strain in her neck that indicated higher than usual stress level. “I’m not gonna try and parent you. If you wanna go clubbing and take hallucinogens-”

“I didn’t take anything!”

“-that’s your perogative as an adult, but Scott is my responsibility. If he fails any of his midterms, they’re gonna hold him back!”

“What? What about summer school?” Joe asked. “I thought that was the default option. That’s what I did when I was in juvie.”

“No, no summer school,” Aunt Melissa said with an exasperated sigh. “The new principal is old fashioned. Can you talk to Scott please? I hate to hold it over your head, but it was our deal when you moved in that you were gonna help Scott with his homework. Please? I’m just gonna shower and get back to work. We still got seven of the guys admitted. The doc says you had lower levels of the substance in your system, thank God, but some of the guys are still down.”

Joe promised she would try and talk to Scott. He was in school, she hoped, as she hadn’t seen him since last night when he neglected her in favor of getting into Stiles’ Jeep. She wondered a bit about that. Derek acted like Scott knew who the kanima was. Derek also had blood on his hands, but claimed he failed to take the kanima out. Could he have injured it sufficiently for Scott to capture it?

Not it. Him. Her. A person, Joe reminded herself.

As Aunt Melissa headed straight indoors for a shower, Joe trudged to her car that sat right where she left it in the driveway. The doors were locked, but when she opened them to look inside, she found the shotgun placed under her seat. How Derek kept breaking into her car without leaving a trace she had no idea. At least he gave her the gun back. If that happened before or after she basically rejected him in the bathroom last night was anyone’s guess.

When she logged on to the Beacon Post website she had expected the top story to be the attack at the Jungle. Instead a handsome young face that looked vaguely familiar was plastered all over the screen. Jackson Whittemore, age 16, missing since last night. Police requests anyone with information to come forward.

Joe pushed herself back in the chair and stared back at the picture of Jackson Whittemore, age 16. Wasn’t he the one who used to date the girl Derek had been prepared to kill yesterday; Lydia Martin? Who also went missing for a short while after being bitten by Peter...No, this guy was the captain of the lacrosse team, right? He had no reason to want the bite from Derek.

Right?

Before she knew it, Aunt Melissa called out that she was going back to work. Joe gave some generic response, but was still lost in the news story. She had not seen this Jackson-guy since the night of Kate’s death. Well, he’d probably been at the last lacrosse game, but that was it. Derek had claimed three would be enough, so if he did bite this Jackson, it was before Isaac...

An e-mail alert brought her out of her trance. Matt Daehler claimed her phone was ready for pick-up. Finally! She agreed to just meet him at the high school when they were let out, that way she could corner Scott as well and try and talk him straight.

As she waited by the steps of the school, she wondered if this was how Derek felt all the time, surrounded by teenagers. She watched the high schoolers walk, run, skateboard and jump down the steps in their eagerness to get home. Joe shuddered. She’d rather kill herself than go back to high school.

“Hey!” said Matt Daehler when he spotted her. When he wasn’t in his lacrosse gear, he wore a leather jacket just like every other kid in town, but still had the large camera strapped around his neck. “Phone’s all done. Less work with the processor than I expected, so let’s call it an even fifty bucks.”

“Nice, thank you, this was an out of budget-thing,” Joe said and handed over the cash in return for the phone. She turned it over. It looked better than when she bought it at Craigslist. Joe nodded at the camera around his neck. “You the school-photographer?”

Matt laughed. “Yeah, no, not really, I just like taking pictures. Sometimes I’ll go on assignment for the newspaper. Got some really good ones of you from Kate’s funeral.”

“Really?” Something prickled in the back of her neck. “Uh, you knew her?”

“Who? Kate?” Matt seemed to be exaggerating his confusion. “No. No, not at all.”

“Sorry, you just said Kate instead of Kate Argent, like you knew her,” Joe said and cringed at how paranoid she sounded. Why would this high schooler know Kate Argent? Well, apart from the fact that Kate had an obvious thing for high school boys, but it seemed far-fetched she should return from the dead just for a little statutory rape. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

“No, it’s okay, I guess I’ve been hanging so much with Allison that I...” he trailed off and looked over his shoulder, where Joe’s focus had shifted.

“Sorry, I gotta- _Scott_!” she called at her cousin who came bounding down the steps. He froze at the sight of her, obviously in a hurry. Joe said goodbye to Matt and chased after Scott. “Hey!”

“Hey,” he said breathlessly. His eyes went from her, to Matt’s retreating back and her phone. “Oh, you got your phone fixed?”

“Yeah, why are you acting weird?”

“Hm?” Scott asked as he was looking everywhere but her. She found herself doing a parrot dance to establish eye contact. “I’m not acting weird.”

“Yes, you are,” Joe insisted and dragged Scott out of the way so they weren’t surrounded by high schoolers on all sides. He held onto his backpack like a lifeline, practically trembling to get away. “What happened last night?”

“What happened to _you_ last night?” Scott countered and Joe found herself raising her eyebrows.

“I tried to shoot Derek.”

“And?”

“Didn’t work.” Not that she had expected it to, she’d just wanted to slow him down. She crossed her arms and tried to appear stern to her younger, but much taller cousin. Something had bothered her about Scott and now she narrowed her eyes. “Where’s Stiles?”

“Uh, dunno.” Scott shrugged and Joe scoffed. Those two were attached at the hip. “Home, I guess?”

Joe waited for an elaboration, but it never came. He was _not_ looking her in the eyes. “You guess? Scott, what’s going on? Do you know who the kanima is? You do, don’t you?”

Scott was not a good liar and to his credit, he didn’t even try. “Yes. But I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” Joe curled her lip. Something clicked and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Because of Derek? You think I’ll run along to him with the intel?”

Scott just shrugged as he held onto both of his backpack straps and gave her a sad look. “I can smell him _all over you_. And I don’t care,” he held his hands up to stop her, “what you guys do, I really _really_ don’t wanna know, but I can’t...I can’t let him kill anyone.”

“I don’t want him to kill anyone either!” Joe hissed and tried to ignore the rising blush. She hadn’t had a chance to shower after their scuffle and her prolonged visit to his car. Maybe that’s why she didn’t react to him last night, because she was already too saturated with his scent? She did not want to think about how changing her clothes obviously wasn’t enough. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine, but can I at least help in any way? Does this have to do with that missing kid?”

Scott’s eyes widened. “What missing kid?”

“The one’s that all over the news, Jackson what’s-his-face. Hey! Scott!” Joe turned around with her hands out as Scott rushed over to his bike before she could react. With werewolf-speed, he jumped on and span away from the school. “Scott!”

He was already gone. She didn’t even get to the part where he needed to study so he wouldn’t be held back! Joe sighed and looked in the direction of where he’d gone, no longer visible. She thought they were done with the days he was keeping things from her. Joe shook her head and turned towards her car, but was instead face to face with Victoria Argent.

The high school was emptying out and only the last stragglers were still exiting the building. Victoria wore a form-fitting sleek dress and high heels, seemingly unbothered by the cold. Cold-blooded, Joe found herself thinking.

“Anything wrong?” Victoria asked with a thin raised eyebrow. Allison really got her looks from her dad, there was not much similarity between her and her mother. The red hair looked too vibrant to be real, even if it did somewhat match the pale skin. “School’s over, in case you hadn’t noticed. Because of the concerning events lately, the school board has been forced to ensure a stricter security around the campus. Do you mind me asking what you’re doing here? If I recall correctly, you’re not exactly in high school, are you?”

Victoria smiled, but it was nowhere near reaching her eyes.

“Uh, no, just picking something up,” Joe stuttered. She had barely seen this woman before, not since the funeral.

The woman’s voice was like sweet poison. “From Scott?”

“From Scott,” Joe confirmed automatically, although it wasn’t even true.

“Hmm,” Victoria said and Joe tried to indicate that she was in fact leaving now. Before she could, Victoria’s hand shot out and grabbed Joe’s arm. “Hang on, you got a little,” Victoria ripped off a loose thread from Joe’s sweater at the same time as she dragged her long fingernail across the thin skin on Joe’s under arm, “something right here.”

“Ow!” Joe exclaimed and tried to yank her arm back, but found it fully locked in the steel grip of Victoria Argent. The woman gave her a downright evil smile and they both watched a single drop of blood appear from the slash on Joe’s arm. Several seconds passed without Joe knowing what the hell was going on.

Victoria released her arm with another: “Hmm.”

“What the hell, lady?” Joe asked and clutched her arm back to her chest. It didn’t hurt that much, but it was just so weird! And who knew where that woman’s fingernails had been, she might need a tetanus shot!

“Sorry,” Victoria said, not remotely meaning it. “You have a nice day now. Say hi to your aunt!”

Looking over her shoulder at the immobile Victoria Argent, Joe went back to her car. She found a tissue to dab at the strip of blood. It could not have been an accident, unless Victoria had superstrength or something. It was almost like she had been waiting for something afterwards...

Joe had almost arrived home when she realized she’d just been werewolf tested. She was torn between being offended and flattered. When she looked in the mirror before hitting the shower, she realized she had the definite look of rolling around in the woods and that might have spurred Victoria’s suspicion.

As expected, it took half a bottle of conditioner to get all the tangles out. It still felt like stringy sea weed after rinsing, so Joe applied another product that was supposed to sit in for a while and pinned her hair up on the top of her head. The scratch on her arm was already scabbed over, so she figured she could do without a bandaid. With Aunt Mel at work and Scott being MIA, she at least had the house for herself, and could wander down into the kitchen in just her robe.

Scott acting weird, Stiles not at school and a missing kid...She hoped those shitheads knew what they were doing. At least Scott didn’t want to kill anyone, but she just hoped it didn’t end with him getting hurt instead. Or killed. Apart from a severed torso or a literal fire bomb, she did not know what it took to kill a werewolf. Kate shot Derek point blank that night, but he healed just fine. Then that time at the clinic, which seemed like a different life now, he had almost died from being shot in the arm with...what? A silver bullet? Something weird at least.

Not that she was actively trying to figure out how to kill a werewolf, but her run-in with Jimmy the other day left her frazzled. He had looked monstrous, even though she hated the melodramatic word choice. And not monstrous like Peter Hale did after shapeshifting into that wolf-creature, but monstrous as in sick, wrong, deformed. Between states...

And blue eyes. Joe groaned as she waited for her coffee to be done. It always came back to the blue eyes. Derek had them, Jimmy too. What did Professor Kane say? That it was something soul-altering about taking the life of an innocent. Super vague definition by the way, Joe thought and glared at the coffee maker. Even if Jimmy had killed Kate, that woman did not come under the category of innocent in any universe. So Jimmy had killed someone else. And so had Derek.

“Uggh,” Joe let out an animalistic sound and leaned over the counter with her head in her arms. Did innocent include animals? Like a bunny rabbit or something? Because when she thought of a truely innocent human, her mind only conjured up a little girl with pigtails and that was a little Grimm Brothers to be honest. And on top of it all, her initial reaction to this was that she wanted to talk to Jimmy about it. Stupid brain.

The doorbell rang.

Joe stood in the kitchen with her finished cup of coffee and tried to rationalize it. It was probably the neighbor looking for their cat again. Or mormons. Probably not a giant snake monster. It wouldn’t bother with a doorbell. She clutched the robe tighter around her, it was oversized anyway and reached way below her knees. Because she was a slightly paranoid creature, she put the security chain in place before cracking open the door.

She sighed.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Joe said through the opening to the stoic Derek Hale on the doorstep. “I blame the doorbell, that really threw me off. Usually you just appear inside the house. What’s wrong? Not wearing your break-in pants?”

Derek did not look particularly amused by her quips. He gave her a quick and sarcastic smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Joe said back with raised eyebrows, her fist now clutching the robe harder in case she suddenly was showing three inches of cleavage. When Derek did not say or do anything else, she cocked her head to the side. “Can I help you?”

With the chain in place, the door opened maybe an inch and a half. It was apparently enough to let Derek get a glimpse of her as she practically felt his gaze travel up her exposed legs until it reached the top of her head, where the leave-in conditioner still weighed down her hair. She was covered up, she _knew_ she was covered up, and still she felt naked.

“I’ll take your incessant silence as a ‘no’,” Joe said to cover up her jittery nerves and went to close the door. It did not move at all as Derek put his hand against it gently. Gently as in she could probably have more luck moving a brick house.

Derek let out a long breath before he looked up at her with flat expression. “You never answered me if I should back off or not.” It was not a question and he did not wait for an answer. “Are you hurt?”

“No, the paralysis wore off-”

“I don’t mean that. I mean your arm...” he trailed off, as if he was unsure of where he was going with this. His brows furrowed as well. “It was faint, but I felt it.”

“Oh right,” Joe said and she stuck her bottom arm out the door to show Derek the slight cut left by a sharp fingernail. Smiling, she announced: “Just a scratch.”

It backfired when Derek grabbed her arm and let his thumb trail the thin red line, sending sparks and butterflies and fireworks and everything straight to every pleasure center in her system. Her breath hitched and she yanked her arm back, aware of the fast heartbeat and equally aware that he was aware of it too.

“Uh, are you gonna come running every time I stub my toe?” she tried to joke, even though there was nothing funny _at all_ with the darkened expression that seemed to come over Derek’s face. Not dark as in angry, dark as in....dark.

“It feels different when you’re scared,” Derek said, but he had fortunately returned both his hands inside his jacket. A new one, Joe noted, as she had two of his up in her bedroom. He took another deep breath and put those bright eyes right at her into her soul. “What happened?”

Joe leaned her head on the doorframe and pursed her lips. It was no use in lying to him. “I got tested by Victoria Argent.” She grinned, still trying to lighten the mood. “I passed!”

“You need to be careful around the Argents,” Derek said matter-of-factly. “They’re-”

“Wolves in sheep’s clothing?” Joe guessed and her stomach somersaulted at the slight twitch in Derek’s lip.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Joe ducked her head down to not reveal her large stupid grin or the blush that was threatening to take over her face. Her rational brain tried to scream at her that she was acting like a ditzy school girl. She had literally just been racking her brain with worry about Derek’s blue eyes before he got here and it was like seeing him just threw all of her concerns away. It was not natural.

Exactly. Not natural.

Who knew how much this guy could tell from his enhanced senses, she thought, as his expression seemed to fall a little along with her depressing thoughts. Another sigh, one of his specialties, and he asked: “Do you need a new phone?”

“Got my old one back today actually,” she asked, torn between berating him trying to bribe her and grateful he was thoughtful enough to remember it. Sometimes she hated her own mind. “But, uh, thanks?” She cleared her throat and again closed her robe tighter, still afraid it would suddenly unravel on its own. “I’m sorry for trying to shoot you yesterday. I was just...really pissed off.”

“Yeah, I could tell,” he said evenly. “I shouldn’t have goaded you. We,” he drew in a breath between words, “respond to each other’s strong emotions.”

“I have no idea what that means. Is that unique? I mean, people respond to each other’s strong emotions all the time. That's part of being a human, at least I thought it was. Do you respond extra because of what you are? Are you responding to the fact that I’m nervous standing here half-naked with leave-in conditioner in my hair talking to you?”

The close-lipped smile was as fast as it was handsome. “Yes.”

Elaborative, she thought, and made sure the robe had not fallen open yet again. Just the small opening in the doorway was chilling her bare legs and she could feel the conditioner starting to drip in the back of her neck. It was not an ideal situation to have a lengthy conversation. Before her mind could interfere too much, she asked: “Derek, do you want to go-”

She was cut off when the phone rang behind her. For a second she stared at him as her mind unfortunately caught up with what she had tried to ask and instead went for: “I gotta, uh, take that.”

Derek gave her a slow nod, but made no indication of leaving the doorstep. She let the door stay open on its chain and went to pick up. Aunt Mel’s voice came through like a lightening bolt. She wanted Joe to bring her a change of clothes to the Sheriff’s station. Right now!

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Joe said and tried to put her back against the door, like that would help against Derek’s supernatural hearing. “Why, what’s going on?”

Aunt Mel swallowed heavily and it sounded like she was driving. _“Scott just got arrested!”_

* * *

The kid wrapped up in a deputy’s winter jacket had his head cocked sideways, obviously listening to what was going on in the interrogation room around the corner. Apart from the jacket, he wore a pair of gray sweatpants and socks, no shoes. Joe tried to avoid staring, tried to keep to the far side of the front desk at the station with Aunt Mel’s scrubs in a bag and her own hair still dripping wet. From what Aunt Melissa had managed to stutter out when Joe delivered her clothes, Scott did not only know something about the missing kid, he and Stiles were responsible.

They had kidnapped Jackson Whittemore, age 16, stolen a prisoner transport van and kept Jackson chained up for almost twenty-four hours. Joe finally remembered where she recognized the kid’s surname — his dad was the lead defense attorney in Beacon County.

As much as Joe tried to avoid staring, she found her gaze dragged to the boy nevertheless. Clean features, a light sprinkle of freckles that added rather than subtracted from his looks, and dark blond hair. Handsome, by all standards. He was also the co-captain of the lacrosse team, along with Scott himself, and probably a popular guy. There was only one explanation she could fathom as to why Scott and Stiles had done what they did. And as much as she stared, she could not see a sliver of similarity between the giant snake monster and sixteen years old Jackson Whittemore in tennis socks.

Joe looked away when Jackson turned his head towards her. As a close relative to Scott, it would not do anyone any good if she were to interact with the kid. Besides, his eyes disconcerted her. Cold and hard, like a battle worn veteran and not a high school kid. Emotional issues, she remembered Professor Kane say.

Loud voices drifted from the hallway to the interrogation room and Joe straightened up. Looks like the proceedings were done and Aunt Melissa was hounding Scott towards the exit with righteous frustration. They reached Joe and Scott’s head hung down in shame while Aunt Melissa ordered him out in the car. Scott did as told without looking at either Joe or Jackson.

“Restraing order,” Aunt Melissa huffed as they exited the station. She shook her head against the night sky and Joe saw how her hands shook as well. “Restraining order! I just...I can’t. I mean, I knew teenagers were difficult, but this is a new level. He’s failing his classes, he’s breaking curfew, he’s _lying_ to me all the time!” Joe kept quiet as Aunt Mel rubbed her eyes, tears of frustration probably breaking through. “And now a restraining order...did you know anything about this?”

Joe blanked at the sudden accusation. “Uh, no.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I work a lot. I know that’s not an excuse, but I’m out of the house most of the time, so I miss some stuff that’s going on with him. But you’re home, right? And you’d tell me if there was something going on with him? Beyond the missed curfews and homework?”

“I — uh — yes,” Joe stuttered, lying, and hating herself incessantly for it. “It’s just teenage stuff. He’ll grow out of it. I mean, I did...”

“I’m sorry, Joe, but I can’t wait for him to get sent to juvie before straightening his act,” Aunt Melissa said with a sigh. Joe tried to ignore the pins in her stomach, how the jab hurt worse than probably intended. “From now on, I want you to call me every time he comes in late. I want him to go to school, go to work, come home and do his homework and that’s it. No TV, no Stiles, no Allison.”

Joe kept quiet. She owed Aunt Melissa a lot. Her aunt had always been a solid point in Joe’s otherwise chaotic life. Even before she gave her a place to stay so she would not have to drop out of school, Aunt Mel had always had Joe’s back against her dad. And now she was lying through her teeth to protect Scott, her werewolf cousin, whose actions were close to giving Aunt Mel an ulcer.

“School, work, homework,” Joe repeated and took a deep breath. No room for hunting a kanima in there. No Stiles and no Allison. She remembered Derek’s warning, on how Scott relied too much on Allison regarding his tranformations to a werewolf. Derek had offered to drive her to the station before, but she reclined his offer, if only because she first had to sprint upstairs to rinse her hair in record speed. He’d left without any further comment.

Still out on the steps of the station, Aunt Melissa hugged herself against the cold and said out of the blue: “I think this is about Scott’s dad.”

“Uncle Raf?”

Aunt Mel rolled her eyes at the nickname Joe always had had for her ex-husband. He’d been Uncle Raf even before he and Aunt Mel got together. “Yes. Maybe that Harris-guy was right, maybe Scott’s just missing a solid role model in his life. Before, he had Rob, and now...” She stopped even though Joe had done her best not to react. “I dunno. Maybe all those fundamentalists are right too, maybe a kid needs both parents to not go off the rails.”

“Aunt Mel, you’re an amazing mom,” Joe said in an attempt at comfort, not her strongest suit. “Trust me, this isn’t your fault.”

Aunt Melissa gave her a wane and defeated smile. “Then whose is it?”

As her aunt went down the sidewalk towards her car, Joe leaned against the bannister with a sigh. Whose fault was it? Peter Hale, for biting Scott. Or Kate Argent, for murdering Peter’s whole family. Or whoever spurred on the feud between the Argents and Hales that obviously had existed longer than both Peter and Kate.

Right now, Joe just felt it was her fault, for being both a lousy niece and cousin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why, but this chapter feels like a filler-chapter and I'm sorry for that. Action's bound to pick up again soon though and I thought it showed a little character growth for Derek as in he's trying to respect Joe's boundaries a bit. Maybe, at least, I don't know. This week's been a mess and it's just Monday...
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you'll leave a comment to let me know what you think :) Much love!


	34. The Reborn II

Nighttime Beacon Hills was quiet and devoid of any disturbances. Joe found herself driving aimlessly around, waiting for the hours to pass until she was sure both Aunt Mel and Scott would be in bed. For some reason, she made several turns into the warehouse district, having to force herself to not pull over near the entrance to the railroad depot every time.

She snuck inside the dark house in the early morning and went straight to her room. Aunt Melissa’s disappointment, Scott’s obvious frustration, Derek’s whatever-it-was — it was too heavy for Joe. As the older one, she felt responsibility for Scott, but it was kind of hard telling a guy with superpowers who lost control once a month how he should conduct his life. For some reason, he felt responsible for the kanima and like it was his job to stop it.

Joe knew she needed to talk to him, but he seemed to harbor some distrust from her because of her involuntary affiliation with Derek. It was a mess and Joe buried herself in her Berkeley-work to escape it all. It brought her deeper into the events with Kate and Peter and the more she read, the more convinced she became that they would not have been able to pin all of Peter’s murders on Kate if it had gone to trial. At least that made it more likely that Kate actually was dead — why would the Argents smuggle her out of the hospital without putting up a bigger fight otherwise? They obviously did not lack funds. Joe had done some sleuthing and had a whole folder on all the different properties the Argents owned through various shell organizations just in this state alone.

As she was saving different online bulletins about the murders, the Beacon Post updated their site with the news of another death in Beacon County. Still early, they did not release many new details, but according to this the attack happened up in the Preserve. One man dead, one other person survived and admitted to the hospital. The site did not list if the survivor had any injuries or, perhaps, was paralyzed from their neck down.

What struck Joe the most was the location. It was not that far from the backroad she took when looking for Jimmy, and that meant it was not that far from Jimmy’s hide-out. With all the murders happening in Beacon County now, the police were obviously keeping their cards close to their chest based on the level of details. Investigation ongoing, any witnesses please report, blah blah blah. They would not release the identity of the body either, passing it of as respect to the next of kin. Alarm bells rang in Joe’s head. Could it have been one of Argent’s goons and this was a cover-up?

This thought process was what led her to the attack site. Before leaving, she had almost knocked on Scott’s door first, but decided against it. If Jimmy had killed someone else, she wanted to get all the facts first before Scott got involved. She had not even told Scott that she found Jimmy in the first place. The episode with kidnapping Jackson Whittemore unfortunately revealed something about their brilliant short-term plans and how it ended with long-term consequences. He was lucky it did not go on his permanent record.

The bleak sunlight filtered through the foliage and Joe followed the deep tire tracks probably left by cop cars and ambulances up to an old residential trailer. It was hooked up to an old clunker of a car and surrounded by police tape. The trailer looked worn and permanently placed at the location, judging by all the junk outside. It sat next to a small lake and Joe noticed some fishing gear laying down by the water. Joe parked her car and got out, a little surprised there weren’t any deputies to guard the scene. Either the technicians were done processing it or the sheriff’s department couldn’t spare the manpower. Joe put on a pair of plastic gloves nevertheless and a pair of plastic shoe covers too she had stolen from the hospital. No finger or boot prints.

With birds twittering and the bright daylight, it did not have the feel of a brutal murder taking place just half a day earlier. Joe slipped under the police tape and paid attention to where the muddied footprints seemed to congregate. It took her towards the trailer where the side window was completely smashed in. Blood on the broken glass. The ground was trampled down beneath the window in a radius around one barren spot where congealed blood had pooled onto the wet grass. This had to be where the body laid.

She found herself looking up at the trailer again and ponder on the strength required to throw someone through a window. Looking around and seeing no one, she gently peeled off the police tape holding the trailer door shut and slipped inside. Either the Argents did not pay well or this had not been hunters. Obviously a two-person home judging by the dishes in the sink — two cups, two plates, two spoons — it was surprisingly tidy. Not much in term of decoration and Joe imagined anyone living like this had sold of everything but the essentials already. More blood on the table beneath the broken window, drag marks by the looks of it. If the person had died from the throw, it would have been more blood. He or she was already dead when crashing through the window.

Feeling like nothing but a nosy trespasser, Joe crept further inside the trailer. No claw marks or anything to indicate werewolf or kanima. Instead she found the couple’s bedroom, judging by the male and female clothing, and a travel crib. Several unused baby’s clothes inside the crib and Joe stumbled back out of the room, sick to her stomach. The contents of the bathroom confirmed it — prenatal vitamins. A man and a pregnant female lived up here, in obvious poverty, and had been attacked last night.

Joe re-sealed the trailer door the best she could and tried to blink away the tears pooling in her eyes. An unborn child definitely came under the category of innocent. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind and instead followed the cables from the trailer to the generator. At the sigh of protruding wires, she knelt down, careful not to set her knee in the mud. Someone had snapped the cables in half. Clean break, so probably bolt cutters or something similar. Not claws or pure force, then she would expect jagged edges.

A regular human had done this. Or just a werewolf with a pair of scissors. Speaking of werewolf, the birds had stopped singing again. A prickle in the back of her neck, like she was watched.

She stood back up, willing herself to stay calm. “Jimmy?”

No answer, but the rustling of clothes made her turn around. A shadow skulking between the trees. All fear she had evaporated at the sight. “What the hell are you wearing?”

Jimmy, presumably, had dressed in a large leather trench coat, oversized slacks and most importantly, a ski-mask and sunglasses that covered his face. To top everything of, he wore an old-fashioned stingy brim trilby, like the hero detective would wear in a crime novel from the 60s. The overall impression was less scary than ridiculous.

“As I mentioned, my appearance is not yet up to par with societal expectations.” Jimmy’s words came muffled through the fabric, no cut-outs for either nose or mouth. His body still looked three sizes too big, but the shoulders seemed to have settled down to a more acceptable level and only made him slightly hunchback. The crime scene reflected in his sunglasses as he turned around. “What killed these people?”

“This person,” Joe corrected and folded her arms. “One dead, one survivor. You’re telling me it wasn’t you?”

“Hardly,” Jimmy said with a breezy voice and the leather of his coat creaked when he shifted with stiff movements. “I’m not a killer.”

“Blue eyes tell a different story.”

He paused, still a good twenty yards between them. His outfit may hinder fast movements, but he was still between Joe and her car, blocking of the immediate escape route. And still, Joe could not find the sense to be really scared of him.

“Ah,” said Jimmy and the sunglasses tilted to the side along with his head. “Derek told you about Paige.”

She fought with her own body to stay in control and not reveal the lurch her inner organs just took. Who the hell was Paige?

“Yes,” she said instead and hoped Jimmy would pass of her fast pulse as fear instead of lying. “So what’s your story?”

“It’s not what you think,” Jimmy said, unwittingly quoting Derek from before. “And more complicated than I think even Derek knows.”

Screw werewolves with their half-truths and mysterious sayings, Joe thought. Out loud, she said: “Try me.”

“Well,” Jimmy moved a bit further into the clearing where the trailer stood parked, “for starters, it happened before I was bit.”

He could be lying, Joe reminded herself, even though his words threw her for a loop. And still, that was not exactly a comfort. Before he was bit, he could not blame any supernatural forces that made him lose control.

With the ski-mask and sunglasses, she had no way of telling his expression. His body had slumped a bit, as if in deep thought. “I doubt that Derek mentioned it, but Paige was my friend too.”

_Was. Too._ The words stood out in Joe’s mind as she tried to make sense of it. Jimmy said it like it explained everything, but not to Joe! _Paige who?_ Joe wanted to scream, but kept it inside. Derek had definitely not mentioned any of that name at any point. Not that they had had that many heart-to-hearts lately — she had to face the facts that she hardly knew anything about the guy. By the sadness in Jimmy’s voice, she doubted it would be a pleasant conversation to pry further into.

“Your cavern is not far from here, right?” Joe asked to change the subject, her head too fuddled to deal with blue eyed werewolves for a while. Jimmy nodded and the sun glinted of the sunglasses. “You didn’t hear anything?”

“I was listening to my tapes,” Jimmy explained and Joe rolled her eyes. Meditation tapes for a werewolf. Not exactly the plot of a horror movie. He sniffed under his mask. “Strange. I can’t smell anything but humans...”

“Cable cut with some sort of instrument,” Joe pointed out and tapped the cut cord with her foot. Jimmy nodded again and he moved stiffly towards the generator. “But from what I can tell from the window, something threw the victim through it to break it completely.”

“Double layered safety glass,” Jimmy said and they both moved closer to the trailer, keeping the broken cable as an unspoken border between them. “Not windshield, which are designed to break in case of accidents instead of breaking the car’s occupants. A grown man is, let’s say, 180 pounds? Just to lift and throw that mass of the ground at that speed...” Jimmy straightened up and faced her. “Not human then.”

The kanima, Joe thought, and wanted nothing more than to tell Jimmy about it. Snakes did not emit any scents. But would it use bolt cutters? Probably not.

“What are you doing here?” Joe asked instead of revealing what she knew. Let Jimmy be the one grasping blindly for clues for once.

“This event brought a lot of police presence too close to my dwelling,” Jimmy said and let his gloved fingers trail the edge of the broken glass on the window sill. “I admit curiosity simply got the best of me. When I caught your scent, I realized I was not alone in that sentiment.”

He took a deep breath, probably picking up scents again. “Hmm. You came up here obviously suspecting me to be involved. Nothing else on this scene indicates supernatural interference, so why are the hunters heading our way?”

Joe tore around, but could neither see or hear anything. “Argents? Here?”

“Sound of the cars match their preferred type of vehicle,” Jimmy agreed and unbelted his leather coat to give him more freedom of movement. To run or to fight, she did not know. “Did you alert them of your destination?”

“No, I didn’t tell anyone,” Joe insisted and did not stop to think of how that was not a wise thing to let a probably deranged werewolf between states know. “They might have followed me, I guess. There’s been this SUV, I’ve been seeing it everywhere.”

“Hmm, very well,” Jimmy said and took another deep breath. Was he listening through his nose? “If you continue past the trailer, there’s another road that will take you down to the city limits without crossing the hunter’s path. It’s almost overgrown and hard to spot, so drive slowly. It won’t be on any map.”

Joe nodded, adrenaline raising and watching the far horizon carefully in case of SUVs suddenly appearing. “What about you?”

He had taken off his trench coat completely which left him in a tight black sweater with a high neck. No visible skin, but the protruding swellings and lumps were more discernible now. “I will make my own escape. Good bye, Joe.”

A rustle of leaves and he was moving with unnatural speed away from the site. Joe did not waste time and ran to her own car, fumbling through the plastic gloves to unlock and get in. Hopefully her tracks would not be too visible and she sped off, keeping to Jimmy’s directions. The road he meant was almost too narrow for a car and she jumped and jolted down to Beacon Hills, grimacing at the heavy stress her suspension was under. It opened up through some thick bushes to the main road and was practically invisible from this side. Jimmy really knew the Preserve well.

Joe pulled over when she reached the main road to do a quick check on her tires. If a branch got twisted in her hubcaps it could break something important. A lot of cars sped past her, probably heading for day-shopping at the nearby mall. She crouched behind her car to twist loose a small twig that probably wouldn’t do any damage, but would make an annoying sound. By sheer luck, she happened to glance up in the direction she came as a dark SUV broke the foliage she had just driven through.

They’d followed her.

How was that possible? That road wasn’t even on the GPS. Breathing hard, she got up slowly while the car stood blinking at the intersection, too many cars passing for him to slip out. Not Chris Argent’s car, but probably in his employment. Without looking at it, Joe jumped into the driver’s seat and with her heart thudding in her ears, got it into gear and waited for the smallest chance possible to get out from the road shoulder.

The SUV still stood blinking in the intersection, unable to follow as she threw herself out after a passing truck.

* * *

The police finally released the identity of the victim the next day. Sean Long, aged 24. From what Joe could find out online, Sean hadn’t done anything worthwhile with his life after winning some swimming championships in high school. With such limited online presence, it was hard to tell if there were any big gaps in his life story that would indicate prison time or something similar. His name did not appear in any other news articles about court room drama or murder investigations though. If the kanima only went after murderers, Sean was not a convicted one as far as Joe could tell.

His age meant he had gone to high school at the same time as Derek and Jimmy. Joe used the flimsy excuse to get out of the house and headed for the warehouse district, to the abandoned railroad depot. If she could work up the nerve, she wanted to ask about this Paige as well.

_“You know, this isn’t an open house,_ ” Derek’s voice rang immediately as she pushed the heavy door open to his underground lair. He appeared from one of the subway carts while slipping on a rib-knit sweater. The damp edges on his hair meant he had probably just had a shower or something similar. Maybe the old wardrobes of the depot were still functional?

Derek sighed at the sight of her and she couldn’t blame him. Neither of them were in the habit of making social calls just for the hell of it. And he could probably smell that she wasn’t there to seduce him. “What do you want?”

“The murder up in the preserve,” Joe said and unfolded the print-out containing a picture of the victim. “Sean Long. By his age, he would have been a year or two ahead you in high school. Know him?”

Derek kept his eyes on her, but accepted the piece of paper and glanced down. “I know of him. Why?” His eyes narrowed. “Is this you running after a giant snake monster again?”

“No.” Joe took the picture back and stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans. For once, she was not wearing pajamas or sweats in Derek’s presence and she even had her hair down instead of in a bun. Maybe a hint of makeup, but nothing obvious — she hoped at least. “Not really.” To avoid his disbelieving gaze, she looked around. “Where’s the kids?”

_“I’m here!”_ came Isaac’s voice drifting from one of the carts. Derek looked to the side, annoyance visible in his flexed jaw. The voice echoed when Isaac continued shouting: _“The others are home.”_

Derek rolled his eyes and nodded his head towards one of the carts at the far end of the warehouse. It looked to be most intact and someone had taken the time to weld steel plates across the plastic windows. The same someone probably also wired the overhead lights that flickered on when Derek flipped a switch. Too focused on the murders, Joe followed Derek inside the cart before considering the consequences.

This was obviously Derek’s cart.

She froze only a few feet inside. Spartan decorating, with just a camp bed in one corner, a few stacked boxes and a big suitcase serving as a table, several books laying next to the bed and a chair that’s prime function was storing Derek’s clothes. A guy’s room, basically, but that was not the problem. The problem was the smell.

If she thought Derek’s car was bad, this was a thousand times worse. If he slept here, spent time here, stored his clothes here- Joe’s breath hitched when Derek closed the door to the cart, effectively sealing them in here. Soundproof, she realized, to shield their conversation from prying werewolf ears.

Derek himself seemed, or acted, oblivious to her discomfort — or extreme comfort? — and hastily took all the clothes off the chair to give her a place to sit. The clothes landed in a heap next to the bed where he sat down himself, leaning on his knees. Mind racing, Joe perched on the chair, arms still folded and not knowing where to place her eyes. Under the bed, she saw more stacks of books. He must read a lot. Then again, what else was he supposed to do when hiding from the Argents?

“Joe?”

She glanced up and realized Derek had been trying to get her attention for a while now. Blinking, she nodded at him and he let it pass without comment.

“You think it was the kanima?”

“Maybe,” she said slowly and tried to breathe through her mouth. “I went up to the crime scene,” she ignored his irritated sigh, “and something lured Sean out of the trailer by tampering with the generator. The cable was cut. Scissors or bolt cutters, not claws or torn off with force.”

Derek nodded and leaned forwards again so that Joe saw the base of his neck where his damp hair had stained his sweater. Okay, Joe thought to herself, naked Derek in the shower is _not_ the best mental image right now. Unfortunately, that was like trying to not think of a pink rhinoceros. Now she couldn’t think of anything else. This was stupid. Kanima! Murder! Pregnant widow woman!

“Isaac’s dad, the hunter, the mechanic, Sean Long.” Derek counted the known victims on his fingers. “What’s the mechanic’s name?”

“Uh,” Joe checked her notes, so hot now she worried about sweating through her jacket, “Tucker Cornish.”

Derek’s brows furrowed as if he was trying to recall something. “I’m not sure, but I think there was a Tucker a year ahead of me. He tried out for the basketball team.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t- I don’t think about high school too much.”

For obvious reasons, Joe thought, referencing how he lost his entire family when he was a Junior. Burned to death by psycho Kate Argent. Joe tried to remember this instead of focusing on how her body was trying to melt into a puddle at Derek’s feet.

“Do you remember if any of them had anything to do with Jimmy?”

Derek did not look pleased at talking about him. “You think _he’s_ the kanima?”

She just shrugged. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“So you didn’t talk to Scott?” He scowled when Joe only shook her head, not trusting her voice at the moment. “He didn’t tell you who the kanima was?”

“No, he doesn’t trust me not to tell you,” Joe admitted openly, instead of voicing her suspicion of who at Scott at least thought the kanima was, and watched a myriad of emotions briefly pass Derek’s face. Panic, embarrassment, anger — she got it all.

He got up from the bed and paced the tiny cart. Flat voice when he said: “You told him then.”

“He got kinda suspicious after you dragged me into the woods,” Joe muttered and now tried to not remember how she had awoken in Derek’s warm arms, miles away from people, only his scent and him alone next to her.

“Uh,” she cleared her throat, “I had to tell him. The alternative theories they were coming up with were worse.” Her clothes felt too tight and too hot. Just like Derek’s body was too tight and too hot. Oh God, why was she like this? Joe blinked to make her brain function. “Was it supposed to be a secret?”

“Not like you think,” Derek said, almost quickly as if to ease her insecurities. He could probably smell it on her from miles away. “It’s not usually shared with anyone outside the pack.”

“Oh,” said Joe, not really listening as she was trying and failing to stop noticing him. This was his room, his space, and everything she looked at reminded her of him. All the questions she had wanted to ask seemed to just melt away. Her eyes searched for something neutral to focus on, but landed on his bed instead. A narrow camp bed, it did not even look comfortable. It was where he slept. How would he sleep? Shirtless, probably, but not fully naked. She could work with shirtless. She could imagine waking up in that bed barely wide enough for Derek alone, so they would be forced to lay so close she would practically be on top of him, shirtless and-

She realized Derek had both stopped pacing and was watching her. She wondered just how much her body betrayed her obvious arousal right then. His eyebrows raised. A lot then.

“I can’t do this,” she admitted and got up from the chair so fast it toppled over. She threw him a sloppy salute instead of waving like a normal person. It was either that or finger guns. “I gotta go!”

“Joe, you don’t hav-” Derek started, but Joe wrenched the door open and tried to replace all the air she had inhaled already. He let out a growling sigh and followed her, grabbing her elbow to pause her escape to the outside completely Derek-free fresh air. Even through the layer of her jacket, his fingers seemed to burn into her skin. “Joe, it’s okay.”

“I don’t think it’s okay!” Her voice reached a higher tone than she liked. “I think it’s weird! And embarrassing!”

Derek’s eyes darted to the side, as if to remind her that Isaac was still nearby.

“I don’t know what’s me or not.” Her chest heaved and she yanked her elbow loose from his grip. “ _Is it_ just me? I mean, obviously, because you’re not affected!”

Again, the glance to the side as he kept his voice low. “I am, Joe, I’m just better at hiding it. It’s the same as controlling the shift, using an anchor.” His eyes back on her, bright and open as if begging her to just calm down. “It’s okay-”

“It’s _not_ okay that the frickin’ moon decided to play matchmaker without checking the rules first! The odds are so uneven that I don’t even know where to begin. It’s like you can read my mind and I can’t read yours at all. Is this one-sided? I have no idea! I can’t _sense_ you like-”

Derek’s head turned to the side, red eyes flashing as he snarled. Joe turned too just in time to see Isaac’s curly hair disappear beneath a window. Joe took a deep breath, unwittingly inhaling a lot of Derek Hale again, and then made a harsh noise of frustration.

Throwing her hands up, at both Derek and the hiding Isaac, she could only say: “So weird. This is _so_ weird!”

At least Derek let her leave without making more of a scene.

* * *

“Monarchs have limited power. Which is an example of a limited monarchy? Absolute or constitutional?”

They were in Scott’s room after Aunt Melissa made it abundantly clear neither of them were leaving the house until Scott was prepared for his two midterms tomorrow. World History and Chemistry, the latter of which was a make-up exam that Aunt Melissa had begged Scott’s teacher to organize.

“Uh...”

“Okay, it’s in the word,” Joe said and rubbed her face with a sigh. As always, seeing Derek just left her in a state of solid confusion. “Absolute, right? That means it’s absolute and complete power. That means it can’t be...?”

“Limited,” Scott guessed and Joe nodded to give him some encouragement. “So, the answer’s constitutional?”

“Yes, exactly.” A positive about both World History and Chemistry was that the curriculum hadn’t changed too much and Joe had dug out her study guides from her time in high school. Aunt Melissa was not at work for a change, and they kept their discussions limited to the subjects in case she was eavesdropping to make sure they spent their time effectively.

“Democracy where citizens elect others or representatives to serve in government. Representative or direct?”

Scott scrunched up his face in thought and Joe repeated the question and choices, laying pressure on the word ‘representative’ both times. He finally got it and Joe moved on to the next. By this rate, they would be done with Chemistry sometime tomorrow morning.

“Which Greek city-state had a direct democracy?” she asked and this had four choices, so she gave him more time to think. His eyes glazed over after a while and she leaned back in her chair, in case he snapped out of it. She noticed him picking on his nails and she sighed. “Scott?”

“Huh?” He glanced up at her like he had forgotten she was even there. “Sorry. Can you repeat the question?” After doing that, including the options (“Sparta, Athens, Corinth or Delphi?”) he rubbed his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, I just- I don’t know.” He got up from the chair and paced the room. “This is useless.”

While she privately agreed somewhat with Scott, she tried to not let it show and tapped the chair he had left. “Come on, last chapter and we move onto Chemistry-”

He let out a sarcastic: “Great!”

“Scott, what the hell did you expect?” Joe slammed her binder shut and crossed her arms. “You committed a federal offense! You’re lucky to be grounded instead of packed off to juvie-”

Scott had a baseball he threw and caught with regular intervals. “Like you?”

“Yeah, like me,” Joe snarled and got up to snatch the baseball from the air. “And I’ve worked my ass off ever since to not fall behind, okay? So less moping and more revising please.”

“Yeah, right, because it was falling behind you worried about.” Scott sounded uncharacteristically bitter as he took the baseball back, tossing it in the air immediately. “And not your mom.”

You’re the adult, she reminded herself and took a breath before answering. “Mhm, and I was in juvie because of my mom too. You wanna keep going, Scotty?”

His palm smacked against the baseball as he caught it again. “I’m not like you, Joe. I can’t shut off everything else. Who cares about these stupid tests when there’s all this other stuff going on? Important stuff.” Another toss, another catch. “Those guys Derek turned. The kanima.” He caught the ball again and studied it. “Allison and her family.”

“Your mom’s important too,” Joe said and rubbed her eyes. “And if getting you to pass these tests makes me feel only slightly less guilty for lying to her, that’s what we’re gonna do. You know I’ll stay here all night if I have to.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s worked out for you before. Not like that ended in therapy or anything.”

Scowling, she let the comment pass without retaliation as Scott did finally sat back down. They got through the next chapter without incidence, even though the tension still ran high and obviously did not improve his ability to focus. In the midst of Chemistry, another multiple choice exam, Aunt Melissa knocked on the door and peeked inside.

“Pizza’s here in twenty minutes,” she said, voice still stern as if she was trying hard to make it so. “I’m leaving for work now, so...cash on the dresser.” Aunt Melissa scanned the insides of Scott’s room and Joe knew that suspicion she harbored. It had been the same when Joe thought Scott was on steroids. God, she had been an idiot. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Scott and Joe chorused sullenly and Aunt Mel nodded before leaving. The second they heard Aunt Mel slam the door downstairs, Scott practically slid off his chair. “We talked for six hours after getting home from the station. Six hours! And she’s still mad at me!”

“Do I have to repeat myself about the federal offense?”

“No, just, what choice did we have? Jackson’s the kanima, and even if we tried to kill him, I don’t think we can!”

Scott was up from the chair again, back to pacing. Joe remained sitting and waited for her cousin to be done rambling. Apparently he was already done distrusting her about Derek and revealed everything that had happened. Although it was probably more a case of Scott just having to talk about it than him trusting her with the information. Not surprisingly, Jackson was definitely the kanima, but he was controlled by someone else based on the translation of the bestiary.

“Wait, you got someone to translate it?” Joe asked with furrowed brows, recalling that History TA who claimed it near impossible. It turned out to be that Lydia Martin, who was apparently a genius in disguise. “So the murders are not random then? They’re targeted.”

“Think so,” Scott mumbled and slumped back on his bed. “Jackson doesn’t even believe us. He’s been nagging me about the bite ever since I got made co-captain.”

A cold feeling spread inside Joe. “Derek.”

“Think so,” Scott repeated. “But Jackson passed Derek’s test with the venom. He was knocked out. So it’s not like a werewolf, where I’m still me all the time, just enhanced. It’s like Jackson and the kanima are two completely different beings.”

“Co-existing in one body? How does that work?” Her knowledge about multiple personalities were limited, Alex was the psychology-major. “Who’s in control by default? What triggers the change?”

Scott shrugged. “We were gonna ask him tomorrow at school, but...”

“But you’re not allowed within fifty feet of him,” Joe finished, seeing where that was going. Both he and Stiles were supposed to maintain as much distance as possible when attending school. “Okay, let me know if I can help.”

Scott sat up from the bed and gave her a nondescript look. Okay, the distrust regarding Derek hadn’t disappeared completely then.

* * *

“You’re Scott’s cousin, aren’t you?”

Lydia Martin crossed her arms and looked Joe up and down, obviously not approving of Joe’s outfit. Unfair, thought Joe, as she’d even worn her good jeans and a clean t-shirt for the occasion. She had her laptop under her arm and tried to give the young Lydia Martin, who was not a werewolf even though bitten by an Alpha, a friendly smile.

“Yes, hi, my name’s Joe,” Joe said and held out her other hand for Lydia to shake.

Lydia did not uncross her arms, but lifted an eyebrow. “Your name is _Joe_?”

Something about the girl’s tone made Joe almost stutter as she dropped the hand limply to her side. “Uh, well, my name’s really _Josefina..._ ”

“Then why do you call yourself ‘Joe’?”

“Because...I like it better?” Joe answered with furrowed brows, wondering why she was trying to defend her own chosen nickname to this petulant high schooler. Lydia wore a knee-length flowery dress, even though they were in March, and had opened the door seconds after Joe rang the bell to their house. Almost as if she was expecting someone. After talking to Scott, Joe had gotten an idea that she hadn’t been able to put in the back of her mind. Hence why she was now currently standing on the steps to the Martin house.

“Hm,” said Lydia in a tone of voice that meant she did not particularly agree with Joe. She seemed to shake it off and perked up, although there was something definitely sarcastic in her eyes when she asked: “Can I help you with something?”

“Actually, yes,” Joe said and held her laptop in front of her as part evidence, part shield. “I heard a rumour you can translate Archaic Latin?”

Lydia blinked and raised her eyebrows in fascination. “Not what I’m most famous for, but sure. Are you also part of that online gaming community?”

“Yes,” said Joe quickly, glad of the lie, even though she did not know of its origin. “Can I come in?”

Lydia shrugged and opened the door wider to let Joe enter. Another distinctly upperclass house and some sort of tiny dog creature rushed around their feet as Lydia lead Joe into what had to be her room, complete with pink frills and a lot of girly decor. Joe found herself wondering if Lydia Martin was a bit like Professor Kane. Easy to underestimate based on looks alone. Lydia jumped onto her bed and patted the spot next to her to make Joe sit down.

“What monster are you trying to conquer today then, _Joe_?” Lydia asked sarcastically as she accepted Joe’s laptop with the bestiary pulled up. A teenager, Joe had to remind herself. A child. Joe was an adult. She had moved on from high school. She would not let herself be intimidated by the popular girl anymore.

“Uh...” Joe said and swallowed. Damn it. She could say it. Come on. “Were-”

“Werewolves? Okay, that’s cliche,” Lydia muttered and scrolled through the scanned pages of the bestiary, obviously looking for a headline that matched their search. “There’s like forty pages here. Can you narrow it down somewhat?”

Joe made a face at the number. “Um, okay, can you see if there’s anything in there about...” Her voice dwindled down and Lydia looked at her expectantly. “About, umm...”

“Umm?” Lydia prompted with beautiful wide eyes locked at Joe. “What?”

“Mmmates,” Joe forced out. This girl had to be the secret love child between Professor Kane and Professor Walker. She had the distinct no nonsense vibe combined with sheer brilliance.

“Mates?” Lydia’s lip lifted, but she shrugged and used a manicured hand to scroll through the text. She muttered as she obviously skimmed the text, a feat that should have been impossible with Archaic Latin as per the TA at Berkeley. “Mates, mates, mates...”

Joe’s ears grew hot and red.

“Okay, here’s something. Um, bound together by the moon, two parts of a whole. Strong connection.” Lydia squinted at the screen, one eyebrow up. Joe’s heart beat a little faster. Was this the answer she had been looking for all along? “It’s like a love story thing.”

“Yes, but is there anything about, like, practical stuff? A rulebook maybe?” Joe asked, trying to mask her eagerness. “Or is it just a story?”

“There’s something about sharing strong feelings, like pain and pleasure, but you should be careful hunting them together as a pair as they’ll be strongest then. Always try and separate the mates...” Lydia sounded doubtful, rereading a passage several times. Joe’s heart felt ten sizes too big in her chest, especially at the mention of shared pleasure. “Historically, true mates symbolizes the start of a new powerful pack.”

Now the blush was threatening to take over Joe’s entire body. “What?”

The girl blinked innocently up at her. “What?”

“A new powerful pack? Are you sure?” Joe repeated, even though the words fell awkward on her dry lips. That matched with what Derek said about his great-grandparents who first settled here in Beacon Hills. The Hales could have been powerful for all she knew, but that had not exactly ended well.

“Yes, that’s what it says,” Lydia said and closed the laptop, translation apparently done. “Are you gonna hunt a pair of online werewolf mates, Joe?”

“What?” Joe’s brows pulled together, before she even remembered that flimsy excuse. “Uh, no, I don’t...no.”

Somehow she managed to small-talk and thank her way out of the house, even though Lydia’s interest — limited from the start — waned into nothing almost immediately. Joe’s head swam, her mind fuddled, her breath labored. Not surprised, not really, but still a bit disconcerted with getting it confirmed from a truly neutral third-party.

A new pack. How would that work if she was human?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of this, a little bit of that... Not that easy to figure out so many mysteries at once. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter, even though it's jumping all over the place. As always, I can't wait to hear your thoughts so please leave a comment!  
> Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers and happy thursday to everyone else :)  
> Edit: I realize now it's wednesday, but the week's been so long it should have been thursday. Have a nice day regardless!


	35. The Gap

Professor Walker displayed a muted optimism about Joe’s paper, which despite all the other activities, was coming along now. She read aloud while the sun glinting through the window highlighted the deep shine of her sleek hair: “ _It is evident that rural environments are distinct from urban environments in ways that affect policing, crime, and public policy._ Not the most groundbreaking conclusion, Miss Delgado, but it’ll do.”

“ _We can identify at least four basic dimensions of meaning when it comes to rural environments: demographic, economic, social structural, and cultural._ Add a few sentences here on each dimension to explain what is meant. Remember that most of our papers should be readily available to the layman in law enforcement, not just academicals.”

She had a few other comments and then put the draft to the side. “Not bad. Missing the actual research part here though. Have you not been able to secure an interview with the local chief of police?”

“Uh, they’re still busy with ongoing murder investigations.”

Professor Walker raised an immaculate eyebrow at the plurality of Joe’s statement. “Very well. I daresay that your use of the national crime database supports your findings thoroughly already, although the case study would hold more weight with interviews. The Sheriff, deputies, state police, conservation officers, judges, attorneys, coroners...there’s a long list of people to talk to.”

“I’ll keep trying, Professor.”

Knowing Professor Kane was in a lecture, Joe hung around the edges of the hall waiting for her to wrap up after leaving Walker’s office. The midterms were this week and this had mostly been a Q&A by the sound of it. The Professor turned the lights back on when she finished her presentation and the hall filled with the sound of students getting up, talking amongst themselves and rushing to the next class. Joe watched them detachedly. With the courseload she had the first few years, she had _always_ been rushing to the next class. Scott’s comment from the other night came back to haunt her, about the reasons _why_ she had tried to cram three year’s worth of study into one.

“Miss Delgado, how can I help you?” Professor Kane asked when Joe stepped forwards through the mass of exiting students. After Joe had focused on Criminology, Professor Kane’s attitude had shifted to not quite as friendly as before. “No assignments for the next week, so I assume this is about something else?”

They made small-talk about Joe’s paper, before Joe found the nerve to ask what she wanted. Not that she had any specific question, but she said the keyword. “Kanima.”

“South American vengeance spirit,” Professor Kane replied instantly. Her hair stood around her face in a light halo of unruly strands. “As claimed by the colonists.” When Joe did not say anything, Professor Kane gave her a wry smile. “I note that the attacks in Beacon Hills have not stopped after the death of the alleged murderer.”

Joe shrugged. “These aren’t regular animal attacks.”

“No, but the similarities are there, yes? Seemingly random, but really just a pattern ready to emerge.” Professor Kane leaned onto the lectern and crossed her legs, now wearing loafers instead of her pointy-toed boots. “Ask your questions plainly, Miss Delgado, if you want plain answers.”

Talking with this woman gave her a headache at times. “Does the kanima only attack murderers?”

Professor Kane sighed and took off her glasses with familiar movements. “Yes and no.” So much for plain answers. “A murder is the most intense form of blood revenge available, but in reality, the kanima can be made to attack anyone its master has a deep holding grudge against.” Professor Kane raised her eyebrows at Joe’s disturbed expression. “Remember what I said about magic?”

“That just because you can’t explain something, it doesn’t mean it’s magic?”

“More or less,” Professor Kane acknowledged her paraphrasing. “The werecreatures are not subject to any more black and white laws of nature than ourselves. There are nuances, just like with people.”

“How does a kanima choose its master?” Joe asked, remembering the quip about plain questions.

The professor gave her a thin smile. “How does anyone choose its companion? Opportunity, compatibility, attraction...” She fiddled with the wedding band on her hand. “The kanima interestingly always finds a master.” The glasses back on her face, she raised her eyebrows at Joe. “Is this related to your paper or are you playing detective again?”

“A little bit of both,” Joe breathed and crossed her arms desolately. Someone was using Jackson Whittemore to do their personal bidding, and according to Scott and Stiles, the boy wasn’t even aware of it himself. It made it marginally worse than Derek, who used three other teenagers as his lackeys, but they at least remembered everything.

“Word of advice, Miss Delgado,” Professor Kane said and put the hemp basket she used instead of a backpack onto her shoulder, “leave this to the hunters. Don’t give me that look, of course I know about the hunters. Know thy enemy and all.” Professor Kane gave her a nod before she left the lecture hall. “If you will excuse me, I have to get to a faculty meeting.”

Joe closed her mouth eventually. Of course Professor Kane knew about the hunters, like she said herself, but why hadn’t she mentioned them before? A lot of things could have gone drastically different if Professor Kane had been forthcoming from the get-go. She did not know Scott was a werewolf though, maybe Professor Kane did not know how deeply involved Joe was whether she wanted to be or not.

Because of the midterms, Joe had gotten some requests for intensive tutoring sessions and agreed to meet up with them in the library. Like always, she found the sessions mind-numbingly boring, but now with the added fascination that these people had no idea what the world was really like. Most of her students were in Professor Kane’s class and they were lapping up the so-called facts on how people just create monsters to explain why they’re afraid of the dark. It bothered her more than she would like to admit and felt herself smiling stiffly whenever they touched upon subjects that hit too close to home. She tried to not let the relief show when she had to excuse herself for another appointment.

“Hii, Joe!” The always smiling Kelly Brooks waved from one of the corner tables in the coffee shop and it looked like she had already ordered for both of them. Not just coffee, but also a pair of sandwiches. “Hope you didn’t mind,” Kelly said, probably noticing Joe’s glances to the food. “My treat. I’m starving and I didn’t want to eat alone.”

This was probably a white lie. When they were taking the same classes, Kelly had made it her responsibilty to make sure Joe both ate and slept adequately. She did it to everyone, but Joe was an especially hopeless case and got extra attention because of it. As always, Kelly looked radiant with a fresh glow to her dark skin and immaculate tight curls ending at her collar bones.

“No, it’s great,” Joe said to stave any of Kelly’s concerns. Brushing aside the initial annoyance at being infantilized, it was a nice gesture and she could use the food. “Thanks for inviting me, but I didn’t think you’d get into town this early. The reunion dinner’s not until next week, right, during spring break?”

Kelly took a quick sip of something iced that probably contained less than two percent of coffee. “Mm, no, I’m here for work. You know Professor Walker, right? Sorry, that was stupid, I know you know her. She mentioned she’s mentoring your paper. I’m working as a liasion for some research project she wants to perform at the California crime labs this summer.”

Before Joe could latch onto the familiar and safe topic of work, Kelly waved her hand. “No, no. No work talk when we’re eating! Alex told me she invited you to the rave on Friday since it’s in your town and all, so I want to talk outfits. And before we can talk outfits, we have to talk relationships, more precisely status. Are you and Derek exclusive?”

The cappucino Kelly had bought for her went down the wrong pipe and Joe coughed so tears ran, but at least it saved her the pain of answering. There was nothing that could have prepared Joe for that question to ever arise and she could not get a single word out that would make sense. It went on repeat in her head. Was she and Derek _anything?_ Last time she saw him left her all kinds of confused and combined with Lydia’s translation of the bestiary she had no idea what to think anymore.

“Only asking because if you are, I might have to tone down the outfit I’m planning. There’s something so obvious with the one single girl in a group, you know? I still want to look available, but not desperate.” Kelly took a large bite of her sandwich, but kept talking while winking at Joe. “But if you’re _not_ exclusive, you can tone it up a bit, right, and balance me out?”

Now Kelly gave her the silence to answer and Joe scrambled for any kind of response. “Uh, Derek and I haven’t really had that talk yet.” Which was _a_ truth, if not _the_ truth. She tried to consider it as a viable question, but it still did not make sense. “We’re sort of not labeling it,” she cleared her throat, “keeping it casual and all.”

“Your choice or his?” asked Kelly easily, apparently not catching the myriad of emotions crossing over Joe’s face as her stomach lurched.

An easy question with a less easy answer. This was not some random person she had caught the eye of at a bar, this was a guy who was intertwined in her increasingly complicated life and claimed he was there to stay. And yet, he hadn’t actually...done anything. Apart from that initial conversation he wanted to have, every other encounter initiated from his side had been a rescue or check-up. Except for the car engine, although he had claimed that was out of necessity as well.

Even though she found him incredibly attractive and the compatible pheromones messed with her head at times, had he actually made any attempt to flirt with her or anything else that could indicate he _wanted_ to be with her? No, was the solid conclusion. The car engine came back to memory for some reason. Had that been his way of flirting? No way. Right? He hadn’t flirted with her, ever, at least nothing that couldn’t be explained by her own hormonal reactions to completely platonic gestures. And yet he had explicitely asked if he should back off or not, so at least he was under the impression that he was doing something.

At the hospital, when she asked if it was real — and she wasn’t sure what she even meant by that, if she wanted to know if the mate-bond was real or her feelings — he had held out his hand to her, passing the ball over to her side. Or back to her side, maybe, as he hadn’t even been there to talk about that. _She_ had been the one to instigate that particular topic to distract him from smelling Jimmy. He’d just been there because he felt guilty about paralyzing her. Then he came to check on her at the house because he felt her get hurt, which was just part of his nature. And the incidence at the railroad depot, he had definitely sensed where her mind had wandered, giving him ample opportunity to act on it and yet he hadn’t.

“Wow, you really haven’t had that talk, huh?” Kelly’s voice brought Joe back from her confused thoughts about the man named Derek Hale. “But hey, no judgment. As long as you’re happy.” Her tone changed, switching gears to something lighter. “So I was thinking a dress, but maybe with wedges instead of actual heels as it _is_ in this abandoned warehouse-”

* * *

In the end, Joe had to race to get back into her car to avoid the afternoon rush. She loved Kelly, but she could talk for hours on any given topic.

Her phone rang just when she passed the border to Beacon Hills and even though the display said Scott, it was Stiles’ voice that came out of the speaker. He talked as if both his breath and time were limited.

_“Hi this is Stiles and Scott and Erica and she’s having a seizure because the kanima got her and she won’t go to a hospital and is only saying Derek’s name over and over again and his phone’s not working and we don’t know where he lives and Erica is too out of it to-”_

“Jesus Christ, Stiles, slow down!” Joe barked to interrupt the word vomit. “Erica’s having seizures? What kind of seizures?”

_“I don’t know! She used to be epileptic and then the bite sort of cured it and now I guess it didn’t or the kanima poison triggered it,”_ Stiles yelled into the phone and she heard them get into a car in the background. “ _We need Derek’s location! Do you have it?”_

“Epileptic?” Joe repeated but Stiles only let out a frustrated noise on the other end. “Okay, okay, uh... Derek’s at the old Beacon Hills Railroad Depot! Underground, there’s a staircas-”

_“I don’t know where that is!”_

Joe swore and tried to think. “Okay, hold on, where are you? I’m five minutes out of Beacon Hills. Meet me in the warehouse district!”

She sped up and was waiting for Stiles’ Jeep after four minutes. It came bounding around a corner and was not even fully parked before Scott tore out of the side-door with Erica in his arms. Her usually shiny hair hung limp across her sweaty forehead and her whole body jerked uncontrollably. She let out short-breathed whimpers, eyes rolling backwards, unable to focus.

Joe tried to take stock of her situation and put two fingers on Erica’s neck. “Guys, this is- we should get her to the ER!”

“No, Derek. Only Derek,” Erica whimpered even in her near-unconscious state.

“Erica, are you sure?” she tried to ask and Erica nodded weakly. Swearing under her breath, Joe yelled at them to follow her. She walked next to Scott, keeping two fingers on Erica’s neck. Pulse was going haywire, not just speeding up, but erratic. This was more than a seizure. Joe hoped Derek could do more for Erica than the hospital.

Stiles went ahead to open the doors and they burst through into the underground warehouse with Erica slipping in and out of consciousness.

“Derek!” Joe shouted and watched for movements among the abandoned subway carts. “ _Derek_!”

Her heart swelled at the sight of him. He came out of the reinforced cart and was by Scott’s side in an instant, taking Erica’s limp body in his arms instead. “What happened?”

The boys stumbled over each other to explain as Derek rushed into another cart and laid Erica down gently. From what Joe could gather, Jackson — the kanima — had shifted in the library during detention and attacked them all. One other guy, Matt Daehler in fact, was unconscious, while Erica had started spasming on the floor after being scratched by the venom.

Joe still had her fingers on Erica’s pulse. “Derek, it’s bad-”

“I know.”

“She’s going into shock!”

“I know!”

“We should call an ambulance!”

“No.”

“Damn it, Derek, she needs a hospital!”

Derek’s face shot up: “How many times have you said that now and been wrong, Joe?”

Joe’s face blanked and she used her free hand to give him the finger.

“Hold her up!” Derek ordered Stiles who slipped down to the floor, holding Erica’s upper body against his own. Joe, now both angry and scared, shrugged out of her sweatshirt and put it under Erica’s neck so she wouldn’t throw it out. She kept making these involuntary gasping sounds, clear signs of her whole system going haywire.

“Is she gonna die?” asked Stiles and Derek hesitated just a second too long. He met Joe’s eyes briefly over the twitching teenage girl and she felt sick to her stomach at the thought.

“She might,” said Derek and seemed to steel himself. “I-” He closed his eyes, as if making a hard call. “Which is why this is gonna hurt.”

“Oh my God,” Joe whimpered when Derek grabbed Erica’s underarm and snapped it. The crunch of bone breaking made her gag and Scott flopped down on a seat, looking sick himself. How was this better than a goddamn hospital? Erica screamed and writhed in Stiles’ arms and Joe found herself supporting the girl’s head, afraid she was gonna slam into the floor.

“It’ll trigger the healing process!” Derek breathed hard, watching how Erica moved and sounded, obviously using more than his human senses. His mouth went in a straight line. “I still gotta get the venom out. This is where it's really gonna hurt.”

She couldn’t watch. She couldn’t! Joe turned away, but the sound of crushing bones still penetrated even through Erica’s harsh and intense screams. Derek twisted the already broken arm around and blood scattered onto the floor. Erica kicked her feet out, slammed her head back and Joe tried to steady it, tried to soothe her, to tell her it was going to be okay, it would be okay.

Derek gritted his teeth and kept the bone in her arm broken, even though it seemed to shift under his fingers, fighting to align and heal itself. Out of breath, Erica stopped screaming and panted hard, face and chest dripping with sweat. Her eyes fluttered open and she focused on Stiles, who still held her.

“Stiles.” She sounded delirious and Joe could see how her eyes dilated in and out, out of control. Erica put her fingers onto Stiles’ shirt. “You make a good Batman.”

That was as far as she got before her head slumped fully back into Joe’s hands. Devoid of her screams, the cart filled with the desperate gasps of air from the other occupants. Joe risked a look at Derek, who had his head bent forward while keeping his hands — claws — embedded into Erica’s arm. Bile rose in Joe’s throat when Derek’s claws slipped out of her flesh with a sick wet sound. The blood running down Erica’s arm was now bright red, while the stains on the cardboard-covered floor were closer to black. Infected.

Stroking Erica’s hair without thinking, Joe put two fingers to her neck again. “Pulse steady.”

Derek nodded without a word and without looking at her. Scott still hung on his knees, watching Erica’s healing arm intently, lost in deep thought or just paralyzed in fear. They all shifted aside when Derek scooped up Erica. He carried her to the next cart over and put her in a camp bed, making sure her head laid on the pillow.

“She needs to rest,” he said quietly, as if to answer Joe’s unspoken question from where she stood in the doorway. She hadn’t even noticed she’d followed them; Scott and Stiles still sat out of breath in the other cart. “She’s healing, but it’s gonna take a lot from her.”

“I’ll stay with her,” Joe volunteered without thinking, her voice sounded rough and hollow. She moved to let Derek leave through the doorway. He paused next to her, but didn’t say anything, just gave her a solemn nod. His fingers were still coated in Erica’s blood.

This was a far cry from a sterile hospital room, but Joe managed to find a bottle of water and a rag. She cleaned the blood from Erica’s arm first, careful not to disturb the healing flesh, and marveled at how the bones moved under her fingers to heal themselves. Next she wiped the sweat off of Erica’s face, now careful not to disturb the meticulous eye makeup the girl put on. Heavy eyeshadow, mascara now running down her cheeks, combined with made-up hair and a seriously deep-cut top that revealed more than it concealed.

Sixteen years old and no time to wait to grow up.

Out in the warehouse, Scott and Derek talked amongst themselves, but Joe tried not to listen. She checked Erica’s forehead and while it ran hotter than normal, it might be within the range of werewolves for all she knew.

“Is she okay?”

Stiles lingered in the doorway, arms folded tightly across his chest. Forehead furrowed in a deep-set frown and shirt clinging to the spots where sweat seeped through his t-shirt underneath.

“I think so,” Joe whispered, as Erica stirred at their words. Stiles nodded and ran his hands over his buzzcut as he stalked away from the cart, obviously not comfortable staring at Erica while she was unconscious. Joe sat down on the floor with her back to the bed; the tingling in her arms and legs after the adrenaline rush making her flex her fingers.

Eventually the conversation out in the warehouse subsided too and Joe only heard Erica’s now steady breathing behind her. Her head buzzed with questions. Had the kanima tried to kill Erica or just temporarily disable her? What would a supernatural creature of vengeance know about real-life consquences of epilepsy anyway?

Erica moaned softly behind Joe on the bed and stirred further, obviously breaking through to consciousness again. There was a small fridge by the end of the bed and Joe found a can of soda that she popped open and offered Erica when her eyes fluttered awake. She gave Joe a disintered stare and Joe rolled her eyes.

“Drink, you need the sugar,” Joe said with expert knowledge and the girl accepted the soda with a grudge. Supernatural or not, losing blood could make your brain crash and the body would welcome the added sucrose. Erica sat up a bit in the bed to avoid spilling soda all over her and flexed the hand Derek broke with a grimace.

“You okay?” Joe asked eventually and Erica rolled her eyes.

“Why are you being nice to me?” she demanded in a raw voice. She sipped the soda and glared at Joe, as if proving some sort of petulant teenage point.

“I don’t know.” Joe sighed and sat down ontop of the empty space available in the bed after Erica pulled her feet up. She rested her head against the wall of the cart and closed her eyes. “Maybe because I used to _be_ you, Erica.”

No response except a scoff that told Joe all she needed to know about Erica’s interpretation of her words.

“I get it, no, I do. I was mature for my age in high school too. Never fit in. Dressed older than I was. Dated guys in their twenties who I thought were sooo cool because they had money and a car and could buy us beer...” Joe’s lip curled at the memory, of groping hands in the backseat of a car and a mouth that tasted of cheap alcohol. She had thought _she_ was so cool. Erica kept quiet while Joe continued.

“And I thought they liked me because I was, y’know, mature.” Joe turned to Erica and gave her a lopsided smile. “Turns out they were just massive losers. The technical term is emotionally abusive, but it’s easier to just call them assholes.”

Erica had lost some of her scowl and had an uncertain and, above all, vulnerable look in her eyes.

“I know it’s not what you want to hear,” Joe continued and turned back to stare at the far wall again, “but a guy in his twenties don’t — or shouldn’t at least — have anything in common with a sixteen-year-old. They only go after high school girls because it’s easy or because they can’t get girls their own age.” Joe picked at her nails.

“I’m _not_ easy,” Erica bit out, large bright eyes watching Joe intensely.

“No,” Joe said as if agreeing, “I wasn’t either. But you’ll find yourself going to some extreme lengths just to fit in.” She turned back to Erica with a raised eyebrow and at least the girl had the decency to look down in contemplation.

“I did what you did when I was a Senior. Had a growth spurt when I was in juvie and gave myself a makeover before coming back, thinking that no one would bully me if I looked good. Got a push-up bra, tight jeans, red lipstick. It worked too. A lot of the guys started paying me more attention.”

The covers on the bed shifted as Erica unconsciously tried to cover herself a bit more. Joe shook her head, it was not about that.

“And instead of calling me Nosy Josie,” Joe grimaced just by saying the name out loud, “they started calling me _Ho-So-Fina_.” She dared Erica to laugh at the nicknames, this was the first she had talked about it in years outside of therapy. Erica kept quiet though, eyes locked on her own hands instead of Joe now. “Kids are mean, Erica, they’re always gonna want to bring others down to mask their own insecurities. The only bright side is that high school’s not gonna last forever.”

Erica sucked in a sharp breath. “I just...” She rubbed the underarm, now fully healed, but obviously still tender. “I just wanted the seizures to stop. I mean the rest,” she gestured to herself, “is a bonus, you know, but being able to walk down the hallway at school, knowing that I could just live like a normal person without worrying about falling over or choking myself or pissing my pants-”

She broke off, voice too tight and hurting. Her long blonde hair hung across her head like a curtain, but Joe could hear the gentle drips of tears hitting the covers. “I thought it was supposed to make it stop.”

It. The bite.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Joe said in lack of anything smarter or kinder. She took Erica’s unhurt hand and squeezed it, not sure of how to provide comfort in any other way. She had no way of knowing how far the lycanthrope’s self-healing went. If it could cure epilepsy or, in worst case, enhance it. The seizures Erica had when Scott brought her here was worse than normal epileptic attacks. It could be from the venom or the werewolf in her enhanced the attacks when they were first brought on.

The lack of windows down here made it hard to tell how late it was, but Joe stayed until Erica eventually fell asleep again, after talking softly about other things than their individual traumas. Erica turned out to be half Mexican, last name of Reyes, and knew basic Spanish that she stuttered in when answering Joe’s questions about what she wanted to do after high school. Not surprisingly, Scott and Stiles had left when Joe emerged from the cart as she’d probably been in there for hours.

On a crate nearby his own cart, Derek sat reading a book with his legs pulled up towards him. He let the paperback drop to the side when Joe walked up to him. Soft expression on his face, but wary. It took some getting used to that he would be able to hear every conversation she had within a mile’s radius from him. No sign of Isaac or Boyd though, but they might be at lacrosse practice or something.

“Everything okay?” Derek asked without getting out of his seated position.

Joe shrugged. The slow-burning anger inside of her wanted to both flare up and die down when looking at him. Good looking guy in his twenties with a car and half-fulfilled promises — she supposed she would have been after him too if she was Erica. His jaw tightened as if he could sense her emotions.

“Me and Scott are gonna work together,” he said when she gave no response to his initial question. “Capture Jackson, not kill him.”

She nodded slowly, hoping it wouldn’t end in more bloodshed or collateral damage like Erica. “You got a plan?”

Derek shrugged, the color of his sweater matching his bright green eyes. “Scott’s working on it. I’ll...I’ll look out for him.”

“All of them, please.” Joe’s voice was thin and she folded her arms even tighter, as if to stave of the coldness inside. She looked around the empty warehouse; Boyd and Erica both had homes with their parents, but seemed to spend a lot of time here. Isaac and Derek lived here full-time and no matter the effort, the conditions weren’t luxurious. Finally mustering up the courage to look directly at Derek, she cocked her head to the side. “They’re all your responsibility now.”

“I know.”

“Did you bite Jackson?”

Derek took a deep breath and put the book to the side. He rested his arms on his upturned knees, shielding himself, defensive. “He didn’t ask for it as much as he demanded it.”

“So that’s a yes?”

He nodded and Joe did too, a worried frown on her forehead.

“And Paige?”

You could hear a pin drop at the silence that followed, even without enhanced hearing. Derek had stopped breathing and she kept her head down, unable to look at him. His voice was harder than she had ever heard it. “Who told you?”

Something hurt in his voice, like an injured animal, made her look up. A thin sheen of water in his eyes, watching her intently, more scared of her than she was of him. He guessed: “Was it Kate?”

“N-no,” Joe stuttered and took an automatic step back at the mention of Kate Argent. “No, God no, it was Jimmy.”

Whatever vulnerable that had been in Derek’s face disappeared in an instant. His nostrils flared. “You found him?”

“Sort of,” Joe admitted, but was not willing to let Derek shift the focus onto her. “Who is she?”

“No one.” The reply came instantly, without hesitation, a complete lie. Derek’s eyes were hard and turned away from her, as if she disgusted him so much he was unable to look at her.

An apology sat on her lips, ready to be delivered so they could move past this. That was not how it worked however. They were far enough away from each other not to be affected by scent, at least in Joe’s case, so no supernatural means to aide them along. This was real. And Joe, with all her credits in psychology and sociology, had no idea how she could find out more. If both Jimmy and Derek knew the girl, she had to have been someone from high school.

“If she was no one, can you tell me about her?” she asked, internally cringing at the crass question. No tact. No bedside manners. She would have made a terrible doctor.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why do you want to know?” he countered and scoffed when she failed to find an answer that sounded satisfactory to even her own ears.

“Because-”

“Because you _want_ to know? That’s it, right? Well, sometimes, Joe, you don’t get what you want.” He drew in a sharp breath, as if stealing it from Joe. “You don’t get to ask questions just for the sake of asking them.”

Her voice failed her as she whispered: “I just thought I should know.”

“Did you?” Derek’s voice cut like steel into her. “Why? I’ll tell you if you give me one good reason why you should know.”

At her stunned silence, head filled with what Kelly had prompted earlier, he snorted. “You wanna know what happened last time someone thought they should know? My whole family died.”

No comeback in the world could bridge that gap opening between them. He had told Kate then, at some point, but he would not tell her. Joe’s throat was too clogged up to speak and she nodded instead, mostly to herself. Nosy Josie. Why _had_ she wanted to know?

Leaving Derek on his crate where he stared pointedly away from her, Joe turned around and walked to the stairwell. He did not call her name or ask her to stop; she did not blame him.

By the time she was in her car, she wiped silent tears away from her eyes.

* * *

Thursday rolled around and Joe pulled into the rifle and pistol shooting range near the interstate, a huge squat building that sort of looked like the ice rink. The favored vehicle type in the parking lot seemed to be pickups and SUVs, but she recognized Chris Argent’s from the plates alone. Earmuffs on, she went inside and quickly determined herself to be the only one representing two X-chromosomes.

Most of the lanes were occupied by either rednecks or crewcuts and she walked slowly until she found the back of Chris Argent. Her eyebrows rose when he emptied a magazine at a faraway paper cutout of a human silhouette. Joe only gave him a nod when he peered over his shoulder, obviously sensing her presence.

He flipped a switch on the wall and the cutout pulled closer to them. All shots had landed right in the head. The walls separating the lanes were soundproofed and when he took off his earmuffs, she deemed it safe to follow suit — around them, shots still rang out at various intervals.

“Nice shooting,” she said, in lack of anything else, where she leaned against the wall.

“In my line of work, you can get a perfect headshot every time and still lose,” Chris commented drily. He opened the slide and put the pistol, looking like almost the same make her dad used, on the bench. “What’s your caliber?”

Joe blew air out of her mouth. “Uh, my dad got me a .22 once for protection when our neighborhood had a lot of muggings.”

“A .22 is good for hitting beer cans in the backyard.” Chris bent down to open a gun case with an arraignment of handguns. “But it’s a place to start for beginners and small enough to keep hidden, in a state that doesn’t allow concealed carrying for anyone under twenty-one.” He did not sound like he was about to report her dad for the infraction, but rather came back up with a slightly smaller handgun than he’d used himself. “This is a 9mm. I prefer the .45 for the bullet size, but it’s got more of a kick.”

The sleek pistol felt heavy in her hands and Joe made sure to angle it downwards all the time. Always treat a gun like it’s loaded and always, always keep the finger off the trigger until you’re ready to fire.

“When it comes to pistols, where you hit is more important than what you’re hitting with,” Chris explained as Joe took up stance with the empty gun, just aiming at the cutout. “Nothing trumps shot placement.”

“Except when you hit someone with a poisoned bullet,” Joe said without looking at him, thinking of Derek in the clinic. How physically ill she felt when he almost died — now that she thought of it, it might have been his pain transferring to her already back then.

Chris gave a low, humourless laugh. “Yeah, if you want to take down a werewolf, can’t go wrong with Nordic Blue Monkshood. Can hit them in their left pinky and it’ll get to their heart eventually.” He took her place, leaning against the wall. “Haven’t seen Derek around lately. Hope nothing’s happened to him?”

He doesn’t know, Joe told herself. He doesn’t know. He can’t know. He would not be this friendly with her if he knew all of it.

“Is that why you guys are following me?” Joe asked, trying to keep her voice steady, and put the gun down — it was severely heavy. She turned to him, holding the gun angled away. “Because you think I know where Derek is?”

It was hard to tell, because Chris _was_ an Argent, but his face did betray mostly surprise. “Despite what you might think, Joe, we are _not_ in the habit of stalking people.”

“You sure? It seems I can’t turn around without some SUV in my rearview mirror.”

He sucked his teeth a bit and his voice came, if posssible, even more gravellier than usual. “With the trauma you went through, it’s not uncommon to get a bit paranoid. We see it all the time with our long-time hunters. Start seeing shadows in broad daylight.”

“That’s usually when you get most shadows.”

“All right,” he said with a wry smile and he took the gun from her hands. “Let’s say you’re not being paranoid. Other than the make of the cars, what makes you suspect us?” At her silence, he sighed. “Kate is dead, Joe. She won’t be back to hurt you.”

“She wasn’t trying to hurt me,” Joe countered, her mind back to Kate holding a gun, ready to shoot Scott. “She _did_ hurt me, but that’s just because I got in the way.” She watched Chris load bullets into the magazine of the 9mm. “How can I be sure no one else of your guys are breaking this Code of yours?”

“You can’t,” Chris said and took up stance, aiming at the cutout. “But I’ll take them out before you have to worry about them.” He put on his earmuffs and Joe followed suit.

Six shots. All in the head again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confusing chapter, but I can pretend it's to symbolize Joe's confusion. As I've said, one step forward, two steps back...  
> Keep in mind that in the show, Derek never told anyone about Paige -- we only ever heard about it from Peter (and Ms Blake).   
> And Joe does not know any of what actually happened, she's only heard the name and is, perhaps, a little jealous?
> 
> Anyway, not gonna spoil stuff, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it :)   
> Please let me know what you think as your comments keep me motivated to keep writing. Have a nice weekend and stay safe, guys!


	36. The Kiss II

“So let me get this straight,” Aunt Melissa said as she watched Joe try on every outfit in her wardrobe. “You’re going to a party with your ex-girlfriend, her new girlfriend and another mutual friend who is, as far as you know, not into girls?”

“Yes.” Joe held up a skirt against her hips and gave it a critical glance in the mirror. She was not really a skirt person. Aunt Mel sat behind her on the bed and raised her eyebrows, but probably more from Joe’s answer than the skirt. “I know how it looks.”

“Do you?” Aunt Melissa gave her a doubtful look. “I just don’t want you to get hurt again, Joe. Things didn’t exactly end well between you and Alex.”

“I know,” Joe murmured and threw the skirt away, testing out a pair of tight skinny jeans she had not worn since her Freshman-year. Maybe all those oatmilk cappucinos had crept onto her hips, because she doubted they would fit now. “But that’s years ago and besides, she’s got a new girlfriend. I’m not any more specially invited than Kelly.”

“Right.”

Joe held up a dress she did not even remember buying and raised her eyebrows at Aunt Melissa. “What?”

“When was the last time you spent more than thirty seconds at choosing an outfit?”

“Shut up,” said Joe and threw the dress onto the floor with the rest of her wardrobe. “It’s just that I haven’t been out in forever and I don’t have anything rave-appropriate! It’s got nothing to do with Alex.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Shut up!” Joe repeated and knelt down by the pile of clothes, sorting through the many layers of black, more black, a little gray and the occasional speck of color that she had probably gotten from someone else. “Forget it. I’m just gonna go with jeans and a t-shirt.”

Aunt Melissa sighed and got up. “Hang on, I might have something.” She disappeared briefly down the hall to her own bedroom and came back holding a dark top on a hanger with the tag still on. “Bought in a moment of weakness at a clearance sale and the kind lady wouldn’t let me return it when I came to my senses.”

“Jesus Christ,” Joe muttered and held the skimpy piece of clothing up to the light. “Where were you planning to wear this? The swingers-club?”

“Ha ha,” Aunt Melissa said with a roll of her eyes. “It’s not that bad when you get it on. Come on, try it.”

To Aunt Mel’s defence, it wasn’t that bad when she got it on. Formfitting and partially sheer, as most of the fabric was just black lace. Joe could see the hint of her bra outlined, but in the dark warehouse where the rave was held, it wouldn’t show up as much.

“It could work,” Aunt Mel said as she looked over Joe’s shoulder. “Without the Snoopy-pants.”

Joe huffed. She was still in her old Snoopy pajama-pants. Rarely the one to wear something that accentuated her modest curves this much, she turned in the mirror to see her profile as well. It wasn’t that much worse than just a t-shirt actually. Maybe it could work? With jeans and some sneakers, because if she knew Alex and Kelly, dancing was on the agenda for the night.

Aunt Mel left her room to get some food ready, insisting Joe should eat something solid before a planned alcohol consumption. Scott was still at school, but said something about working overtime later at the clinic to stock inventory. Aunt Mel would drop Joe off at the rave where she could meet up with the others who came from Berkeley by car and Joe had money put aside for the taxi home. Not that she was planning on drinking excessively, but it had been a while and she sort of deserved a little completely werewolf-free fun. She doubted Derek would find an underground rave all that interesting — a blessing, considering the fiasco last time she saw him — and all the others were underage and not allowed entry.

At least her hair looked good when she did the full routine with the gel that tightened the unruly mass into defined ringlets. She had a looser curl pattern than Kelly, who probably had longer hair than her even if it did not look like it when dry. The texture gave her a lot of free volume and combined with Aunt Mel’s top and the dark jeans she looked appropriate for a night out.

The only real plan for the night was not thinking about Derek. It did not take a genius to figure that Joe had overstepped some kind of boundary when she asked about this Paige. His normal simmering anger didn’t particularly bite on her anymore, but this had been different. He hadn’t just been angry, he’d been upset and to be fair, she was upset too because of the whole thing with Erica and could probably have at least tried to sound less accusing.

The first time she had let it slip that she knew what blue eyes meant, he had said it was not what she thought it was. Which could mean absolutely anything. Then when she said the same thing to Jimmy, he had assumed Derek had told her about Paige. So blue eyes and this Paige was somehow related. Had he killed Paige? Had he killed for Paige? What was the definition of innocent and what was the definition of killing? Could it have been an accident? Whatever it was, it seemed like a painful secret and this was going against her own promises to not think about it.

Plan for the night: No werewolves or thinking about werewolves, whatever the color of their eyes.

After Sean’s death, Beacon Hills had been quiet. Well, except for the death of Sean’s girlfriend, Jessica Bartlett, who’d passed away after giving birth to their child in the hospital. Investigation pending whether it had been foul play or not. Police was _not_ releasing any more details than necessary, trying to catch up with the killer. It made no sense to Joe that a kanima would somehow sneak into a hospital to kill the victim he had plenty of chance to take out when attacking Sean. Not that she and Scott discussed it.

She had her suspicions that while Scott agreed to work with Derek if they planned to catch the kanima instead of killing it, Derek only agreed to work with Scott if he promised to keep Joe out of it. If it was because he wanted to protect her or because he couldn’t stand the sight of her after the Paige-thing was anyone’s guess. Right now, she didn’t mind. She knew she could get Scott talking if she really needed to. Unless she could find the pattern between the victims to find whoever was controlling the kanima, she was hardly equipped to try and take down the kanima herself yet. The Sheriff hadn’t gotten back to her regarding the interviews though, so her intelligence trail had lead nowhere so far.

It was like Scott knew there would be food ready when he came rushing in the front door. Joe heard his voice from downstairs: _“I’m not staying long, just gotta change and get to the clinic!”_

_“Why do you have to change to go to work?”_ Aunt Mel sounded skeptical, but Scott must have said something to alleviate her suspicions, because Scott came tumbling upstairs just seconds later. He ran past Joe’s open door, stopped dead and stared at her.

“Are you wearing makeup?”

Joe, in the midst of applying eyeliner, raised an eyebrow in response.

“It looks really pretty!” Scott insisted and gave her two thumbs up before continuing to his room.

Joe blinked, but smiled at the praise. She gave herself a doubtful look in the small handheld mirror. It’d been a while since she wore more than mascara and lipgloss. It did sort of look good. If she was going to hold her own against Kelly, she would need all the help she could get. What was Kelly’s phrase? Available, but not desperate. Was she available? Don’t answer that, she was not thinking about that tonight.

Aunt Mel whistled when she came down the stairs and Joe rolled her eyes even though a smile slipped through. Scott wolfed down a portion of the casserole Aunt Mel made before he excused himself and practically ran out the door. Aunt Mel and Joe followed a while later.

“Cell phone? Wallet? Emergency bra stash?” Aunt Mel listed when they drove and Joe checked of all the marks. “Pepperspray? Condoms? What? Better safe than sorry!”

The bass from the music reached them long before they actually saw the warehouse. People milled around outside, while bouncers stood near the entrance checking tickets. Alex and Kelly hovered outside, both with their own cigarette in their mouth, obviously waiting for Joe. Feeling like she was getting dropped off for prom, Joe hopped out of the car and waved good bye to Aunt Mel.

“Hey!” Kelly said when she noticed Joe and tottered over on high heels to hug her. Her cheek was warm and contrasted with the cold night air. “There you are, you look amazing! Where’s Derek? Couldn’t make it?”

Joe made some lame excuses, not really knowing why, and gave Alex a nod, not risking a hug in case Maddy suddenly appeared. Cigarettes done, they went inside and the heat from the crowd almost knocked Joe over. Dancing youths, in all stages of dressed and undressed, filled the warehouse completely. Some wore neon colors and waved light sticks, other wore skin-tight dresses and stillettos, and some looked like they had just rolled out of bed and put on the first thing they stumbled upon. In their group, Kelly was in a bodycon dress in a bright pink color that fit her complexion to a tee, while Alex was in her usual baggy jeans and a tank top.

“Drinks!” Alex proclaimed as she emerged from the line at the bar. One Scotch for her, one glass of wine for Kelly and a pink fruity drink for Joe, as she usually did not like hard liquor unless coated in sugar and additives. Alex knew this of course and only laughed at Joe’s expression of being ladened with the girly choice. “Hey, look, there’s Maddy!”

Maddy was in the DJ-booth, obviously hanging out with the other musicians, looking more relaxed than any of the other times Joe had seen her. Maddy saw Alex waving like crazy and raised her own glass in a cheers. Keeping her eye on Alex, she leaned in towards the DJ currently playing and he nodded. Seconds later, the song shifted to something fast-paced and Alex let out a loud whoop.

“Dance!”

Kelly and Joe had been in the midst of discussing campus gossip, as Kelly was still involved with alumni-meetings and had some insight to the personal lives of the faculty. At Alex’ insistence, they let themselves be led out to the dance floor and the heavy bass control their rhythm. People on all sides, jumping, grinding, pumping their fists and Joe allowed herself to be swallowed by the anonymity and let loose. Halfway through the song, Maddy joined and danced closely with Alex without acknowleding any of the others.

“I got the next round!”

As promised, Kelly appeared with another round of glasses with each person’s beverage of choice. Maddy, apparently the designated driver again, stuck to soda while the others continued with alcohol. Joe sipped the new drink, trying to rehydrate after sweating so much while dancing, and offered to get the next round again to pay both Alex and Kelly back. They kept this up, even with Alex insisting on getting most of the drinks because she had the best earning job.

She tried telling Joe about it, half-screaming about rehabiliation centers to be heard over the music and through the crowd of dancers, while Maddy still clung onto her. Joe just laughed and pointed at her ear. No chance to hear a word Alex said. They both laughed then and continued dancing. Alex and Maddy, a definite couple, got some attention just by being two girls slow-dancing, while Kelly and Joe got the other kind. Guys would dance up to them, try and get closer, before being shut off by Kelly shaking her head ‘no’ or Joe simply turning towards Kelly and devoting all her attention to the girl.

After who knew how many songs or drinks, the trio stumbled into the bathrooms, laughing and sweating.

“Whoo,” Kelly said and fanned her face. “Getting too old for this!”

Alex snorted and stumbled over her own feet while trying to focus at herself in the mirror to reapply eyeliner. Joe, still feeling the rhythm and the booze, danced her way into a booth to pee. It was only luck she was done when the first jab of pain struck her.

“Ooh, sh-” Joe bit in a guttural grunt and bent over double at the next hit in her stomach. Another case of burst appendix or Derek was fighting. His timing was amazing.

Kelly’s voice rang out, probably the least drunk of them: “You okay in there, Joe?”

“Yeah, I just-” Joe groaned and hissed at the new stabbing sensation. The alcohol numbed some of it down, probably, but Derek was getting his ass kicked. “Just give me a second. I’ll be right out!”

“You sure, babe?” Alex asked, speech already slurred, and Joe ignored the pet name and confirmed that she was. It was a complete lie and she ground her teeth together to keep her grunts of pain inside. Joe flailed around on the toilet seat, jeans and panties down by her knees, everytime something landed a hit on Derek. Kanima? Or hunters?

The latter, Joe decided, as her body trembled involuntarily, pure lightening dancing through her veins only partially numbed by alcohol. On instinct, she grabbed onto the booth walls and the flimsy structure shook along with her. Sweat poured down her face and between her breasts.

Finally over, she tried to catch her breath while shuffling on her clothes again. She buttoned up hastily, trying to mentally prepare for another round. Nothing. Breathing hard, thoughts clouded by the booze, she exited the stall. A pair of other girls gave her knowing looks that turned to confusion when they realized she had been alone in the stall.

Joe stumbled over to the sinks and splashed water onto her face. She met her own eyes in the mirror and blinked slowly. Time for a pep-talk. Okay, so, first she might be a bit drunker than planned. Not in any condition to go running after Derek at least. Not to mention, she left her shotgun at home. And she had no idea where he was. He was probably okay though, she mused while wiping rebellious eyeliner away from her cheek. After the shocks, no more pain. The Argents would definitely inflict a little more pain if they caught him. He probably won. He was pretty strong.

And fast.

Already flushed, she only swallowed heavily at the thought of him. All that muscle. All that strength. All that speed. So much power. And yet so gentle when needed. He could snap bones without even straining himself, and yet every time he grabbed her, which he did quite often now that she thought of it, it was with care. Never hurt her, not even on accident. His touch felt like fire though.

She tried to breathe and ignore the other girls in the bathroom who were spritzing themself with perfume or sharing something out of a silver flask. Blue eyes be damned. He had lost control and still never hurt her. She bit her lip. Once his instinct had been to carry her out in the woods for...what? A cuddle-session? It did not make any more or less sense than any other reasons. The other time, he’d been in her bed. At the night of the full moon, when he clawed up the woodwork on the doorstep, he’d been in her bed. Rolled around in it and now she narrowed her eyes at herself in the mirror. Scent. It had to be about scent. Like when she visisted his subway cart turned into a makeshift bedroom. Her bed would be an epicenter of her scent in the house. Did it help him calm down somehow? How would she feel when rolling around in his bed? Calm. Content. Aroused?

Head reeling, her mind only filled to the brim with the thought of Derek, she made her way back out to the rave. Kelly was easy to find in her bright dress and she handed Joe another drink. A slight hesitation, but what the hell, why not? She let the sweet and sticky drink coat her mouth and throat before they descended upon the dance floor again.

They danced, hands waving in the air, hips swaying to the beat. Joe’s curls were damp and she shook her hair around, pearls of sweat like glitter in the air. Strobe lights made the moving crowd around her blink in and out, new positions every time the light hit them. The music pumped into her lungs and the loud hiss of the fog machines spewed out thick white smoke into the warehouse.

However drunk she was, she was not drunk enough to allow some groping townie paw on her and she pushed off whatever hands landed on her, either accidentally or with intention. Alex had disappeared into the crowd, probably with Maddy in the VIP-area and Kelly seemed to be dancing closely to a tall handsome guy who looked to be mixed-race. Content with dancing by herself, Joe didn’t mind and sometimes landed in another group of girls only happy to have her there. No one loved new people like drunk girls did.

Another pair of hands landed on her hips, too targeted to be accidental, and Joe automatically tried to brush them off. They didn’t budge an inch and her hands ended up on their wrists, feeling the heat seep through her fingertips. Intense heat, she thought through the alcoholic daze, and she looked down at the hands on her hips. Not groping or squeezing, just holding her at that border between appropriate and inappropriate. They were familiar even without the claws or the blood. What was he doing here? Her heart beat faster, tuning in with the deep bass, and she turned around.

Derek.

Derek, in a gray long sleeved t-shirt that was damp with sweat, showing the outline of his torso. He seemed out of breath, judging by his expanding chest, but he was not dancing. The crowd moved around them, jumping to the rhythm, but he stood like a solid column in a sea of people, not paying them any attention. No doubt in Joe’s mind at all that his focus was on her and her alone. His eyes glowed red and his head was bent towards her. Predatory. Dark. Hungry.

With a nervous laugh, she went to shrug his hands off her hips, where he still held her in place. As her hands reached his however, she changed her mind. _He_ had grabbed _her_. And for once, she saw no anger on his face, even if his eyes were glowing red. Curiosity got the best of her, earlier thoughts still in the back of her mind. He could be hurt, right, she just needed to make sure he was okay. Now she breathed as hard as him, glancing up at his face for permission, but finding only the intense heat from before. He had grabbed her. He wouldn’t have done that by accident.

With that flimsy reasoning, Joe made up her mind. Not that Drunk Joe was hard to persuade anyway. There had been something else, something she was going to apologize for, but she could not focus on anything but here and now at the moment. Derek was here, now. Instead of pushing his hands off her, she bit her lip and trailed her fingertips across his wrists, up his forearms, onto his biceps and finally ending on his rock hard shoulders. Based on the increase in his breathing, he did not mind. She just wanted to feel him. Touch him. There was nothing wrong with this. They were two consenting adults and she was only human, a woman, drunk on alcohol and lust. There was _nothing_ wrong with this.

Leaving his hands where they were on her hips, she began swaying to the music again. It was not one of the fastest songs playing, but one of the medium-paced ones where the bassline went in tune with her heartbeat and hips. Her hands left his shoulders to snake around his neck, touching the wet strands of hair in the nape. Soft. Running her fingers through the back of his hair, she found it just as soft and touchable as she’d dreamt.

The grip on her hips increased in strength and he pulled her closer so her chest became flush with his. Again, _he_ grabbed _her, he_ pulled _her_ closer. The floor vibrated with the loud song, but his chest vibrated with a low and steady growl she doubted anyone could hear. No worries about the glowing eyes, there were people with more spectacular contact lenses in here already. She worried more about the dark expression, how his chest heaved, how his eyes never left her face. How she felt like a stalked prey in the focus of a predator. It was almost too much.

Drunk on more alcohol than planned, she twirled slowly in his hands to be spared some of the intensity of his gaze. Still dancing, not sure if she could stop if she tried, she put her back against him. Not leaving much space, or any space at all, between them. His fingertips left fire in their wake as they rasped across the sheer fabric of her top, practically bare skin, to land on her waist. Somehow, this felt more normal than anything else. She could pretend he was just some guy who’d caught her eye. Except it wasn’t. This was Derek, whose touch felt like fire and whose eyes could look straight into her soul.

Joe leaned her head back against his chest and kept dancing. She kept dancing while he stood there, holding her, not saying a word, hardly moving. Not hurt, not that she could tell from when she peered backwards up at him. Swallowing, her hand travelled up to his cheek, feeling the stubble on his jawline, and then the soft skin of his face and the red light dimmed as he closed his eyes. His hands now roamed her body in turn, as if permission had been given; a flat palm against her stomach, another stroking up the bare skin on her arms. Inhaling, she felt him deep within her lungs. Him. His scent. Derek.

Somehow, he span her around and her back ended up against a wall. They’d moved off the dance floor into a dark corner, behind the loudspeakers, alone. Cornered without fear, Joe arched her back to allow Derek’s arm to rest around the small of her back, between her and the cold wall. The other he put on the wall next to her head, keeping himself at bay, allowing her any space she wanted. She did not want space. She wanted him.

No coherent thoughts, just the feel of his body under her hands. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To touch him. She thought she heard a low sigh when her fingertips edged underneath his shirt, just to feel the scorching muscles of his lower back. The tips of his fingers dug into her side, making sure she stayed put, no escape now. Her breath hitched when he leaned down to her and she exposed her neck, giving him free access. The stubble tickled the sensitive skin on her throat and she both heard and felt how he inhaled, taking in her scent, straight from the source.

Tilting her head, she did the same. The strong odor filled her mind with nothing but white fog, like that which coated the dance floor. Her hands felt the muscles of his torso, his strength. Reacting on instinct when she felt his palms go down her hips and to her thighs, she put her arms around his neck and jumped. Legs around his waist, back hard against the wall, freezing cold compared to the scorching heat of his chest, he held her in place easily. She nestled into his neck, to the beginnings of his beard, and it scratched her skin as they both moved slowly, but with purpose.

Her lips throbbed, as if developing their own pulse in anticipation. His eyes were closed, no red light visible where he was stuck in the edges of her curls, breathing deeply. The music and the other people were an afterthought. In her drunken state, it was only him. Derek. Only Derek.

Joe looked at Derek through half-lidded eyes, waiting for the inevitable, craving it, wanting it. Lips parted slightly, like his, ready and willing. He seemed to pause, however, cheek still against her chin, well on his way to her. To her lips. His eyes were dimming when he opened them, just a dark sheen of red instead of the bright glow.

He had stopped.

Joe’s voice came as a raw whisper, as if speaking would ruin it. Had she done something wrong? Did he not want this? “What?”

Derek took a deep breath, not releasing her, but not moving towards her either. His brows furrowed, as if it took everything he had to concentrate. “Scott.”

“ _What?”_

His eyes flashed open and he straightened up, creating distance between their faces, between their mouths. She saw how his throat moved as he swallowed hard. The words came with resistance. She thought she had a buzz, but everything about Derek’s slack gaze spoke of more than a drunken stupor. “Scott...he’s in trouble. He needs help.”

Someone might as well have thrown a bucket of cold water over them. Joe shifted when Derek changed his grip, putting her feet back on earth gently. He still held her, hands on her hips, while he tilted his head towards something unseen and unheard by her. Derek closed his eyes

“I have to...”

Joe nodded and took her hands off him, already missing the heat. “Go.” She pushed him lightly, heavy of breath. “Go!”

Instead of moving like a stalking predator, Derek seemed to stumble away, not taking his eyes off her before the sea of people closed between them. Joe let out a long shaky breath, leaning against the wall, hoping the chill would cool her off. Hormones still raged and she touched her lips gently, so swollen she could not believe they hadn’t found his.

It had to be the alcohol, she thought, because her mind was not clearing even though he left. His scent lingered on her, she realized, wherever he had touched her, she was marked with him. She blamed the alcohol, the hormones, the sheer energy of the music.

So when Alex suddenly appeared out of the crowd, threw her arms around Joe and kissed her deeply, she didn’t resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...sorry?
> 
> A change of pace from the last chapter. Because there's so little dialogue between them it's impossible to say what the hell's going on with Derek here, I've written the same chapter from his POV and it's posted as a oneshot called "The Realist: Rave", so feel free to read that one as well if you want.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and please let me know what you think of this chapter! <3


	37. The Mechanic II

She tasted of whiskey and cigarettes and bubblegum. Her lips molded perfectly to fit Joe’s, not out of practice after all these years, and it was not until her hand caught in Joe’s curls that Joe snapped out of it. She wore it longer these days than Alex was used to.

Tearing away from Alex and the kiss, Joe gave her a wild-eyed look. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Ah, sorry,” Alex said with a drunken laugh, but she was apologizing for her hand still tangled in Joe’s hair. Not kissing her. At the sight of Joe’s enraged face, she laughed even harder. “I’m sorry, babe, I couldn’t resist.” Alex went to grab Joe around the waist, but Joe shrugged her off. “You looked all hot and bothered.”

“Yeah, because of-” Joe stopped herself, not drunk enough to say it out loud in case he heard and came back. Derek. It was an obvious answer.

“Of a guy,” Alex concluded, not caring about the name, and Joe felt her insides turn to stone. Alex slurred a bit, but her words could still bite. “Always knew you were into guys.”

Joe tried to step back, but was still flush against the wall and had nowhere to go. “Oh God, is that what this was, another one of your tests?”

“Relax, Joe, it was just hot-”

“Back off, Alex,” Joe muttered and pushed her ex away to make her escape. Alex swayed, but managed to follow Joe as she stomped her way to the exit. Kelly was nowhere to be seen and not Maddy either, but Joe didn’t care. She just wanted air.

She pushed through the plastic sheets covering the main doors to the warehouse and took a deep breath of the cold fresh air, only a few smokers were outside and paid them no attention.

“Always knew you’d end up with a guy.” Alex kept coming and garbled at Joe’s retreating back. “Too much daddy issues!” Joe froze, but did not turn around. As an afterthought, Alex added: “And mommy issues for that matter.”

“Shut up,” Joe growled and span around to face the drunk blonde. Alex always got mean when drinking. If Joe was sober, she wouldn’t have engaged. But she wasn’t sober either, she was drunk and confused and now pissed off. “Go back inside to your _Sophomore_ before I go there and tell her what just happened.”

Alex shrugged, as if unbothered by the prospect. “It was _just_ a kiss.”

“Tell me, Alex, do you test ‘Maddy’,” Joe made her voice go high when saying the name, “like the way you used to test me? Do you have your best looking guy friends hit on her in the student bar? Or is she gay enough for your insecurities?”

Alex did not back down and Joe was full of alcohol and rage now. Something had happened to Scott. Derek went to help him and what the hell did she do? Drunkenly make out with her ex. She felt disgusted with herself and just wanted to leave and somehow found she couldn’t.

“What’d you tell her about me, Alex? Huh? That I was needy and that’s why you dumped me? Did you tell her what happened? What you did?”

“I told her,” Alex said and made an effort to straighten up enough to look Joe in the eyes and Joe knew what was coming even before she started talking, “that you’re a Type A, emotionally crippled, obsessive personality who works herself to a stupor because she’s too scared of her own issues to sleep. That your number one fear is turning into your workaholic dad and you’re too self-involved to notice that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

“You wanna play that game?” Joe snarled and got up in Alex’ face. “What did you tell her about yourself? Did you tell her how you’re passive-agressive with anxious attachment issues?” Joe had tears in her eyes, but refused to stop now. “Did you tell her you’re a manipulative narcissist who lays traps and relies on negative reinforcements to keep someone in a relationship?”

Alex had her mouth twisted in an angry smirk, eyes wide with livid rage. “Oh, I’m the one with attachment issues? That’s rich coming from you. Don’t pretend your compulsive need of knowing _absolutely_ everything doesn’t stem from those attachment issues because of,” Alex’ voice turned sickly sweet, “ _your daddy lying to you._ ”

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t the only one, was he? Did you tell her how we broke up? Did you tell her that you broke up with me because-” Joe was cut off when something slashed into her arm. It felt like a knife slitting into her flesh and she flinched hard. “Oh, shit!”

“Because what, Joe?” Alex hissed, not bothered by Joe’s outburst. “Come on. This is cathartic. We should have done this _years_ ago after you just took off in the middle of the night. No more pussy-footing. Because - of - _what_?”

Joe, bent over double still clutched at her seemingly unharmed arm, glared up at Alex. Another pain throbbed in her shoulder, but it was dull compared to her arm. Not even when Derek got shot did it hurt so long after. Wasn’t he healing?”

_“Because of what?!”_ Alex yelled and people turned around to look at them.

“Because I decided I didn’t like girls,” Joe spat and straightened up, trying to ignore the sharp pain. “Not really. Not like _you_ do! Because I’m bi! Not gay!”

Joe huffed to distract from her arm, and her mind went back to her and Alex’ apartment, years ago, when they dished out insult after insult. The pain only made it harder to think clear and she let it all out. “I know what you told everyone. I know everyone thinks you dumped me. But we know the truth, don’t we, Alex? That I broke up with _you_! And here’s a clue, _babe_ , I broke up with you, personally, not all women.”

“You can pretend it was about that, but you made another choice, Joe, that’s got nothing to do with your sexuality. You chose your dad over me!”

“I didn’t choose either of you!”

“Which does sound like what someone like you would say.”

Before Joe could muster up a response, which would probably just have been a two-word exclamation, another voice drifted from inside the chaotic hubub of the warehouse:

_“Alex? Baby? You out there?”_

Joe took advantage of the distraction and escaped.

The pain on her arm never subsided and she cradled it to her chest as she stumbled down the steps to the street. Walking without direction, just focused on leaving Alex behind, she could imagine both her and Alex seethed with rage. Only difference was that Joe was wandering into the cold night alone while Alex would soon be in the warm embrace of her new Sophomore girlfriend. Joe’s arm throbbed and she winced — Derek was hurt and she wanted to find him. No, needed to find him.

She kept walking down the alleys, away from the noise and the people. Think, she needed to think! Clearly, not befuddled by alcohol and pheromones and who knew what else. Her steps echoed in the night and she thought she heard a screech, but it was far off. Joe stopped to listen, but was distracted when her phone vibrated. A text message from Scott, but he had obviously not been the sender.

‘Scott’s alive. Vet clinic.’

Alive. Scott’s alive. Not okay, not unharmed, just alive.

At least Derek was alive too, if he had been the one to send her the text. She fumbled with her phone, fingers clumsy due to the cold, and she called for a taxi. It picked her up shortly after, probably cruising around the warehouse because of the rave and Joe offered the driver an extra tip if they could drive without conversation. She looked like a mess, but could not care. Just the thought of Alex made Joe wipe her lips, as if to get rid of the evidence and the scent and everything about the girl that still lingered within Joe.

The lights were off at the vet clinic, but Joe saw the rear of the Camaro peek out from behind a corner. She gave the taxi driver all the cash she had left, too drunk and scared to care. Scott’s alive, she repeated to herself and staggered to the back door of the clinic. He’s alive. He’s not okay, but he’s alive. She found the door unlocked and braced herself against the doorframe when she saw Scott laying prone on the operating table with Doctor Deaton leaning over him.

“Oh God,” she gasped and covered her mouth. Knees giving out, she would have fallen if Derek hadn’t appeared at her side, holding her up by her arms. “Oh God. Is he-”

“He’s going to be fine, Joe,” Doctor Deaton’s calm voice let her know while Derek carried her over to a bench by the wall.

No blood. She could not see any blood or broken bones or bullet holes or anything! Doctor Deaton finished injecting him with something in a thick syringe and rubbed a cotton pad against the needle mark on Scott’s underarm. With practiced fingers, the veterinarian patched Scott up and in an almost fatherly affection, he patted Scott’s cheek.

No response. Scott’s eyes barely fluttered.

“His lungs took a lot of damage,” Doctor Deaton explained and Joe was just barely aware of Derek rubbing her back while she sat shaking and staring at her unconscious cousin. Her eyes flittered up to Doctor Deaton. “I gave him something to accelerate the healing process, but it’s gonna be a while before he wakes up.”

Joe’s hands trembled as she covered her face again. His lungs. What could damage his lungs without touching his chest or shirt? Not a drop of blood on him, still wearing that red pullover he put on this afternoon.

“Thank you,” Derek responded to Doctor Deaton, with as much sincerity and softness as she’d ever heard in Derek’s voice.

“I’ll get you some coffee,” Deaton said and padded out of the operation room, shutting the door behind him.

When she was confident her legs would hold her, she got up from the bench and bent over Scott’s torso. His chest rose and sank slowly, but steadily. Two fingers on his neck confirmed a strong pulse. Sedated. Healing. Completely out. She brushed wayward strands of hair out of his face, the dark brown a mirror of her own. Growing into a man every day now and still so much like that twelve-year-old who drove her up the wall with all his antics.

She realized Derek had risen with her and held his hands out, ready to catch her if she would fall again, but not hindering her in her ministrations. Joe wished she was drunker, so it could numb the pain inside her heart too. If Derek hadn’t left when he did, if he’d been distracted, if he’d been too late, if-

“Hey,” Derek whispered and closed his arms around her. She had made involuntary hiccups, tears running freely, and she let herself rest against Derek’s chest as he held her. Joe cried; drunk, stupid, ugly crying. He almost died. Scott almost died while she was getting drunk on booze and high on Derek.

Derek, who rubbed her back, his fingers kneading the point between her shoulder blades lightly. Nothing inappropriate, just comforting gestures while she sobbed against his chest.

And she’d kissed Alex. All this, and she’d kissed Alex.

They broke off from their embrace when Doctor Deaton came back inside, luckily moving backwards to shove the door open with his back as both hands held a paper cup of coffee. He handed them one each and made some comment that he would be up front. Joe felt he looked at her a bit longer than necessary, but it was probably her smeared makeup running down her face. She and Derek slumped back down on the bench, sitting too close, but neither moving to adjust.

For a while, they just watched Scott breathe. A comforting cadence of her baby cousin healing. It was dark, only the dim lights underneath the stainless steel cabinets giving a small glow to the room and illuminating Scott’s unconscious form. The booze and the lust and the anger slowly left Joe, leaving her hollow inside.

“I have to tell you something,” she croaked, her entire cup of coffee drained. Doctor Deaton never came back into the room.

Derek nodded next to her. “I have something to tell you too.”

Joe bit her lip, wondering how much that lip gloss had smeared over her face, how obvious the truth was. She swallowed, but could not hold it in. “I kissed Alex.” When he said nothing, she inhaled softly. “Or, I guess she kissed me, but that’s just semantics and doesn’t matter.”

No reaction. Derek neither moved or growled or did anything else to indicate anger. Joe turned around to look at him. “Did you hear-”

“I bit Victoria Argent,” Derek said shortly and finished of the rest of his coffee, a small sip that had to be cold and bitter by now.

Joe blinked. Okay, Derek’s confession was marginally worse than hers. So completely out of the blue that she couldn’t do anything but shake her head. “What? You did _what?”_

“It was self-defense,” Derek said quickly, before Joe could get herself worked up even further. In short efficient sentences, he told her of the plan to capture Jackson, of the wolfsbane mist in the room, how Victoria Argent stabbed Derek to weaken him further and how he reacted on instinct, anything to take her down and save Scott. “She was going to kill him.”

“Is she gonna turn?” Joe asked, eyes wide at the prospect, head spinning from a beginning hangover and the sudden turn of events.

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

“How can you say that? Will she be receptive to the bite?”

“I didn’t exactly have time to do a test, Joe!” Derek barked, a bit louder than apparently intended as he lowered his voice immediately. Scott never stirred. “It doesn’t matter. The Argents have their own ways of dealing with bitten hunters.”

By his dark tone she guessed he wasn’t referring to a cure. Joe slumped back against the wall. She had thought it was the kanima, a creature driven by one purpose alone. Not Victoria Argent, who by all accounts had made a choice to go after Scott.

As if he heard her, Derek crumpled the paper cup in his hand and tossed it into the trashcan by the door, a perfect shot. “I didn’t have a choice.”

The movement made Joe aware of a bandage on his forearm farthest from her, right around where she felt the stabbing pain earlier and still could sense a light throb. Instinct made her reach over and trail her fingers over the blood-stained cover. “Why aren’t you healing?”

“Wolfsbane slows it down.” Derek flinched when her fingers made contact and she withdrew her arm in an instant. He stopped her and placed her hand back so she covered the whole bandage with her palm. As always, he felt unnaturally warm and she wondered if he felt it too as he took a deep breath and leaned his head back.

“What are you doing?” Joe asked, but she could already feel the faint throbbing in her own arm, pain building slowly until it reached a steady discomfort.

His voice came in a content murmur. “We don’t just feel each other’s pain. We can take it too.”

So it wasn’t a question of what he was doing, but what she was doing. She kept her palm covering the bandage, aware of her fingertips resting gently on his otherwise soft skin, tickling the dark cover of arm hair.

“Is that okay?” he asked, sounding concerned. “It doesn’t hurt too much?”

“No, it’s fine,” she mumbled and flushed at the prospect of him worrying about her right now. “It’s the least I can do.”

There was so many questions to be asked, but they would have to wait.

“Listen, I’m sorry about...everything,” she said without thinking, knowing it was too little and she was too drunk to be taken seriously. Not that she felt particularly drunk now, but it was not humanly possible to sober up so fast. Despite that, Derek surprised her by shaking his head slowly and she continued: “Not just Alex, I’m sorry about the other stuff as well.”

“Don’t worry about it, Joe.”

“Okay, but I just feel-”

“Joe, you’re not attracted to Alex anymore.”

She contemplated this for less than a second. “No, I don’t think so.”

A tug to his lips and he glanced at her sideways through heavy lids.“That wasn’t a question. I know you’re not.” He seemed to settle further against the wall. “Trust me, I checked.”

“Okay, I don’t know what that means, Derek. I don’t know what anything means. Everything I thought about how the world worked just turned out to be wrong and-”

Her voice failed her when he switched her hands around. Now the one closest to him laid across him to rest over the bandage. The other he covered with his own hand, enveloping it and holding it lightly so she had every choice to withdraw. As in the coffee shop, she could feel the calloused skin of his palm over her own skin. “It’s fine, Joe.”

It probably wasn’t, he was just saying that to shut her up. She guessed he was too tired to talk. For a while his touch alone was enough to steal her voice. It was one thing that she was somehow taking his pain, but what purpose did the other hand serve? Why was he being so damned understanding and patient? Was it just because of Scott? Instead of asking, she glanced at him again. His eyes were heavy, but not closed.

“You should sleep,” she found herself saying, both hands still where he left them. He glanced at her, eyebrow lifted and mouth slightly parted in either confusion or skepticism. Joe shrugged to cover up the rising of butterflies. “I’ll wake you if anything happens. When Scott wakes up.”

He gave her that nondescript and open look of surprise again. She expected an argument, but instead he nodded. “Okay.”

With both hands nearly pulsing with the added heat of his touch, Joe remained seated next to Derek as he put his head back against the wall. She had been right, he was tired.

In no time, his breathing slowed, almost matching Scott’s rhythm. Joe could not help but smile at the soft snoring sound in the back of Derek’s throat, like a light growl every time he exhaled. It felt both weird and natural to be this close to him, but after what happened at the rave just a few hours ago it would be weirder to make a big deal of it.

If nothing else, Alex was good at her job. Psychoanalyzing people for money. Joe _was_ a workaholic with insomnia-issues, no two ways about it. So she could probably not have slept if she tried to. Instead, she would sit here, take away Derek’s pain _somehow_ and watch over both him and Scott.

* * *

It took hours before Scott first stirred and Derek did not need her to wake him. His eyes shot open, alert and ready, but it took him less than a second to calm down when noticing her.

Coincidence, her rational mind scolded her and the same mind also added that she was probably the farthest thing from a threat in his world. Her arm was stiff from laying across him for hours and she winced slightly when retrieving it. Silently, he released her other hand that he had been holding the entire time and unwrapped the bandage. Completely bare skin underneath. Healed.

And so was Scott. Joe leapt to her feet when Scott tried to sit up, coughing lightly, and his brows furrowed at the sight of her. “Joe?”

“It’s okay,” Joe said through more tears, of the happy kind now, and she probably looked a mess since he did not appear to be more comforted at her words. Not caring, Joe hugged him tightly, desperately, all that fear transformed into relief at seeing him awake again.

Derek filled him in on what had happened as he dropped the now useless bandage into the trashcan. He also revealed more that he hadn’t told Joe. They’d failed to trap the kanima and it killed again, at the rave. He had to get back to the railroad depot to check on the others.

“We’ll come with you,” Scott said with a nod, even if his eyes seemed unfocused. “We need to make another plan.”

Derek looked doubtful, but agreed. Maybe he realized they did not have any other means of transportation. Joe, more sober and less hungover than expected, trailed after the two out into Derek’s car. The top she borrowed from Aunt Mel was not fit to see daylight and Joe tried to cover herself with her arms, having forgotten her jacket at the rave. By general consensus, Scott took the passenger seat, still moving sluggishly, and Joe huddled in the backseat behind Derek.

In the underground facility, Derek went straight for the subway carts Joe had memorized to be outfitted with beds and sofas. She and Scott kept their distance, even though Scott probably heard all of the conversation Derek had with his teens.

“Scott?” Joe clung to his arm, afraid he was going to drop again, although he was the one holding her up more than the other way around.

“Mhm?”

“We need to work on our communication,” Joe said in a breathless voice, hearing the sluggishness seep in from being awake for so long.

He snorted, equally tired. “You sound like Mom.”

“Shut up. I should have been told what you planned.”

“I would have told you, but I had no idea you were gonna be at the rave,” Scott murmured back. “It’s not exactly how you typically spend your Fridays.”

“I don’t think there is anything typical anymore.” Joe sighed and squeezed his arm. “No more secrets, please, Scott. I can’t...” She didn’t even know what she couldn’t anymore. Was it with Scott or Derek she wanted to have this conversation? “You nearly died and I don’t know how-” The painful memory was too fresh and she squeezed his arm again. “If you promise to tell me everything from now on, I’ll promise I won’t do anything stupid.”

Scott’s eyebrows lifted as he looked down at her. “Like trying to shoot the kanima with a shotgun?”

“Hey, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.” Joe laughed tiredly and so did Scott, even though there was nothing funny about anything. They kept their voices hushed in the dark warehouse. Deciding to keep this no secrets thing going, she took a deep breath and said: “It’s Kate’s shotgun, by the way. Chris Argent gave it to me. I’m not even sure why.”

“I know,” Scott tugged his arm loose only to put it around her shoulder, “Allison told me. We’re still together, by the way.”

“Dude, that’s not a secret,” Joe groaned and Scott looked forlorn. “Everyone knows.”

“Yeah, including...” Scott broke off whatever he was gonna say as Derek emerged from the cart presumably containing three teenage werewolves. He gave Scott a head nod to indicate he wanted to talk in private, unintentionally ruining what Joe and Scott just agreed on. Scott shrugged at her, as if to say he would fill her in later, and followed Derek into yet another cart.

That left Joe alone in the warehouse with just herself and an increasingly parched throat, dehydrated from copious amounts of alcohol and adrenaline.

Hugging herself, she walked towards one of the closest carts, remembering the small fridge she found when watching over Erica. The girl in question sat up when Joe entered, still dressed as if going to a rave, despite the underage status. She had straightened her hair for once and Joe noticed for the first time how half of it was extensions.

“Hi, sorry,” Joe mumbled and nearly stumbled back through the doorway. She thought all of them had been in the other cart where Derek had gone first. They were connected though, she realized, and Erica could have slipped in-between them. “I just wanted some water, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay,” Erica said softly and gestured for Joe to go ahead at the fridge. In relief, Joe found a cold bottle of water and downed half of it in one go. Erica watched her with twisted eyebrows. “You okay?”

“No. Still kind of drunk. Or hungover at least,” Joe admitted and slumped down on top of the fridge. She waved her finger at Erica. “Tired anyway. Life lesson: stay away from alcohol.”

Erica shrugged where she sat in the bed. “We can’t get drunk.”

“What?”

“It’s true,” Erica repeated and sounded genuinly disappointed at the fact. “Me and Boyd tried it the other day. We heal too fast or something. Boyd had to down an entire bottle of vodka to even feel a little buzz, and it was gone almost right away.”

“Huh.”

Joe took another sip of water, trying to digest both the fact and the liquid. That meant Derek did not have alcohol to blame for his weird behavior at the rave. Not weird as in bad, just...out of character. Not that Joe had minded. She still didn’t mind. He had seemed drunk though, as far as she could remember, or at least not fully in his right mind. Another theory presented itself, but she would rather not consider it at the moment.

Erica blinked her large pretty eyes at Joe. “I like your top.”

Instead of starting a discussion, Joe just gave Erica a thumbs up. “Thanks.” She felt Erica still watching her and turned with slightly narrowed eyes. “What?”

Erica shrugged and asked with feigned innocence: “Did,” she seemed to inspect her hair for split ends, “Derek like your top?”

Oh God. Girl talk. Joe rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, he didn’t mention it.”

Studying her nails, Erica said quietly: “I think he’d like your top.”

Looks like Erica had gotten over her little crush and now took some delight in making Joe uncomfortable about the same guy. Werewolf, she realized, she could probably smell things off of her. Could probably smell Derek on her. All right. Two could play that game and she did not need enhanced senses. Joe leaned back and gave Erica a wistful smile. “Soooo, you and Boyd tried to get drunk together, huh?”

Jackpot. Erica’s eyes shifted, first to her, then to the far wall of the cart where a small passage separated them from the next cart over. She mouthed ‘shut up!’ at Joe, who only smiled harder.

“Just to be clear, it was just you and Boyd? I mean, where was Isaac in-”

Unfortunately, Joe was hindered in expanding on Erica’s discomfort as Derek popped his head into the cart. If he had heard their conversation or not, or if he cared or not, was anyone’s guess and he just tilted his head to make Joe come outside. Erica glared at her exiting back and Joe sniggered to herself.

Out in the warehouse, Derek ran his hand through his hair. He looked more tired and human that she’d ever seen him. At this proximity, his scent overpowered her and her mind filled with the sensation of him holding her, first at the rave and then at the clinic. Just as her heart began beating faster, Derek sighed and handed her his car keys and, to her bigger surprise, her jacket.

“Isaac picked it up,” he said to answer the unspoken question and for some reason seemed to watch her with added interest when she shrugged it on, glad of the extra coverage despite Erica’s insistence Derek would like her top. What did that even mean?

“Are you sober enough to drive?” he asked, still holding onto his keys even though she grabbed them after putting on the jacket. His eyes bored into hers as his eyebrows lifted. “Joe?”

“I’m, like, ninety percent sure I’m sober enough,” Joe answered and was surprised that she meant it. She’d sobered up quickly, probably spurred on by the fight with Alex and then Scott’s brush with death. Or maybe half her intoxication had seeped into Derek somehow — who knew what was possible?

Derek nodded, either satisfied with her answer or too tired to care, and let go of the keys. “Take Scott home. He needs to sleep and heal completely before the full moon.”

“Why, what happens on the full moon?” Joe asked and shrank under the withering gaze Derek sent her. “Right, the full moon happens on the full moon.” That was apparently enough to warrant worry for Derek and his pack. Her eyes went to the cart where she knew Erica was.

“Let me deal with that,” Derek said and she dragged her gaze back to him. He had his arms crossed over his chest and they shifted as he took a deep breath. “After...everything, maybe we can try and have that talk? About...everything?”

She found herself unconsciously mimicking his stance. Probably six feet between them, but too far and not far enough at the same time. Her brain conjured up alternative replies, mixing them together, making sure none of it passed her lips. Lips that he almost-

“Listen, about the rave...” Derek started, again talking slowly as if he was not sure how to continue. By now, she was almost positive he could hear her what she was thinking.

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” Joe insisted, mind racing too fast for her thoughts to keep up. She tried to not falter when he just kept looking at her. “I was drunk, really drunk, and we, uh, respond to each other’s strong emotions.” She was all together too aware of what emotions she had been feeling and would rather not have it brought up in daylight. “Totally get it. Don’t worry about it.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“You sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

He regarded her for a second, as if tempted to call her obvious bluff. “Okay, good, but I was just going to say that you looked great.”

Her eyebrows rose on their own and she saw with horror how Derek’s lips were stretched in an incredibly handsome half-smile. Somehow, this was even worse than seeing him angry. Worse as in how her organs somersaulted like crazy inside her.

“Sorry, I should have said it earlier,” he continued when Joe could not conjure up even a simple squeak in response. She saw the glitter in his heavy lidded eyes — he was enjoying this far too much. He had to know what he was doing, he had to hear her heartbeat rising to crazy heights or even feel the heat of the blush that threatened to take over her entire body. He gave her a slight nod, his sight travelling quickly over her body. “You still look great.”

The normally loose denim jacket now felt like a corset and the otherwise skimpy top like an insulated down vest. It was still nothing compared to how hot she had felt last night, when he had lifted her up by her thighs and practically pinned her to the wall. Oh God, she could not be thinking about this right now, but again, it was like trying to _not_ think of a pink rhinoceros — now she could not imagine anything else but how hungry she’d been for him and how equally hungry he had seemed for her.

Was she imagining it or was he breathing a little harder too? For some reason, Derek rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes, giving her reprieve from those stunning green eyes. His voice left goose bumps over her skin when he talked, even though it had lost the suave tone from before. “It’s not one-sided, is what I’m trying-”

_“Joe!”_

Joe let out a silent breath of relief as Scott called from the stairwell where he’d been waiting for her. She tried to shrug and point and gesture at Scott to explain to Derek that she had to leave without actually using words because she did not trust her brain at all to form those correctly. He nodded, almost not looking at her, and let her go without further comment.

Like an idiot, she nearly ran out of there as she made a beeline towards her cousin, not daring to turn back, completely unable to take another look at those green eyes. The heat seemed to linger in her core until she was out in the fresh air.

“Wow,” Scott said when they buckled up in Derek’s Camaro. Joe adjusted the seat forward and tried to familiarize herself with the probably expensive sportscar. He sounded mildly disturbed. “I guess I don’t have to wonder if you and Derek hooked up or not.”

She gave him a weirded out look as she started the car.

Scott explained when they drove through the early morning of Beacon Hills. “The sexual tension between you guys is _insane_. I could smell it from across the room.”

Despite how curious she was to how much he could read from Derek, this was not a discussion she was having with her cousin in any form or way. Not right now at any rate. “Shut up.”

“You’ve even started to talk like him.”

“Oh my God, Scott, please shut up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Don't drink and drive, kids. Claiming artistic license for plot purposes.
> 
> Anyway, sorry to leave you hanging on that cliff-hanger in the previous chapter. As it turns out, there was some fallout, but not as bad as expected? Yet, anyway. This isn't over by a long shot...
> 
> Thank you for reading again and I can't wait to hear what you think of this chapter! Happy December 1st <3


	38. The Scratch

Kara Simmons.

Joe stared at the name on the bottom of her list. Oscar Lahey, unknown Argent-hunter, Tucker Cornish, Sean Long, Jessica Bartlett and Kara Simmons. The last one was the girl killed during the rave. From what Joe could find when researching her online, she had been one of the producers of the rave itself. Maddy probably knew her; Kara hadn’t been that much older than Maddy.

Too bad Joe already let Kelly know she wasn’t going to attend that reunion dinner tomorrow. Just the thought of facing Alex after...no. Concentrate. Murders.

Tucker, Sean, Jessica and Kara were all the same age. Oscar Lahey was the obvious outlier, but she didn’t know anything about the hunter. She thought Scott had said he was young though. Joe squinted at the screen and tried to ignore the car keys sitting on the desk next to her. If she put it of any longer, Derek would probably show up here himself to retrieve both keys and car. She was not ready to see him.

After driving her and Scott home the other night, she understood Derek’s frustration when he tried to manouver her old Ford Fiesta in the same way he used the Camaro. Both were technically cars, but they were on completely different levels. Just like her and Derek.

Not what she was supposed to think about. Come on. Murder and mayhem happening here.

Ignoring Oscar Lahey, Isaac’s dad, it meant that all the victims were young adults who had previously gone to Beacon Hills High. Using Scott’s login information, she had checked the school’s website and the records indicated they hadn’t been in any shared classes. So the only common denominator was the school itself. Then she could include Oscar Lahey as well, because he’d been a teacher and coach there before he took over his parents’ business with the cemetery. A business now sold off to a city-based firm, money probably going into a frozen account on Isaac’s behalf.

Speaking of, what the hell was she supposed to say to him next time she saw Derek? After the Paige-thing, she had planned to apologize, but after the rave-thing it kind of felt like she wouldn’t have to and after the clinic-thing she...had no idea anymore. Simple as that. He had saved Scott’s life, was that worth overlooking whatever this Paige-thing was for the time being? It would be easy to find out more if she wanted. Because Derek and Jimmy both knew her, or had known, she would have been someone from high school. A quick search through the yearbooks would give her a last name and she could continue from there, look up public health records or newspapers. And she was not going to do that, she scolded herself. Whatever it was, she wanted to hear it from Derek.

Oh my God, Delgado, focus for ten seconds please!

Kanima. All victims were white, except for Kara, who’d been black. Another outlier. Or she thought, she did not know the ethnicity of the hunter. Joe groaned and rested her head back against the chair where she had slumped so far down she was nearly on the floor. Four males, two females. There _was_ a pattern here, she just couldn’t find it. And to make matters worse, when she called Sheriff Stilinski to request any news on that interview request, he let her know he was suspended. Stiles’ constant brushes with the law apparently tipped the scales for the elected official.

When Derek said he wanted to talk about everything after everything, what had he meant? After the full moon or after the kanima was stopped? Would she be safe to go there today with the car or would it end in an uncomfortable heart-to-heart where he could essentially mind read her and she was reduced to jittery nerves? Maybe he would agree to have that conversation over phone. Not that she actually had his phone number and she couldn’t help but wonder why. Had he not replaced the phone she broke?

Why was she still thinking about him? Focus!

Jessica was the only one killed directly by the kanima master, according to Scott’s theory explained when they got home. Because Jackson himself had been ‘born’ after his mother’s death, they theorized he was unable to go through with the killing and forced the kanima master to take matters into his or her own hands. That meant Jessica was definitely on whatever kill list this psychopath had, not just a bothersome witness.

She wanted to go up and talk to Jimmy. Wanted to pitch theories, make him help her think and concentrate. However, after the close call with the Argents, her stomach knotted itself at the thought. She had a feeling they were following her somehow, despite Chris’ insistence they were not. Maybe they had someone watching her car... Joe’s eyes fell on Derek’s car keys. It was not an all-terrain vehicle. It was not even her car. Anyway, if the Argents were watching her car, they were definitely keeping an eye out for Derek’s Camaro.

However...

_“No, no way, definitely not!”_

“Come on, Stiles, please,” Joe said as she got dressed in outdoors clothes, not getting caught in the cold again. “I just need it for a few hours.” He kept protesting and she decided to pull out the big guns. “You can have Derek’s car in the meantime, take it back to the depot.”

He fell quiet, very quiet. _“Does he know about it?”_

“No,” Joe admitted, but figured it would not be a dealbreaker for Stiles. “Just...don’t crash it and fill the tank. No big deal.”

Stiles agreed. He came over and they exchanged keys, while Stiles went over all the special tricks she would have to pull of to even get the Jeep running. Joe eyed the wreck with some concern, but it had survived everything else so far. She made a deal with Stiles and Scott that they would deliver the Camaro directly to Derek’s lair when they were done joyriding. Joe was quite pleased with that, killing two birds with one stone. She did not have the emotional capacity to see or talk to Derek right now.

It had taken a cold shower, plenty of sleep, and coffee for Joe to feel back to normal after the rave, and she still found herself daydreaming. About how he’d held onto her hips, how close their mouths had been, how hungry he had seemed. It was just...just a lot, you know, for one girl to handle, especially combined with everything else. Joe did not appreciate feeling like an animal in heat and wondered if she would have to resort to a spray bottle for herself.

The Jeep groaned and spat exhaust all the way up to the Preserve, but it never stalled and it seemed to take the bumpy roads better than her old Ford. When she reached the same spot where Jimmy kidnapped her the last time, she shut the engine off and marked the location on her smart phone’s GPS. Gotta love technology. No shotgun, as he did not need to be reminded of that, but she brought the werewolf-mace, although the results when used on Derek had not been all that satisfactory. It was all she had though.

She had studied maps of the Preserve, triangulating from her car’s position to the most likely cluster of mountains to have caverns. There were a couple of options, but she picked what seemed like the most secluded spot and headed in that direction. It was overcast, but the air warmed more up every day now when they were well on their way into spring. California did not have especially cold winters anyway. Not here for an ambush, Joe stopped within shouting distance of the mountain wall.

“Jimmy!” Her voice echoed back to her. No birds, she noted. No sounds except for her own voice. She was probably on the right path. “ _Jimmy!”_

The rustling came from behind and Joe willed herself to remain still. No sudden movements. What did her father say about negotations? Calm. Open. Helpful. Joe flinched as something thumped heavily on the ground, but did not turn around.

“If you are interested to know,” Jimmy’s lower than normal voice came from some distance behind her, “you weren’t followed. Apart from myself, of course.”

“Can I turn around?” Joe asked, figuring she would try and stay on Jimmy’s good side this time. She did need his help.

“You may.”

He was back in the sunglasses, ski-mask and black turtleneck. Less bumpy though, shoulders big, but not so they surpassed the top of his head. Swole, she believed was the right word, like a bodybuilder on steroids.

“How’ve you been?” Joe asked, not knowing how to phrase the real question she wanted to ask. ‘Are you on a murderous rampage using a revenge shapeshifting creature as your weapon?’

“The hunters failed to track me, if that’s what you are asking,” Jimmy announced and led the way towards a cluster of trees that hid the entrance to his cavern well enough. “You know, you are really failing the concept of secret hide-out here. It’s meant to be secret.”

“Yeah, it’s been a problem point for me lately,” Joe murmured, thinking of Derek’s lair. Marginally warmer inside, Joe was glad she wore a thick turtleneck sweater underneath her jacket. As predicted, Jimmy went straight for his kettle and started making tea. She let her eyes travel over the sparse interior, noting several crates of canned food. Not living of bunny rabits then.

“What urgent questions do you need answered this time, Delgado?” Jimmy asked conversationally as he made them both tea. He handed her a cup on an actual saucer that Joe balanced on her knees while perching in a camping chair.

So many questions. Ranging from _what happened_ to him that night, why was he working for Peter in the first place, how he was alive, why he looked like he did now, when was he coming back, who was Paige anyway and...

Joe cleared her throat. “There’s a new string of murders.” That at least got Jimmy’s attention and she listed the victims as she had with Derek. No mention of what killed them, that wasn’t important, the important part was finding the link. “They either went or worked at Beacon Hills High around when you-”

“Am I a suspect?” Jimmy mused through his mask and tilted his head. She only saw his beard when he lifted the mask to uncover his lips enough to drink his tea. Joe left hers untouched. His head tilted the other way, like a dog listening to a squeaky toy. “Your heartbeat is marginally sped up. Slight prespiration on your top lip, sign of increased adrenaline. Eyes steady though, not flickering. You’re tense, but not scared. Are you here because you think I have something to do with the murders?”

“Not really,” Joe mumbled and took a sip of her tea, using the opportunity to wipe the so-called perspiration off her lip. “I’m here because I’m stuck. I can’t find the pattern.”

“I’m flattered,” Jimmy said, but without facial expressions it was impossible to judge his sincerity. “Have you already asked Derek?”

Joe took another big gulp of tea to cover her nerves. It apparently told Jimmy what he needed to know.

“Let me guess, he did not remember these names, did he? Self-absorbed does not begin to cover Derek Hale in high school. Does he know you’re here, by the way? I can’t imagine him approving a visit without supervision.”

The question made Joe’s stomach lurch uncomfortably.

“Supervision? Approve it?” Joe said slowly, almost dropping her cup to the ground as she got up from the chair. “Let’s get one thing straight, okay? I don’t need Derek’s _approval_ to do a damn thing! I’m me and he’s he and we’re two separate people with separate lives and I can make my own decisions, thank you very much. You know, that’s my whole issue with this mate bullshit— apart from the serious concerns about consent and free will — but it’s like I’m expected to follow Derek around like a lost puppy just because the frickin’ moon meant we’d be a good match or whatever non-scientific bullshit you guys believe in!”

She paced in the small cavern kitchenette. Ranting, yelling, waving her arms around about how _stupid_ this was, repeating herself over and over again.

“Like I get that he’s an Alpha or the Alpha or whatever Alpha bullshit, but that doesn’t make him the boss of me! I’m not automatically in his ‘pack’, right? Book says we should start our own pack and then he went and started one without me using seriously limited sense of judgment on turning these kids left and right who might not be all that bad after a good hundred hours of therapy sessions-”

To Jimmy’s credit, he did not try and interrupt and drank his tea slowly, watching her kick up a small dust storm with her angry strides.

“And I have no idea what he wants anyway, because he’s hot and cold and lukewarm and would it kill the guy to use more than two facial expressions? I’m not even sure the guy likes me! Like he came onto _me_ at the rave, and sure I kept things going, but it’s not like we’re together and Alex was just being an asshole as usual and I don’t know if he’s jealous or if it was just physical or if he really doesn’t care. And I’m spending so much of my time worrying about all of this bullshit instead of figuring out what kind of psycho serial killer is on the loose in Beacon Hills!”

Sound of rattling porcelain as Jimmy put his cup and saucer to the side. “Are you about done?”

Realizing just how hard she was breathing, Joe made an effort to get it under control. “Yes! I’m done.”

“If I understood you correctly, you don’t want to spend too much time talking about Derek — although I must say I’m amazed you have not copulated yet, because from what I know of the mate bond it is quite strong,” the mask lifted as Jimmy presumably smiled, “but probably not a match against your strong will.”

Joe made a disgusted face. “Copulated?”

“Semantics,” Jimmy said with a dismissive wave of his gloved fingers. “My only advice here is that you have this talk with Derek, instead of me, although I would limit the number of times you repeat the word ‘bullshit’ as I counted at least thirteen instances in the last five minutes.” Joe rolled her eyes — it _was_ bullshit! Jimmy pretended not to notice. “Now, the murders.”

“Yes! Thank you!”

“You are focusing on victimology alone, and not _modus operandi_ I notice. Very well. Apart from the hunter, whose name is missing, all of the victims were a year ahead of me and Derek in high school. And, from what I remember, they were popular too. And, as an extent, assholes.”

“Bullies?” Joe asked with crossed arms, trying not to let her suspicion show.

Jimmy seemed to consider this. “Mm, yes, but not exclusively so. More arrogant. You see, they were part of the first swim team from Beacon Hills to win state championship.”

“Swim team...” Joe remembered the news article she found when researching Oscar Lahey. “And Lahey was the coach.”

“Exactly,” Jimmy said and sounded a bit pleased with himself.

“Swim team...and the kanima was afraid of the water,” Joe murmured under her breath, realizing too late that Jimmy would be able to hear her. “Shit. Don’t-”

“Kanima?” Jimmy repeated with reluctant fascination, but not like someone who had their whole secret exposed. “Oh dear. Who did Derek bite to achieve that?”

“How do you know it was Derek? Might as well have been Peter who did it,” Joe defended on instinct, realized it was only on instinct and could imagine Jimmy’s raised eyebrow somewhere behind the mask. “Okay, fine, it was probably Derek. This kid named Jackson Whittemore, captain of the lacrosse team.”

Jimmy nodded solemnly, obviously in deep thought. “Goes to show that status does not warrant emotional stability.” He drummed glove fingers on his crossed arms. “Vengeance creature, targeting the 2006 swim team. Apart from myself, do you have any suspects?”

“No.” She sighed and shook out her curls, trying to get air directly to her brain. Figuring the game was up anyway, she told her the rest of what they knew about the kanima. This specific one, because Jimmy had a lot of knowledge on the rest. “So it’s gotta be something connected to water, right? Swim team and a vengeance creature with aquaphobia.”

“Someone really holding a grudge from losing the championship?” Jimmy suggested, but dismissed it himself immediately. “That does not explain the fear of water, I admit. I can’t recall anyone actually dying in 2006 related to the swim team. Murder is the obvious blood revenge cause, so in theory-”

“The 2006 swim team collectively committed homicide?” Joe lifted her eyebrow and leaned on one hip. “Sounds like a massive cover-up job.”

“Could be manslaughter,” Jimmy said, but agreed with the rest of her statement. “I was in the school newspaper back then and I was pretty diligent about taking notes. I should have all the files back on my harddrive. I’m technically still on a digital detox, but I am willing to make an exception to solve this. A kanima on the loose in Beacon Hills is just bad news for humans and creatures alike. Give me a few days to look into it, I am just about ready with my...” He gestured to his concealed face and Joe did not know what to make of that.

“Thank you,” she said instead. “Really. I mean it.”

She turned to leave, but paused when Jimmy cleared his throat. He spoke slowly, almost as if rehearsed. “I know this was a visit driven by necesessity, but I am still honored you trust me enough to request my help. For what it’s worth, I never intended to-”

“Shoot me?” Joe asked with a quirked brow. His faceless head revealed nothing and Joe just shrugged. “I have a feeling that shot came more from your issues with Peter than with me. Shooting me, or trying to, doesn’t really bother me. The fact that you lied to me all that time does.” She scuffed her boot into the bright sand that covered the ground inside the cavern. “Giving you a second chance here, Jim. If you want it.”

“A few days,” Jimmy promised, although his voice sounded thick. Joe hoped he wasn’t shifting into a rage-filled monster again. “After the half moon. I’ll contact you.”

Using the GPS, Joe navigated back to the Jeep and left the covered up Jimmy alone in his cavern.

* * *

Hands on her hips, Joe surveyed the disaster. She had to stay calm. This was technically her fault. Technically technically it was Stiles’ fault, but the responsibility ultimately ended up with her. What had she been thinking?

“So I swerved to avoid a pot hole, because it sits so low you know, but then the front wheel got caught in a tire track and then I swerved _again_ and that’s how-”

“You hit a stop-sign?” Joe asked incredulously, noting, but not appreciating the irony. Stiles made a large bodied motion of denial.

“I didn’t _hit_ a stop-sign. I didn’t _hit_ anything,” he exclaimed and gestured wildly. “I sort of,” he used his arms to indicate a fluid motion, “drifted against it.” He did the same sideways swimming stroke a few times. “Drift. Not hit. Big difference.”

The result was a large scratch in the paint job on the front of the Camaro. No bumps, but still a large wound on an otherwise slick and pristine vehicle. Joe dropped her head back, trying to think and avoid strangling Stiles at the same time.

“I said to be careful!” Joe let out a wail and bent down to see if the scratch looked any better up close. It did not.

“I was!” Stiles tried to shrink while giving her big puppy eyes. “I did fill the tank though.”

So much for her plan of Scott and Stiles driving the car back to Derek. He would kill them. He would not kill her, she was sure of that much, but he might be sarcastic and disappointed with her. Which after the rave and vet clinic did not sound like a promising prospect. It was like they’d finally made some progress and she did not want to lose what little faith he had in her over a scratched paint job.

“You know, with some black markers and nail polish, I think we-”

“Oh my God, Stiles, no!” She got up from the fender to stare Stiles down. “The guy has literal infrared vision, he’s gonna notice!” Under her breath, she muttered: “He’s gonna smell the goddamn nerves when I get there. Ugh!” Worst part was, she was a good driver and now she had to claim responsibility for something as idiotic as what Stiles had managed.

They switched keys and Joe told Stiles to get lost before she changed her mind. Scott had wisely stayed out of this, only lingering behind Stiles to intercept if Joe got violent. When Stiles groaned and lamented about how it could have happened to anyone as he did all his tricks to get the Jeep running, Scott was left alone out on the curb with Joe and the damaged Camaro.

“Uh...I think I heard Mom call-”

“You get a free pass because you nearly died,” Joe said evenly and Scott deflated.

“Oh thank God.”

“On one condition.”

“Oh God.”

“Answer me honestly,” Joe said and Scott squirmed under her gaze as the Jeep sped away. “Are you okay? Did you talk to Allison?”

“Yes and no,” he said and shrugged when her eyebrows rose. “I’m being honest!” She kept her eyebrows up and he sighed, slumping down on the curb. “I’m okay, I just...just had forgotten how it felt, that’s all. Being so out of breath.”

Joe followed his lead and plopped down as well, leaning forward to get a better view of his face. He was far away, obviously recalling what happened.

“She was so angry. Going on and on about how it would look like an accident, like an asthma attack, and that I didn’t have my inhaler and stuff.” Scott messed up his hair and bent forward even more. “Called me an Omega. That’s how I remembered to, y’know, howl. Call for help.”

“For Derek,” Joe whispered under her breath, Camaro momentarily forgotten. It was not that hard to visualize Victoria saying those things, she seemed so heartless and cold. Between her and Kate, it was a wonder Allison was a functioning human being at all. Not that Joe had actually seen Allison other than from afar since that night. She looked too much like Kate. “How did Allison take it?”

“I haven’t told her.” Scott’s voice was raw. “She’s gonna blame herself, because her mom found out we...she found out about us. And, uh, we kind of had a fight before it happened. It’s, uh, probably too late, but we’re gonna slow down a little. Not see each other that much.”

Something in Scott’s voice indicated a lie, but it was probably as much for him as for Joe. “So Allison doesn’t know?”

“No,” Scott whispered. “It doesn’t change anything anyway.”

“No, I mean, does she know what happened to Victoria?”

Scott gave her a puzzled look, big brown eyes innocent and wide. “What do you mean? What happened to her? I think Derek just knocked her out.”

He doesn’t know, Joe realized and her entire body froze. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know Victoria’s bitten. Joe mumbled something in a response, while Scott kept talking about something to do with Allison and this other guy and Joe couldn’t hear anything but her own thoughts. He doesn’t know.

* * *

As Joe drove the Camaro to the depot, she saw a flash of red lights before she fully entered the warehouse district. It was either a speed trap or Derek, so she pulled over either way into a small alley. From the deepest shadows behind a large container Derek, of course, emerged and opened the car door for her.

“You gotta stop coming to the depot,” he said gently and let her get out. No way of telling how long he’d been waiting or if he could recognize the sound of his own car from afar. “Too much traffic’s gonna attract attention.” His brows furrowed, obviously _sensing_ something. “Everything okay?”

“How,” Joe took several steps away from him, fighting to keep her voice down even though this whole area looked deserted, “could you not tell Scott what happened with Victoria Argent?”

Derek opened his mouth, then shut it. “It doesn’t ma-”

“Yes, it does!” Joe insisted and threw her hands up in frustration, forgetting to keep her voice down. “Jesus Christ, Derek! Of course it matters. She’s his girlfriend’s mom!”

He crossed his arms and looked to the side while taking a short breath. “I know.”

“I know you know!” Joe cried and her fingers flexed, as if she too had claws, ready to strike. “So how could you not tell him? He deserves to know.”

“How could I not?” Derek repeated. “I’m not heartless, Joe, I’m not _trying_ to break things off between Scott and Allison. If I told him, he’d tell her and that would be it. Now they at least have until the full moon, until Victoria is forced to-” He trailed off, jaw flexing. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Forced to?” Joe asked and tried to blink away the tears pooling in her eyes. “Forced to what, Derek?”

“Either the bite kills her,” Derek said slowly, not looking at her, “or she’ll kill herself.”

She took a step back, hand covering her mouth as if she could keep all of her shock inside. “Are you sure?”

“They have a Code,” Derek said, repeating Chris’ words. “It’s pretty clear. A bitten hunter is a dead hunter. They’re kinda fanatical, Joe.”

“Oh my God,” Joe whispered under her breath. “And Allison probably doesn’t know...oh my God.” The girl was gonna lose her mom in just a week. Less than two months from losing her aunt. Joe clutched her face, not caring about the tears, stumbling blindly around. “Oh my God.”

Derek sighed and put his hand out, trying to grab her arm. Joe retreated on instinct, unable to look at him. His hand fell limp by his side.

“I didn’t kill her,” he said in a low voice.

“But you knew what was gonna happen!” Joe said, noting her undertone of hysteria. “It wasn’t a fifty percent chance she was gonna make it, you knew she would either reject the bite or reject the transformation. You knew that!”

He said nothing and Joe looked everywhere but him, missing whatever lack of facial expression he had. His voice was barely more than a growl. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“I know!” Joe cried out again and finally looked at him, angry and sullen as he was. “But you did have a choice in telling Scott and instead you lied to him! He thinks everything’s fine!”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference!”

“Maybe not! But that’s for Scott to decide! You got to stop hiding things, no matter the reasons, you got to trust people to make their own decisions. It’s always better to tell the truth!”

His eyebrow raised and she saw him struggle for control as his nostrils flared. In a flat voice, he bit out: “Are we still talking about Scott?”

“Oh God,” Joe groaned and ran a palm over her face. “No, maybe not, but it’s not about that either,” she insisted to his disbelieving face, referring to her obtrusive questions about Paige. “I mean it. You’re entitled to your privacy and let’s be fair, I’ve not exactly been forthcoming with everything in my own past either. It’s fine, I’ll never ask again. You decide if and when you ever want to tell me.”

She folded her arms, as much to protect herself from the angry eyes directed at her and to avoid them waving around when she tried to explain: “But it’s about everything else that’s not just in the past. You don’t tell us _anything_ until it’s convenient for you, you don’t tell _me_ anything, and you still expect me to fall in line and do as you say and I don’t know if it’s because you’re an Alpha or because we’re supposed to be mates, but I’m not gonna follow you around like some kicked puppy-”

“What?” Derek’s eyes widened, but he kept his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “You’re the one following _me_ around like-” Unable to say it, he shook his head in disbelief and turned around, as if looking at her made him sick. Just for a second, before he came back: “I am _trying_ to keep you safe, Joe!”

“I don’t want you to!” Joe yelled and her voice echoed in the dark alley. She knew her heartbeat was going crazy of anger and rage and all those pent-up emotions looking for an outlet. “I’m _sick_ of you trying to keep me safe. I’m my own goddamn person, Derek! I don’t like someone making my decisions for me — if it’s Dad, or Alex, or you or the stupid-ass moon, I don’t care!”

“So that’s the problem?” he spat, lip curling up in a snarl. “That you don’t have control?”

“It’s everything! I like you, Derek!” Joe blurted out before she could stop herself. “Obviously, I really like you, but I can’t,” she waved her fingers around, not sure how to put it into actual words, “do this because I don’t know if I like you on my own or if it’s something beyond my control that’s compelling me to. I don’t know what’s real or not.”

He rolled his eyes excessively. “Look, if this is about what happened at the rave-”

“No, it’s not about the rave!” Joe groaned, pacing away from him. This was not the time to focus too much on that memory. Anger was better. Anger was safe. “The rave’s fine. The rave was _great_ until-” she was about to mention Alex and changed gears quickly, “-until Scott nearly died. If anything, that’s the most normal this has ever felt.”

“This?”

“This,” Joe repeated loudly and gestured to the space between them, “if it’s even real.”

As expected — or she at least should have expected it — Derek held out his hand, palm up. He was leaning against the side of his car and it was pretty much a repeat from the hospital, except for the hard line to his mouth and flexed neck muscles.

“You tell me.”

“Don’t do that,” Joe demanded, glaring at his open hand as much as his angry face. “Don’t make this harder than it already is. It’s a simple question — is this real?”

It was Derek’s turn to exhale loudly and he rolled both his eyes and head back. “You - tell - me,” he repeated, nostrils flaring as he enunciated each word carefully. “I only have half the answer.”

He didn’t even have the whole question, Joe realized, but was too cowardly to say that aloud. He thought she meant the mate bond. The realization that she had pretty much accepted that part hit her like a sucker punch. It was like being brainwashed. She regarded his hand like it was a small bottle with unknown content saying ‘Drink me’. A trap or an opportunity. Or both.

Admitting defeat, Derek snatched his hand back to cross over his chest. If possible, his eyes turned even colder. “As far as I can tell, yes. It’s real. Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters!” Again, her shout echoed in the night. She couldn’t believe him — of all the stupid questions in the world. “Don’t you get it? If you were just some guy I met and danced with at a rave, I would not be overthinking absolutely everything. First of all, I’m not even sure what you want. I’m not sure you know what you want and I sure as hell don’t know what I want! It’s almost like we’re doing this backwards. It’s like, we’re skipping so many steps here, so many milestones, we don’t even know each other and-”

Joe cut herself off and let out a noise of frustration. “Do you want kids, Derek?”

_“What?”_

“Do you want kids?” Joe asked again, ignoring the stunned expression on his face. “That’s like a basic question that people have to agree upon before deciding to spend their lives together. If you want kids, how many? Oh, you don’t know, because you’re twenty-three and you’re not supposed to have your whole life figured out by then? Huh, well, that complicates things, doesn’t it? Are you in debt? You wanna live in a small town, medium town, big city? Are you okay to be a stay-at-home dad if I want to focus on my career? If not, what are you gonna do for a living? How are we gonna support ourselves? If I want to drop my degree and start teaching, I dunno, pilates or whatever, is that cool with you?”

Derek’s blank expression told her absolutely nothing beyond that he had lost track of this conversation. Joe knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t help herself. The flood dams were open and damn, she flooded.

“Don’t you get it? All the answers to those questions, that’s what we’re missing when we skip from ‘Hi, nice to meet you’ to ‘Oh, we’re destined to be together.’ Has the moon considered if we’re compatible? I don’t mean physically, I mean all the other stuff. Deal-breakers, pet-peeves, habits — Are you a cover hog? Do you talk during movies? Glitter bomb the sink after shaving? Can you live with someone who leaves half-empty water bottles all over the place? Are you fine with me forgetting to put the toothpaste cap back on? Do you wake up at first light or snooze in? How do you take your coffee? Do you have weird food preferences? And this is without even starting to consider that you’re a...”

Another frustrated noise as Joe trailed off and tried to breathe, tried to get her thoughts sorted. She paced around in the alley, much like she had in the cavern with Jimmy.

“Look, I overstepped some boundaries the other day, I get that, but that’s what I mean that we have this all backwards. For some reason, I felt entitled to know! And it doesn’t make sense, I see that now. It’s just, I know some pretty heavy stuff about your past, but not from you and...I wished I could have heard it _from_ you, if you know what I mean? At the right time? I don’t-”

She was being nonsensical and she tried again. “As much as I feel like I know you, I don’t know anything _about_ you. I don’t even know the _first-date_ stuff about you. I don’t know your birthday or what kind of books you like or what your dream job would be or what’s the strangest phone call you’ve ever had-”

Derek huffed air out his nose in exasperation and seemed to grasp onto one concept he at least recognized. “Do you want me to take you on a date?”

“No!”

“Then _what_ do you want?” His jaw and bicep both flexed as he gestured with one hand. “You want to know my birthday? Fine, November seventh. What difference does it make?”

“Jesus Christ, Derek, it doesn’t make a difference!” She shook out her curls when he gave her that same blank expression from before, one that was probably confusion, but as always bordering on anger. “It’s not about the facts. Then I’d make you fill out a damn questionnaire. I just want to get to know you, you know, through conversation or however else normal people do it.”

“Like on a date?”

“Don’t do that!” She glared at him through her hands that had crept up to cover the rising flush in her cheeks from the rush of emotions, part anger and part adrenaline. “It’s not about a date either! And don’t ask me out to shut me up. If you’re gonna ask me out, do it because _you_ want to, because you think I’m interesting or cute-”

“Are you serious?” Derek muttered and looked close to committing homicide. He threw his hand out. “I thought I just did.”

A simple sentence delivered so matter-of-factly that it sent butterflies dive bombing around in her stomach, unfortunately they landed in a cesspool of anger. Voice tight and dripping with venom, she explained slowly: “No, you didn’t, you asked because I brought it up. Don’t even pretend otherwise.”

Again, she used both hands to lift her curls away from her scalp in an attempt to cool off. It seemed like Derek was following her example as he ran a hand through his spiked hair, glaring at the concrete asphalt of the street.

A few seconds passed without either of them saying anything. Derek rolled his eyes with a deep inhale. A sigh that seemed to ripple through his whole body and there was something unnervingly honest in his eyes when he said: “Okay, yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I want kids.”

It was her turn to be taken aback. She stuttered to find a response.

“But if you don’t, I’ll be able to live with it,” Derek continued when she failed to find her voice. He shrugged again, obviously at the end of his rope. “Small town, big city, fine, whatever. Work or stay home with the kids we may or may not want, sure. It doesn’t matter!”

It took her several seconds to remember she could talk. “Of course it matters!”

“It matters to you if I want kids or not? Right now?”

“No, not right now, I-” Joe bit her teeth together, trying to hold down a shout and let out a frustrated growl instead. “It’s not about that specific question anyway! It’s about that there’s a progression to getting into a-”

“I got to start somewhere!” he said with raised eyebrows. “It’s not just now, you’re asking me things _all the time_ and you never give me the chance to answer!”

Joe was tempted to tear her hair out. “Forget it, okay? It wasn’t about the questions!”

“It’s always about questions with you!”

“Well, how else am I supposed to figure things out? You’re not exactly volunteering information here!”

He shook his head in disbelief. “So you want me to answer?”

“No!” she nearly screamed. Was she not speaking English? “Not like that!”

“You are without a doubt the most frustrating person I’ve met!” he shouted and rolled his eyes so far back his head followed suit. The volume of his voice rose with each word. “If you didn’t want me to answer, _why did you ask?”_

“To prove a point! They were examples! Jesus Christ, Derek, I wasn’t trying to cross-interrogate you!”

“But that’s what you’re always doing!” He threw his arms out harshly. “Every other word out of your mouth is another _question_!”

“Because I don’t _know_ anything! Because it’s the only way to get _you to talk!_ ”

“Maybe I would talk,” he roared, “if you could listen for more than _five seconds at a time!_ ”

“You-” Her mouth snapped shut. For around five seconds, or at least long enough for the echoes to die down. No telling who was feeding whose anger now. His eyes were glowing red and she had dug her nails into her palms from clenching her fists so hard. They’d both been shouting and she forced her voice to a lower volume.

“ _No_ ,” she bit out and folded her arms, refusing to back down even with his glowering scowl directed at her. “You’ve asked to talk _twice_ , Derek, with the worst timing in history. The first time you were literally wanted for murder, and even worse, you were working together with your psycho uncle on his revenge killing spree, so excuse me for not falling over to have a heart-to-heart in the backyard.”

Now she talked over him on purpose, not giving him the chance to respond. “The second time I _told_ you I didn’t want to talk and you didn’t care! You didn’t even ask why, because then I could have told you that not only had my world been flipped upside down,” she counted on her fingers,” and someone I considered a friend was missing _and_ my dad was in town, I’d also just found out that one of the people I respect and trust most in this world had been lying to me for five years.”

His eyes still shone red, extra visible in the dim light of the alley, but Joe was not done yet.

“I could have _told_ you my guards were a little higher up than usual and it was probably not the best time to learn that my whole future was predetermined too because of some supernatural bullshit I didn’t even know existed a week earlier! So this could all have gone very differently if _you’d_ bothered to ask me a question, Hale.”

Strike one, she thought, on the bullshit-counter. Aware of her clenched fists and equally aware of his clenched jaw, she stepped back and tried to get her breath under control. “There. Not a single question. Floor’s yours.”

It was hard to not just wither when he put those eyes at her. Beautiful, even with the unnatural color, and he practically growled when closing them briefly. She thought she saw something happen to his mouth as well, possibly fangs going back. When he opened his eyes again, they were the familiar glittering, angry green she knew best.

He swallowed harshly and for once, it seemed like the anger was not directed at her though. “You’re right.” At her raised eyebrows, he sighed in irritation, as if he realized he had to elaborate. “I didn’t care. I only cared about finding out for sure because I was going crazy not knowing.”

At least something she could sympathize with, but still smarting from that ‘five seconds’-comment from before she bit her lips together instead of saying something.

He did a half-shrug, slumping back against his car after he’d pushed off it when shouting before. “And to be honest I don’t know what I was going to say after that. I still don’t. I have _no idea_ how to make you accept this for what it is, Joe. Every conversation I have with you takes a turn I never could have predicted. Talking with you is like trying to read three books at the same time, trying to make sense of your signals somehow makes it worse and all I really know is that I can’t force you to understand something I barely understand myself.”

When Joe still fought to stay silent, in case he had more coming, Derek rolled his eyes. “Ask whatever you want to ask, Joe, before you blow a cartilage.”

“Would it have been easier if I was like you,” the question blurted out the second he gave her permission, “if I was a-” She swallowed and he did not bother to wait for her to even try.

“If it would have been easier?” he repeated and she nodded, watching him intently when he shrugged, shoulders still tense with anger. “Probably not. Can’t imagine you’d be less frustrating as a werewolf.”

“Really?” She winced at the inflection, wondering how she could rewrite her whole speech pattern. Nosy Josie. Always asking, always digging. No point in dwelling at the insult, he was no walk in the park either. “I mean, it wouldn’t have felt more normal or intuitive or-”

Derek raised an eyebrow, looking nowhere near amused. “Wasn’t aware I gave off the impression this felt normal to me. Or intuitive.”

“Well, to be fair, you don’t give off the impression of feeling anything,” Joe mumbled and lifted her hair away from her face again, both to distract and to cool off.

Now that he had made her aware of it, she couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t a question. Besides, his comment stung and she was not even sure why yet. Of course this wasn’t normal to him. She had already suspected that this probably wasn’t an ideal situation for him either. Maybe it was that difference between suspecting and knowing. Maybe she had wanted at least one of them to know what they were doing.

“Joe, you have to understand that this is so rare most werewolves think it’s a myth,” Derek said, again with that slow pace that she guessed came from him choosing his words carefully. “It’s something we hear about, but it’s not like we prepare for it. It was not what I expected when I came back to Beacon Hills.”

_Or wanted? Or needed?_ The questions lined themselves up behind Joe’s lips, but she kept them shut. He was slumped against the side of his car and watched her with his arms crossed. Again, she got the feeling he was still listening even if she didn’t say anything.

  
“I can’t read your mind,” he said, as if he just had done that. His eyes nearly slid close in frustration. “Please, Joe, just ask whatever you want to ask.”

“That’s the problem,” she said and noted how harsh her tone was. “I don’t even know what I should know. I’m so out of my depth here that I don’t know anything. Maybe that’s why every other word out of my mouth is a question,” she saw his jaw tighten as he looked away from her, “because I’m just firing buckshots and hoping something’s gonna stick.”

“Then answer one of mine,” Derek shot back and tilted his head, as if preparing to listen with more than just human senses. “What do you _want_ , Joe?”

What did she want? Now instead of questions, several answers lined themselves up in her mind. What did she want? She wanted there to be a choice. She wanted him to choose her. She wanted to know she was actively choosing him. She wanted him to be happy, her to be happy, both of them to be happy, either separately or together. She wanted him to want her. She wanted to know she could change her mind. She wanted normal, she wanted the thrill of the unknown, she wanted the excitement of the uncertainty. She wanted to know everything about him. She wanted him. She wanted to finish her PhD, she wanted life to go back to normal, she wanted people to stop dying. She wanted to take back the kiss with Alex and her questions about Paige. She wanted a lot.

Instead of saying any of that, she faltered and answered: “I don’t know.”

It was as honest as anything else. She avoided his raised eyebrow and shrugged before wrapping her arms around herself. “I really don’t.” As he made no motions to speak or relieve her of that intense gaze, she threw her hands out. “I guess I want there to be a choice.”

“You don’t think there is one?” Somewhere along the line, the anger had died out. He sounded genuine. “Then what are you doing right now?”

“Resisting,” she said with another shrug and did not fail to notice muscles protruding on his cheeks when he bit his teeth together. Unable to analyze that, at least when forced to look at him, she tried to deflect. “What do _you_ want, Derek?”

“With you? I don’t know.” The answer came so fast she rolled her eyes, thinking he was just making fun of her. This in turn made him sigh and rub his stubbled jaw tiredly, disproving her fears. “I don’t. I’ve never done this before, Joe, I don’t have all the answers. But, as you said, we’re not supposed to have it all figured out now.” He slumped further against the side of his car, speaking somewhere in the direction of her feet. “We don’t have to have it figured out now. ”

Shaking his head, he glanced up at her again. “You know I considered not telling you? At all? Peter said I should wait, win you over first, and-”

“Of all the advice in the world-”

Derek cut her off, not done talking. “And I realized how unfair that would be to you. Neither of us asked for this, but it happened. There’s no why or why us, it just is. Maybe you don’t feel the connection as strongly because you’re human, but it’s there and you deserved to know what it was.” His voice turned bitter now and he was definitely not looking at her when he added: “Besides, knowing you, even if I did manage to win you over, you would have left me in spite just to prove a point no matter if I told you after a year, or ten years or twenty.”

Twenty years, Joe thought and it filled her with equal parts panic and excitement. He’d pictured them together in twenty years — twenty years! — and accurately judged how she would react. A part of her wanted to know, what he’d pictured, how he wanted this to go, _what_ he actually wanted. A part of her did not, already too freaked out at the prospect.

“Joe, I...” Derek closed his eyes and now it looked like he was the one trying to breathe through his mouth. “I can give you all the time and space you want or need, but I _can’t_ let you get hurt, especially not because of me. Too many have already been hurt.” _because of him._ He didn’t say it, but his silence spoke volumes. Her heartbeat went faster when he glanced at her, the full intensity of his gaze on her skin. “I’m sorry you got dragged into all of this.”

“Don’t apologize for something that’s not your fault,” she said and tried to figure out what to do with her hands, tired of gesturing. “And I don’t want time and space, Derek, then it just feels like I’m stalling the inevitable. That means there’s no actual choice and-” She sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry for _asking_ , but I have to know this. You said you knew I wasn’t attracted to Alex-”

For some reason, that made him quirk his brow upwards. “Because I could smell it on you. It’s called chemosignals and I’ve never met someone who can send out so many different ones at the same time as you, but both at Berkeley, in the hospital or after the rave there was nothing about your scent that indicated you were still attracted to her.”

“That wasn’t what I was gonna ask,” Joe admitted, though now her mind filled with even more questions. He had said he checked and why would he do that unless he worried? Why would he worry unless there was at least some reciprocation for whatever conflicted feelings she had for him?

For someone who claimed he couldn’t read her mind, he was amazingly adept at guessing what she was thinking. “You’re worried the reason you’re not attracted to her is because of the mate-bond? You’re worried you _can’t_ be attracted to someone else because of it?”

“Worried is a strong word,” she mumbled, making a face. “But yeah, pretty much. Like I said, I don’t know how this works.” Her sneakers shuffled over the ground as she took a few steps away. “I don’t know anything.”

He let out a slow exhale, the frustration almost palpable. “Think of another person you’ve been attracted to. A high school crush, a celebrity, a character. Try to picture them in your mind.”

His order came so nonchalant she found herself obeying without question. The implication was obvious that she was not supposed to think of him. Fine. With her back to him, she closed her eyes and did as told. It only took her a few seconds to conjure up the image of her childhood dreams.

“There you go.”

“Oh my God, you can smell _that_?” she asked in horror and retreated several steps now. That meant he had definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, smelled how she was like a cat in heat back at in his subway cart the other day. Why had he not responded to it then? What was different at the rave? Just the intensity or the fact that she was drunk?

He shrugged, fortunately not smiling, but something tugged at his lips as if he was making an effort not to do so. “Who did you think about?”

“You can’t tell anyone,” she all but whispered, clutching her burning face with both hands. He raised his eyebrows in expectation and she swallowed, but decided to just go for it, figuring she owed him an answer in return for once. “And don’t laugh.” Probably not the biggest concern, because she could not even remember if she had ever heard him laugh before. “Will Smith.”

There was no hiding that beginning of a close-lipped smile on his face. “Really?”

“Only his 90s-era. Shut up!” She made a face at his smug smirk. “Now you gotta tell me yours. It’s only fair.”

“Halle Berry, 1994 Flintstones movie,” he replied without hesitation and Joe tried, she really tried, but her poker face was nowhere near his caliber. Especially not when he continued looking at her with raised eyebrows. She covered her mouth to stop from laughing outright, to avoid breaking her own rule. It didn’t work. 

“I’m sorry,” she said in a thin voice, shoulders shaking from trying to hold it in. Turning away from him, she shook her head and bit her lip to contain the giggle trying to escape. “I just- how did- it’s a good choice! Halle Berry is hella hot, y’know, I just… That’s really specific. Dude, she had like three minutes of screen-time in that movie.”

“I won’t judge if you won’t.”

“No one should be judged for their childhood crushes,” she agreed while turning back around and found herself smiling when seeing his eyes glittering in some kind of enjoyment. Feeling deflated, she shook her head and saw the now frizzy curls dance around her face. “Man, we do have the weirdest conversations. How did we go from Victoria Argent possibly committing harakiri in a week to Halle Berry in polyester tiger-prints?” Before he could say anything, especially about the rambling she had flung at him, she cleared her throat. “That was a rhetorical question and doesn’t count.”

Joe folded her arms over the top of her head, putting her hair under them and airing out her neck. They weren’t done yet, even though she was tempted to just turn on her heel and run. “Can you do me a favor and keep thinking about Halle Berry while I apologize about your car?” She watched his face clear and he spun around to check his Camaro. “I’m really sorry and I’m gonna pay for it.”

The movement had him looking straight at the front part of his car, at the furrow in the otherwise slick black. His eyes glanced back at her with concern that made her feel a lot more guilty than she had thought she could be. “What happened?”

“I, uh, hit a stop sign.” She shrank again under his bright eyes, now filled with disbelief and she fumbled for a convincing story. “I’m sorry! I guess your car’s too,” she tried to find her words, “powerful for a girl like me?”

“I know you’re lying,” Derek said from where he’d bent down to inspect it. Trailed his fingers over the scratch. “You’re too good a driver to hit a stop sign,” he straightened up with a sigh, “and I can smell who used the car. Really?”

“I’m sorry,” Joe said again with a grimace that he missed. “I honestly didn’t think they’d mess it up. I was going to have them bring it back here so I could avoid you. No offense, but if you haven’t noticed, I’m horrible at these kind of talks.” Feeling the blush rise again when he kept looking at her, she worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “How much do you think it’s gonna be?”

“Nothing, it’s only superficial. Just a scratch.” He probably meant it, but it was concealed under a layer of irritation. “I know a guy who can fix it before tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at six.”

“Dude, you gotta let me pay-” His words registered. “Pick me up where?” Joe asked in genuine confusion, her mind still stuck in calculating how much she had left this month after paying for Derek’s paint job. He had not actually been serious about a date?

“The reunion dinner. It’s tomorrow.”

She stared at him with wide blinking eyes and he met her stare equally with raised eyebrows. 

“You’re serious? The reunion dinner?” More questions and she winced at herself. “Jesus, no, I already cancelled,” Joe said with a new shake of her head. How did he even know when it was supposed to be? She knew she hadn’t told him. “That’s like so far down on my list of priorities right now. With the murders and the full moon coming up...” She withered under his disbelieving frown. “Okay, fine, I don’t wanna see Alex after what happened.”

His unreadable face regarded her before he nodded slightly, letting her off the hook. “Okay. Get in and I’ll take you home.”

“Can we, like, not talk anymore? My brain’s already fried and getting in a car with you is not gonna help.”

A flicker of a smile on his lips. “I’m pretty good at not talking. Come on.”

“Promise?”

“Get in the car, Joe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long chapter! And for the most frustrating conversation in the history of time, but they're not emotional superstars either of them. Figured they deserved to be yelling a bit at each other -- there's a lot going on, remember? 
> 
> Side-question: Who was your childhood crush? (Besides Tyler Hoechlin as Derek Hale of course...) The ones I remember the best is Aragorn from Lord of the Rings and Li Shang from the original Mulan-movie :)
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading and please let me know what you think! It's starting to snow here, so kinda in a Christmas-kind of mood and I wish you all an equally nice Thursday <3


	39. The Runaway III

Whatever Joe was doing, she was _not_ thinking about that reunion dinner. She was not thinking about how it was the first dinner she would not attend since they began having them. She was not thinking about how Kelly had gone through all this trouble organizing things for Joe to cancel last minute. She was not thinking about how this meant that Alex had won, somehow.

Not thinking about it.

Also not thinking about the immense guilt she felt for not telling Scott about Victoria Argent. What Derek had said made sense, but at the same time, she was a big believer in the truth. Now was a good chance to practice what she preached and instead she hid in her room, avoiding Scott for the time being. Still had a week. Not that she was thinking about it.

Her fingers worked furiously over the keyboard, using the not-thinking-about-it as fuel to get this stupid paper finished to she could move on with her life. By her luck, her next paper would be about the kanima-murders, not that they were any closer to solving them and the full moon was coming up and Scott said that meant the kanima would be at its strongest and Joe had tried to track down the remaining members of the 2006 swim team and-

Okay, stop. Joe took a breath to relax a bit, exchanging the document on her computer with the list of notes on the kanima. Going on what she and Jimmy discovered on the victims’ connection with the swim team, she had done some research to find who else could be next. Some of them were already dead, like Camden Lahey who was Isaac’s older brother from what she could find out. Died in combat.

If they were lucky, it wasn’t the whole swim team and the kanima was done. The legends were unclear on what would happen then. Would the kanima disappear or try and find a new master? She had considered sending the intel to her dad or the Sheriff, but it was circumstantial evidence at best. If they were wrong about the swim team connection, they would divert police forces from where they needed to be. She needed more. Motive, first of all. A suspect would be better.

The doorbell rang downstairs and Joe grudgingly saved her work and got up. Scott was out somewhere, probably with Stiles and hopefully not with Allison, but Aunt Melissa was home and fast asleep on the couch. Or not, Joe thought, when she heard Aunt Melissa’s voice come from downstairs.

_“Hi?”_ Aunt Melissa sounded a bit skeptical.

The answer made Joe freeze in the hallway before she reached the stairs. Derek’s voice saying: _“Hi. Is Joe home?”_

_“Uhh...”_ Aunt Mel, bless her heart, hesitated. _“You know, I’m not sure. I’ll go check.”_ Joe wondered how she could get out of this. Derek had to know she was home, her car was in the driveway and he could probably smell her from miles away. If this was another talk, she would rather not face him in her tie-dye sweatshirt. Aunt Mel never came up the stairs as she expected though. _“Hey, do I know you from somewhere? I swear I’ve seen your face before.”_

_“I don’t think we’ve met officially,”_ Derek said with what sounded like forced politeness. “ _But I’m Derek Hale.”_

Aunt Mel’s voice was laced with skepticism now. _“Derek Hale as in...”_

_“Fully exonerated Derek Hale,”_ Derek said and Joe rolled her eyes at the awkward conversation she should probably go downstairs to interrupt. _“Thanks to Joe and Agent Delgado.”_

“Right,” said Aunt Mel, and by then, Joe had enough and came bounding down the stairs as if she had not been listening in. “Oh, look at that, she is home.” Aunt Mel gave Joe a wide-eyed look over her shoulder, as if trying to convey that Joe should give a signal if she needed help.

“Hi, Derek,” Joe said with a tight smile and tilted her head to the side to make Aunt Mel leave. Aunt Mel did so, but slowly, obviously trying to overhear the conversation, probably considering calling the cops. Joe took the place in the doorway to face Derek fully, whose expression as usual gave away nothing. “What’s up?”

He waited a bit, eyes on something behind Joe, and she turned to see the hint of a purple leg disappear behind the corner.

Joe rolled her eyes and leaned in closer, cursing herself when that filled her brain with Derek-scent. She whispered: “Is she listening?”

“Mhm,” Derek confirmed so low Joe barely caught it.

“Okay fine,” Joe murmured and then raised her voice unnaturally high. “Thank you for coming, Derek, to fact-check that paper I’m writing _come on, let’s go_ on the murders you did not commit!”

She led Derek upstairs, where she knew Aunt Mel wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop, and closed the door firmly behind her. Derek in her bedroom looked as out of place as Joe had done in Lydia’s. Unfortunately, his eyes fell on two plastic bags tightly knotted in a corner. His jackets, sealed to avoid any leakages of his smell. Not that it mattered now, because he was in here with her, giving it to her straight from the source.

Derek in her bedroom. Giving it to her. Oh boy, Joe, chill out.

“Is that-”

“Yup,” Joe said and tried to hide whatever her body was doing by bounding over to the bags and pushing them into his arms. “Here ya go! Stored for safe keeping.” That brought her closer to him than she wanted and she nearly fell over her own chair to create some distance between them. Her room wasn’t big enough, but at this point, she doubted the high school gym would be big enough. “So, what do I owe the-” _pleasure?_ Nope. Backtrack. Try again. “What do you want?”

Derek put the plastic bags on the floor next to him and sat down on her dresser, his feet still touching the floor. “It’s-” He’d inadvertendly put his hand to the side, landing on three unopened boxes of condoms. Eyebrow lifted as he looked at her.

“Uh, those are for you- err, yours,” Joe said quickly, realized how that sounded when his eyebrows lifted even further, and tried to backtrack and explain at the same time. “Bought with your money, when Chris Argent broke your car window, remember?”

“You bought-”

“I was trying to pay attention to what you guys were doing!” Joe exclaimed loudly and swooped up to snatch the condoms before stuffing them in a drawer instead. Upon doing so, she realized that one of them was lighter than she had expected. The strawberry flavored one had a distinctly empty sound when she shook it. She dropped it as if burned. “Oh gross. Great news, Derek, you have involuntarily funded Scott’s safe sex life. Congrats.”

“That’s a mental image I could have lived without,” Derek commented drily as Joe scurried back to her computer chair. He crossed his arms and Joe hoped they would get off the topic of condoms now. “I know I’m early, but Erica said you might need some extra time because of your hair type, so I hope-”

Joe couldn’t help herself, cringing with each question that blurted out. “Early for what? Extra time for what?”

“I called Kelly and let her know we’re attending the dinner after all.”

“What?” Joe jumped up from the chair, mouth wide open at the sheer audacity of this guy! “You did what?” Again, she winced and tried to rearrange her thoughts. “As if we didn’t have a whole-ass conversation last night about how I really don’t appreciate being invalidated!”

“That was the focal point of that talk?”

Replaying the conversation, as she had done at least a hundred times after he dropped her off, she folded her arms defensively. “Maybe not, but I know I mentioned it. At least twice.”

“If you really don’t want to go, then we won’t. It just seemed like these dinners were a big deal and you need normal in your life, not just...” He shrugged and leaned back against the wall. Her wall. In her bedroom. Now he looked mildly uncomfortable. “And I had to apologize anyway.”

That caught her off guard and she bit in the instant reply of asking why or what for. If anything, she felt she was the one who was supposed to apologize. She worked hard to keep the inflection out of her voice when saying: “Okay.”

For some reason, that made him sigh. Hard to say what it meant when he averted his gaze for a split second and swinging it back to her with some kind of newfound resolution. “I’m sorry about what I said last night.” Before Joe could point out that he had to be more specific, he elaborated: “You asking questions is not a problem, Joe, I was just frustrated. We both were.”

He sounded sincere and that made it worse, somehow. Of course she wanted to answer that with another question: ‘Are you sure?’, but his sincerity lit a spark of honesty in her too.

“No, but it is a problem,” Joe murmured and fell back onto her chair again. She looked everywhere but him, recalling her and Alex’ argument. “I already know it is. It’s attachment issues or whatever. It’s like I have this feeling that if I can just get all the facts, things are going to be okay. My dad...” Realizing she was wringing her hands together, she decisively folded them over her chest instead. “I don’t know if I’m just gullible or a magnet for pathological liars, but it’s been a pretty clear pattern throughout my life. My dad, Jimmy, Professor Kane...”

“And if you ask enough questions, they’ll eventually gonna slip up if they’re lying?”

He was _definitely_ reading her mind. She glared at him. “Not everyone can be a walking lie detector.”

“I’m not lying to you, Joe.”

“You’re not exactly oversharing either,” she pointed out and noted the furrow in his brows. “I got attachment issues, you got trust issues, together we’re,” she shrugged, searching for the right words, “really dysfunctional.”

“I still prefer that every other thing out of your mouth is a question,” Derek’s voice was soft, contrasting the scowl on his face,“instead of you overthinking everything you’re going to say.” He closed his eyes briefly and made a noise in the back of his throat, almost of frustration — he sounded tired. “And I meant what I said about normal. You need a break, Joe. Consider it payback for my car if you want. Ready to leave at six?”

Finally daring to look at him properly, she found him just watching her in turn without any further clues to his thoughts. Still angry as far as she could tell, but his words were anything but. Leaving at six gave her an hour and a half, which should be enough for her hair to air-dry sufficiently before she used the blow dryer. She could not show up to let Kelly see a head full of frizz, that was not acceptable.

Joe grimaced, unwilling to relent so easily, even though she did kind of want to attend. “How do you have Kelly’s number?”

“She’s listed on the school’s website,” Derek said with a raised eyebrow. Slight twinkle in his eye though, as if he could detect that hint of jealously and he probably could. They’d only met once, as far as she knew, and Kelly was not the type to run after taken men. Unless Kelly did not think he was taken considering how Joe had said they weren’t exclusive. Not that she had said that, she had said they weren’t labeling it. No, Alex was obviously the one likely to disregard relationship status, not Kelly. Joe just... just didn’t like how Derek only smiled at her friends and not at her.

“That explains why you’re wearing a shirt, at least,” Joe mumbled without acknowledging any of the rest.

Derek, usually in sweaters or t-shirts, now wore a light gray button-down shirt with the two top buttons undone and sleeves rolled up to just underneath his elbows. The shirt and fitted jeans combo worked wonders. He hadn’t shaved, but his stubble looked trimmed and intentional, rather than out of control as had happened once or twice so far. The overall effect was, of course, insanely good looking.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” Joe said, only meaning she had nothing to wear that could make her look like she belonged next to Derek Hale in a button-down shirt. Okay, and yes, maybe she wanted to be persuaded to maintain some of her dignity.

“Go naked, I won’t mind,” Derek said, but with a slight edge in his voice, as if he had a headache. He had leaned his head back against the wall too and his eyes were closed, even though he breathed a bit harder than usual. “Just...just wear whatever you want. I can go change.”

“No!” she answered way too fast and blushed deeply, glad of his closed eyes. “I, uh, I’ll find something. I gotta go shower, so you can just wait here and...do whatever. Make yourself at home.”

Increasingly aware of his presence and cringing at her awkwardness, she tried to simultaneously tidy up her room a bit as she grabbed what she needed to make herself presentable. She left Derek behind and headed to the bathroom she shared with Aunt Mel across the hall. Only Scott had his own, because it was conjoined into his room, but with Aunt Mel’s working hours and Joe’s seclusive habits, it had never been an issue for them to share.

Joe took a deep breath when she emerged back into the hallway, trying to clear her thoughts and imagination of the man currently sitting on a dresser in her bedroom. A man with enhanced senses who could smell attraction.

She should probably go for a cold shower.

Aunt Mel was halfway up the stairs when Joe was on her way into the bathroom. “Everythin- what are you doing?”

Joe, frozen in the hallway with her arms full of toiletries, towel and a clothes change, tried to act innocent. “What’d you mean?”

“Are you taking a shower? Did Derek leave already, I didn’t hear the door and I’ve been...” Aunt Mel trailed off, accurately reading Joe’s panicked expression. She pointed at the door. “Is he?”

“Shh,” Joe tried to whisper, knowing full and well how futile that was. She nodded her head instead, fervently, hoping Aunt Mel would take the hint. Whatever said out here, Derek would definitely hear.

“And you’re?” Aunt Mel pointed to the bathroom. More head nodding. “While he’s?”

“Yes, we’re going...out,” Joe said quietly, hating herself and the blush and the knowing smirk that came upon Aunt Mel’s face. “So, just, uh...I’ll call if we’re gonna be late.”

“Stay as long as you want,” Aunt Mel said with her hands up in surrender. Joe thought she would melt right through the floor by all this hot blood flooding to her face. “Hey, stay the night-”

“Oh my God!” Joe hissed and tore into the bathroom before Aunt Mel could say anything else. She put the water to freezing before getting in, realized that would not help her achieve frizz-free curls at all, and adjusted the temperature when she deemed herself calm enough. Fingers scrubbing, she tried to not consider how she not only left Derek Hale unattended in her bedroom while she went to take a shower, but Aunt Mel knew about it too.

What was he doing in there? Probably just sitting quietly on the dresser, brooding. Worst case, maybe looking at her bookshelf — oh God, he was gonna find that Kama Sutra comic book she got as a gag gift a few years ago. What if he went through her drawers? Found that Playboy bunny-costume Alex convinced her to buy, but could not convince her to wear to a Halloween-party where Alex wanted to be Hugh Hefner. Joe tried to scrub away the top layer of her skin, hoping to persuade the blood to go back to the rest of her body instead of everything landing in her cheeks. Combined with the condoms, he was going to think she was some sex-crazed freak.

She spent longer than she planned to in the bathroom, not intending to venture back to her bedroom before she was fully done with everything but her outfit. What was she going to wear? He looked so nice! The top from the rave? No, that was too skimpy, they were going to this crafts beer restaurant bar place whatever. A dress? Did she have dresses? Feeling weird to knock on her own door, she did it anyway to give Derek some time to put everything back in case he had been snooping through her stuff. When she opened the door, she realized she had worried unnecessarily. Derek laid on top of her bed, fully asleep.

His long legs hung outside the edge, keeping his shoes off her covers, and he was lying flat on his back, mouth just barely open and hands folded over his perfectly flat stomach. Soft snores, with that slight growling sound. For a second she thought he was pretending, but after watching him for longer than probably okay, she deduced he was definitely asleep.

Well, she had said to make himself at home. Joe was not the only one needing a break, she mused, and tip-toed to her closet to survey the damage. Dresses, dresses... Funeral dress? No. Christmas dress? No. High-necked floral monstrosity she had bought second-hand and never worn? Maybe. It was that kind of dress that was ugly and cool at the same time. Kind of like a muted 70s hippie-pattern, with a fitted waist and a flared sleeves. It could work. Not with sneakers though, she would need high-heeled boots or something. Like the ones she knew Aunt Mel had downstairs.

Having made up her mind, she slipped the dress off the hanger and retreated back into the bathroom to get dressed. Okay, so, she also put on a little more makeup. Just some eyeliner and a second coat of mascara. A little bit of bronzer and a dab of blush. Light lipstick though, no need to get carried away, and filling in her brows, of course. She looked more made-up now than the rave.

Definitely needed tall boots with this dress, though, it was just long enough to reach past her fingertips and when you’re used to jeans or pajama pants, it felt like she was exposing herself to the world. Too hot in California for tights, but her legs were at least freshly shaved and she had spent twice the normal amount of time on that. If she nicked herself and he smelled the blood she would just die on the spot.

Five minutes to six, she knocked on her own door again to give Derek time to wake up. No answer, maybe he was more tired than she thought. She went inside to find him lounging on her bed with his arms under his head and his eyes definitely open now, definitely not asleep. Something about Derek splayed out on her bed like that — in a shirt no less — made both her breath stop and knees weaken. When his eyes grew darker as they roamed over her, she contemplated throwing herself out the window to escape the scrutiny.

“Ready?” Derek asked as he sat back up and she nodded, not trusting her voice.

Okay, so, he had definitely taken time to study her. Had she been hoping for a compliment? Yes, but she had no idea why. He was not exactly freehanded with those. Let’s face it, the dress was not everyone’s cup of tea. Derek never wore anything but neutrals, like, true neutrals and the busy pattern of the dress probably threw him off. And she rarely wore this much makeup, so the change was maybe too obvious for it to be appealing. Joe tried to not let her disappointment show — or smell? — when they went downstairs. She had thought the overall effect was kind of cool, but chastised herself for expecting anything. He was only doing this as a favor to her after all. Had she complimented him? No, so, there you go.

_“Aunt Mel, I’m borrowing your boots!”_ Joe called out in the downstairs hallway, knowing her aunt was definitely somewhere within earshot. Could not remember if her Aunt had ever used them, but they were still in the hallway closet, pristine as ever. She bent over to zip them up; they reached just above her knees and the dark brown complimented her skin tone. Chunky heels, so she would at least be able to walk. Straightening up, she nearly backed straight into Derek who had come down the stairs after her. “The ones from Target!”

_“Okay, sure! You guys have fun now! Stay safe and be safe and keep safe!”_

Rolling her eyes, because she knew exactly what kind of ‘safe’ Aunt Mel was referring to, Joe just signalled for Derek to get out. Before getting in the car, she looked to the front, but could not even make out where that evidence of Stiles’ inept driving had been. Maybe it really had been just a scratch. Her eyebrows lifted somewhat when Derek tore into the car without further comment — his movements were angry and rushed, so maybe that hour of sleep had not been enough?

The initial excitement of attending the dinner was dying away with every passing minute in the car. Derek’s face, that had locked in a firm scowl when they left the house, was not clearing. As if she was forcing _him_ to tag along instead of the other way around. The car ride went in relative silence save from the muted song from his radio. Joe leaned a bit towards the window, but it was still a half moon up there. So it couldn’t be the full moon that was getting under Derek’s skin, it had to be something else.

While she looked forward to seeing Kelly and the others again, the trepidation of facing Alex was overpowering it all. Not to mention that Maddy would be there too, blissfully unaware of what had happened at the rave. The kiss was one thing, but the fight after had been brutal. Alex had too many credits in psychology and they did not opt for name-calling, but rather went straight to the diagnoses. Fifty words or less, Joe thought, that had been their game. Brutally efficient arguments.

Her bare knee bounced from the car floor, the heels forcing her legs higher up in the seat than normal. Normal. Derek had said she needed some normal in her life, but the problem was that there was no such thing anymore. Besides, the normal stuff was complicated. Give her the vengeful snake monster any day, at least it was straightforward in what it wanted in life, even if that happened to be murder. And, as long as Derek tagged along, there was nothing normal about this either. Nothing normal about her and Derek.

“You okay?” Derek asked, although he sounded disinterested from his side of the car. He leaned against his car window as he drove, his muscles strained under his shirt. Tense.

“Kinda thinking this wasn’t such a good idea after all.” Joe fiddled with the edge of her dress, to keep it from riding up in the seat. His eyes seemed to follow the movement, to the lower parts of her thigh on full display. It had to be her imagination though because when she glanced up at him, he was fully invested in the dark stretch of road, fingers tightening around the wheel.

Figuring to just get it over with, she swallowed and said: “I didn’t tell you everything that happened with Alex...”

Derek’s eyes closed tightly and he seemed to bite his teeth together. “Doesn’t matter.”

“What?”

“I don’t care about you and Alex.”

“Oh,” Joe said quietly and fiddled more with her dress, running her finger over the flower power pattern. That had not been the response she expected.

Derek growled darkly against the window, seemingly muttering to himself. _“Are you kidding me...”_ He straightened up and faced her a bit. “I’m trying to say that I’m not jealous.”

That hadn’t been the response she was going for either, but it made her cock an eyebrow. “Really? You’re not?”

“Why the surprise?”

“Just that,” she shrugged to cover for how the comment cut into her already insecure self, “it definitely would have been on the list of characteristics if I was to psychoanalyze you.”

“Jealous?”

“Possessive.” Joe’s mind went back to the rave, of his hands on her hips, just holding her there. Not demanding, not overbearing, just...there. Claiming her as his. Stark contrast to his words just now on how he didn’t care. She cleared her throat, desperate to ask, but not bold to do it outright. “Is it the mates-thing? That you know you don’t have to worry because you already got me?”

Derek scoffed and seemed to talk without thinking. “Trust me, Joe, there’s not a single part of me that comes close to believing that I already _got you_.” Now it was his turn to clear his throat, as if he’d said too much. “It’s not the ‘mates-thing’. I’m not the jealous type. Besides, I already know that you’re not attracted to Alex anymore.”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that.” She narrowed her eyes at him. Even though she rationally _knew_ he had no reason to be jealous since they technically weren’t an item, she also knew she would have been jealous if the roles were reversed. “Really? It doesn’t bother you?”

Again his fingers seemed to tighten around the wheel. “No. I could smell the regret on you before you even came into the clinic.” The muscles on his neck shifted as he swallowed. “And since I didn’t smell _her_ on you at the rave, I guess it happened after I left?”

“Yeah, right after,” Joe admitted slowly, albeit a bit suspiciously when he just shrugged as if that concluded the conversation. She was torn between wanting to discuss what happened at the rave. Had she somehow summoned him with her less than prudent thoughts about him? Or should she just let it go to avoid the mortification of learning that’s exactly what she did? Did he (correctly) assume that with his abrupt departure, she would have jumped anything that came along because of her current state? That meant he was aware of the state he had put her in. Was he not jealous because he really was not the jealous type or because she was not worth getting jealous over?

Refusing to fall down that rabbit hole, she shifted her focus and her lip curled. “So you can smell regret too? Okay, what else can you smell?”

“It’s not just smell,” Derek clarified, not looking at her. “That’s just the easiest way to explain it. It’s a combination of things.”

“Really?” Joe knew she sounded disbelieving, because she was. She knew about human behavior and non-verbal cues, but they were generally too nuanced to be picked up on properly. “What can you smell on me? Right now?”

He glanced over at her with a raised eyebrow, uncertainty that turned into assertiveness at her challenge. “Okay, if you’re sure. You’re nervous and anxious first of all, but also excited. You’re worried that your dress is too short-”

Joe let go of her dress immediately.

“-and you’re simultaneously checking your hair while trying not to touch it too much. You’re a little stressed, and now you’re getting angry and embarrassed ecause I’m reading you so accurately and-”

He stopped and Joe prompted a little harsher than intended. “And?”

Derek shook his head. “Nevermind.”

_“And?”_

“Drop it, Joe,” he murmured and focused fully on the road in a manner that told her the game was over. She slumped back in her seat, steaming of equal parts anger and embarrassment, hoping that could overpower everything else.

“I’m attracted to you,” Joe said to get it over with and Derek’s jaw tightened. “That was it, right? You can say it, I know you know. So now you can know that I know that you know.” She rolled her eyes and focused on the approaching city lights of Berkeley. “And I’m allowed to be angry about it, you kind of have an unfair advantage.”

They drove in silence for a while longer, before Joe could not help herself. “Can I ask you something?”

Derek gave a slow nod, like he was steeling himself.

“Since you’re obviously not above biting people left and right,” she ignored his deepened scowl, “how come you never offered it to me? Never even brought it up as a possibility. Is it because I’m too old?”

“No. It’s because I know you, Joe. If you wanted it, you’d ask for it,” Derek replied almost instantly. He focused more on driving now that they cleared the forest road and reached the city limits. “And I won’t suggest it either. It’s got to be your decision alone, if you ever want to take it.”

“Oh, so _that_ I get to decide for myself?”

“Shut up,” he said, but Joe noticed the hint of a smile on his lips. “Maybe I just prefer the advantage.”

Apparently, Derek knew where they were going and she let him navigate the city streets in peace while she mulled it over. She did not want the bite, she knew that much. Too many uncertainties. Joe liked exact sciences and getting the bite seemed like anything but. She was probably receptive to it, because of her connection to Derek, but had never thought to ask. Did she want to know or did she want to maintain this illusion of a choice regarding the matter? Illusion of a choice — story of her life lately.

The craft brewery and restaurant looked to be fully booked for the night. Joe pulled down the mirror to check her appearance as Derek parked the Camaro expertly on the edge of the parking lot. She still thought she looked nice, but apparently he didn’t, at least not enough to actually say it and she again had to suppress that disappointment. Come off it, Delgado, what did you expect? A repeat of what he said at the depot after the rave, which had been an obvious attempt to rile you up? Stop being pathetic.

“Are you gonna be that super nice regular guy all evening?” Joe asked to distract herself, referring to how utterly good of an actor Derek could be when faced with her friends. He gave her a side-eyed look of innocence. “Because if you are, you’re paying for my drinks.”

Derek opened his door to get out. “I’m paying for your drinks anyway. Hold on.” Brows furrowed, Joe unbuckled slowly and watched Derek walk around the car to open her door for her. He gave her his arm and a slight smile, eyes twinkling in the dark night.

“Oh, you’re laying it on thick here, buddy,” Joe muttered and there was no escaping the blush that came upon her. He definitely did that on purpose. Still, she grabbed his arm to get out of the car in the high-heeled boots without flashing the rest of the parking lot. It took some concentration to not notice how warm and strong he felt. Joe never thought a pair of forearms could look so good, but Derek’s absolutely did. She would not mind if he wore shirts more often, especially with the sleeves rolled up like this. Probably too constricting to fight in though. Then he would just have to rip it off beforehand. Oh God, why was she like this?

“Ready?” Derek asked and obviously took some joy in draping his arm around her. Hard to tell if it was from the action itself or her response to it.

She’d almost forgotten they were posing as a couple, as her friends thought she was dating him. It had seemed insignificant until now, she was just used to him being there all the time. To be honest, she kind of welcomed it because it would at least show everyone that she was truly over Alex.

It was partially her own fault — okay, it was totally her own fault — but their whole group of friends from the undergrad-days thought Joe hd been the dumpee and not the dumper. This had led several of them to believe the reason Joe hadn’t dated anyone after that was because she was still hung up on Alex. It had in reality been because Aunt Mel forced her into therapy after Joe simultaneously cut off Alex and her dad pretty much in the same night. At least that counted for the first year, where her therapist had advised against entering new relationships, the rest was just because Joe dedicated herself to her academic work and never went out to meet new people.

And now Alex was here with her new girlfriend and Joe was here with her fake boyfriend. Both obviously fully moved on. Did it help knowing for sure she wasn’t attracted to Alex anymore? Maybe a little. Did it help that Derek knew she was insanely attracted to him and she had no idea how he felt about her? Nope, not at all.

Joe tried to not let his arm bother her as he steered her towards the restaurant. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Both inside and out, it looked like any other craft brewery she’d ever visited. There was a carefully cultivated eclectic collection of vintage LP-covers on the wall, large bronze lamps hanging from the ceiling and thick wooden tables with that homemade-look that meant they cost more than Joe’s car. As per Kelly’s itinerary, there would be drinks and mingling by the bar first and Joe spotted Kelly along with a few of the others already here.

“Hiii!” Kelly, dressed in a sleek pencil skirt and a color-blocked top Joe could never pull of, waved happily as they approached. Derek let Joe go so she could hug Kelly and then accepted a platonic, not-really-touching hug himself. Joe tried not to notice — Kelly was a hugger. She hugged people. All people. Including Derek.

Kelly put a drink in both Joe’s and Derek’s hands. “Sooo glad you could make it after all! I know you’re super busy, Joe, so it really means a lot to all of us! All work and no play, huh? And oh my God, that dress, you’re looking good, girl!”

Could always count on Kelly for compliments, but the earnestness made Joe smile openly and she returned the sentiment. After all, Kelly had almost reported her missing from the rave before Joe remembered to text her from the taxi. Kelly was the one in the friend-group who had been single the longest and usually she and Joe could wallow in misery together. Part of Joe wanted to just corner Kelly right away and spill the beans about Alex, but it would ruin the mood and Kelly had worked really hard for this night to work for everyone.

Not sure who was tagging along with who, but with a drink in hand, she and Derek went to greet the others who were already here. Still early, not everyone had gotten there — Alex and Maddy still missing for example. Looked like a lot of people had brought along dates this time however.

Sam and Caleb, the only internal couple after Joe and Alex split, had flown in from Seattle. Nick, who lived in Colorado somewhere, brought his obviously pregnant girlfriend Joe never could remember the name of. Kyle, Boston-native, also had a date, but it became apparent that they were only recently acquainted and the girl only said hello to them shyly. Again, Joe tried to avoid noticing how the girl’s gaze flickered up to Derek. He was a good-looking guy, no two ways about it, other people weren’t blind to that fact.

Taking a note from Derek’s acting abilities, Joe introduced Derek to all of them without using any sort of label to what he was. She then tried to pay attention to the small-talk about where people worked now and the economy and politics and stuff. Normal things that normal people cared about.

“So, how did you guys meet?” Nick’s pregnant girlfriend — Catherine? Christina? Catelyn? Some C-name, Joe thought at least — asked with a big smile. She was probably five months on her way and the non-maternal dress laid tight over her rounded belly. It made Joe painfully remember her blunt questions to Derek last night, meant as examples that he had taken seriously and even tried to answer.

“Uh...”

Oh God, Joe had not considered how a new relationship would be a natural part of small-talk. Her mind blanked completely from the question. ‘Uh, one night he showed up in the hallway being all lurky, then he saved me from being killed by a deer herd and it kinda went from there’ did not seem like a good answer. How did people normally meet each other? A bar? Online dating?

“Joe’s cousin was helping me out with a project,” Derek swept in when it became clear Joe was not going to answer. He flashed Pregnant Girlfriend (Cordelia? Charisma?) a wide smile. It was _so incredibly_ handsome, no less because it was such a rare occurrence. “Then I made excuses to keep him around until I could work up the nerve to ask Joe out. She turned me down-”

He and Pregnant Girlfriend — it might be Caroline actually — laughed heartily.

“-so this is technically our first date, but I hope to win her over soon enough,” Derek finished with a smile on his lips, like he was joking, and squeezed his arm around Joe’s waist good-naturedly while Pregnant Girlfriend laughed again. Joe could not even begin to think of reply to that, but luckily she would not have to. “I assume you and Nick — was it? — have made slightly more progress?”

Caroline (possibly Carrie) giggled daintily and put a hand over her protruding stomach. “Yeah, well, with my hormones he’s gonna have to win me over all over again too.”

More laughing, Joe just barely remembering to follow along. Nick joined in on the conversation when they told them about the trip from Denver (“Her feet swelled so she couldn’t wear shoes and I had to run around to get these plastic covers so we didn’t risk her getting athlete’s foot.”) and Joe could only watch in awe with how Derek steered the conversation to avoid more probing questions.

He didn’t lie, she realized after listening to him talk, he just told the truth in such a way that it would not reveal anything. And he was really convincing, which of course was a good thing now to avoid Joe the embarrassment of revealing that he was not actually her boyfriend. It just made her worried if she would notice if he pulled the same strategy with her. Would he? Probably not. He never talked to her like he did now — he never talked to Scott or Stiles or anyone else like he did now. It was all an act.

With an excuse to get their glasses refilled, Derek somehow made it natural for them both to move closer to the bar. As he switched out her glass, one she had emptied without realizing, he lowered his voice: “You okay?”

“Can you please stop listening to my heartbeat?” she mumbled and took a sip to cover for the rising blush. His arm was still around her, naturally resting in the crease where her hip flared out.

“Not when it’s going a mile a minute,” he said and it sounded like an admission. His voice was back to normal, without the false cheerfulness. “You’re so tense it’s impossible to ignore. You can relax, Joe, I’m not trying to embarrass you.”

“No, I’m managing that on my own,” Joe sighed and unconsciously leaned against him. “It’s been a while since I had to talk to normal people. It’s so weird that there’s this whole other world that no one knows about and-” She cut off when she saw his jaw tighten, even more obvious from her close proximity to him. He really had a perfect jawline, emphasized by sharp-cut cheekbones. “How are you so good at this?”

“Had to be.” He shrugged and gave her that concerned glance again. “Is this about Alex?”

“More about ‘Maddy’, to be honest. I have this feeling I should tell her and...” She cleared her throat and tried to quench it with the half-finished drink in her hand. Half of her wanted to keep up the pace, but getting too buzzed was probably not the best idea either. “But hey, they’re not here yet, so maybe they won’t show and I’m getting worked up for nothing.”

“If you want, you can just let me handle it,” he said nonchalantly and raised an eyebrow in return to her skeptical look. “What?”

“Your handling of things usually involve violence,” she pointed out, wondering if it was his scent or the second glass of champagne that made her relax a bit. Or if it was just the thought of him _trying_ to calm her down that did in fact calm her down. “You can’t kill my ex-girlfriend, Derek.”

Another couple, not part of the Berkeley-crew, came to stand next to them at the bar and Joe saw a brief smirk cross Derek’s lips before he leaned in to the side of her head. He whispered: _“I’ve handled you so far without too much violence.”_

Just the sensation of his hot breath tickling her curls was enough to feel the sparks erupting in her stomach. It was an act, she reminded herself, to make their conversation look natural. His eyes glittered even more when he pulled back, an obvious challenge to her and she smiled despite herself.

“There’s been some,” she reminded him, but still smiling. Every encounter with him usually involved a fight of some kind. Not between them, except the notable occasion she tried to shoot him and he subsequently paralyzed her. “No dismemberment or carnage tonight, Derek, I mean it.”

“Then try to relax before they think I brainwashed you,” Derek murmured, glancing over his shoulder at the people next to them. “Stop overthinking everything.”

She blinked at him, trying to discern the miniscule expressions on his otherwise stoic face. Was he still guilty for the comment last night? Not that unfathomable as she had been overthinking every word she said since then and it was probably pretty obvious to him. Luckily, or unluckily depending on viewpoint, Kyle and his shy girlfriend also joined them at the bar and they were forced back into the lull of small-talk.

Every time the door to the restaurant opened, Joe glanced over to steel herself for Alex’ arrival. Still not here. As more people joined them, however, it seemed like Kelly was the only one without a date.

Or not, Joe thought, as Kelly had spotted someone entering and waved wildly. She brought the stranger over to the group and clung to his arm with a large smile. “Okay, everyone, this is my date for the evening. We’ve only just met so no scaring him off!” That brought a laugh from most of them. “James, this is everyone. Everyone, this is James!”

Joe felt her drink slip from her hand as she turned around to see Jimmy Carter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, it's been a lot of relationship-stuff in the latest chapters. Almost feeling like chick-lit (which I admittedly do love, but...) I hope no one's getting bored with the lack of supernatural action. It's coming (this is Beacon Hills after all), just gotta get through this reunion dinner first. Consider it a little break before the season's finale :) 
> 
> Hope I managed to keep Derek in character here! Trying to show that he and Joe are actually getting closer. Also, she doesn't know that Derek uses anger as his anchor to remain in control, if the awkwardness needed explanation.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading and please let me know what you think :) Happy Saturday to everyone!


	40. The Ex III

Joe’s glass would have crashed to the floor if Derek hadn’t utilized his werewolf-speed to snatch the stem mid-air. He wasn’t even looking as he handed it back to her. They were both staring at the radiant Kelly Brooks and the near unrecognizable Jimmy Carter standing at the end of the bar. It was Jimmy, Joe was sure of that and judging by the incredibly tense muscles on Derek’s arm that he had around her waist, he was sure of it too.

It just didn’t look like Jimmy.

It looked like if you had taken the idea of Jimmy and applied it to a male supermodel. Or given Jimmy’s picture to a photoshop-expert and told him to go to town. It was a far cry both from the old Jimmy and the bloated monstrosity Joe had encountered up in the woods.

Beard was still in place, but instead of the unkempt mess he used to have, this was groomed and cut shorter so it looked slightly scraggly on purpose, giving him a bit of that hipster lumberjack-vibe. Hair short, lighter in color than she remembered, and faded on the sides, but those changes were still minor compared to his body. Shows what a healthy diet, a lot of exercise and a werewolf bite can do for you. Like Derek, he wore a slim-fit shirt that emphasized a lot of newfound muscle. Wide shoulders, thick chest, narrow hips. He’d always been tall, but now even his neck seemed thicker. Extreme makeover. There was no denying it, he looked _good_.

Jimmy met Joe’s disbelieving gaze across the bar and winked.

“No, no,” Joe hissed as she felt Derek move forward. She put her hand on his chest, prepared to put her whole bodyweight against him if necessary, knowing it would not do much difference. “Not here, please, Derek.”

His torso expanded under her arm, obviously straining to hold back. Derek’s nostrils flared as he looked down at her. “What is he?”

“What do you mean?” Joe tried to keep her voice really quiet, almost speaking into Derek’s shoulder, as Kelly did the round with Jimmy, making everyone shake his hand. “He’s like you.”

“No,” Derek growled and it was way too close to her ear for comfort. Even when he wasn’t trying, his breath tickled the sensitive skin on her neck. “No, there’s something else. I can’t place it, but-”

“And this is Joe, who’s doing her PhD at Berkeley, so she’s local, and her boyfriend, Derek,” Kelly said as she reached them. At least the shock concealed the lurch Joe’s heart gave at the mention of Derek as her boyfriend. Jimmy gave them a dazzling smile and extended his hand to Joe.

“Nice to meet you?” Joe said and tried to get eye contact with Jimmy. What was he playing at and what was he doing here and why was he looking like that and just what the hell?

Almost the same height as Derek, Joe realized, when the two men faced each other. Derek, of course, was not going to be out-played by Jimmy. He gave his own version of a Colgate-commercial and grabbed Jimmy’s hand with a loud slap. “We know each other, actually. Go way back. Good to see you again, _Jimmy_.”

“Derek,” said Jimmy with a strained smile and Joe realized they were trying to break each other’s hands, as evident by the protruding veins on their forearms. “How’s life?”

“Great,” said Derek through gritted teeth. They were both smiling widely and Joe could see fangs protruding slightly. “How’s afterlife?”

“Whoa, okay,” Joe said and put a calming hand on Derek’s flexing arm, afraid they would start marking territory in less hygienic fashion. They broke their grip, but not their eye contact, and Joe tried not to flinch when Derek immediately put his arm around her again, a bit too tight for comfort. Joe smiled, but it was hard without looking like a sociopath. “So, _James_ , how’d you end up here? Tonight? With Kelly?”

“Actually, it’s my fault,” Kelly interjected, not commenting on or maybe not even noticing the previous tense atmosphere. “Everybody was bringing a date and I didn’t want to be,” she seemed to count internally, “the fifteenth wheel, so when I met James in the library, I decided to be bold and ask him out.” She let out a sassy grin. “I am woman, hear me roar!”

Kelly grabbed onto Jimmy’s arm again — his really big arm, Joe realized — and steered him away. “Oh, there’s Michelle and her partner. Let’s go say hello!” She called to Joe and Derek over her shoulder: “We’re seated in like ten minutes, guys.”

Derek smiled — or at least showed his teeth — but Joe was close enough to him that she felt the low rumble of a growl.

“Relax, please,” Joe murmured and his fingers digging into her side subsided a bit even as his nostrils flared. “This is a night of normality. No dismemberment or carnage, remember?”

“It’s only carnage if there’s multiple deaths and ripping his throat out doesn’t count as dismemberment,” Derek bit out, still following Jimmy with his eyes.

Trying to keep her voice light in case someone was watching them, she mumbled: “Dude, you are so not getting a free pass based on semantics.”

“What is he doing here?” Derek demanded and leaned against the bar, obviously angling away from Jimmy’s direction. With his arm still around her waist, it brought her flush against him and she tried not to notice his heat.

“I don’t know,” Joe exclaimed and rolled her eyes when Derek gave her a look of disbelief. “Dude, I had no idea he would be here. I still have no idea, maybe just a coincidence?” She risked a short glance in Kelly and Jimmy’s direction. “I also don’t know how he looks like that now. Is that normal? Because if the bite does that to everyone, I might have to reconsider.”

“It’s not normal.” Derek finished the rest of his drink in one go and Joe wondered if he wished he could get drunk now. His hard stare shifted from Jimmy to her and she saw his nostrils flared. Still in control, but hanging on by a thread. “How many times have you seen him exactly?”

“Oh, sorry, I thought you didn’t get jealous?” Joe said, just to lighten the mood, but regretted it immediately as Derek’s gaze grew even darker. They were standing way too close, probably looking like a lovesick couple whispering to each other, which was far from and simultaneously not that far from the truth. Stuttering, she tried to explain: “Three times. First that night I tried to shoot you,” somehow the mood did not lighten of this either, “then when I went to the crime scene by the trailer.”

Impatiently, Derek prompted through gritted teeth: “And?”

“And yesterday,” she finished. Had it only been yesterday? That meant Kelly must have met him sometime during the last twenty-four hours. She wondered if Derek was even aware of his fingers tightening in the fabric of her dress as he closed his eyes, obviously fighting to remain in control. “Should we leave?”

The word came as a growl: “No.” He stretched out his neck as if to ease the tension and somehow managed to relax his face a bit as well. She had her back to the main entrance, but Derek glanced over her shoulder. “Alex just got here.”

Before she could ask why that mattered or even turn around fully to confirm his words, Nick and Pregnant Girlfriend Whose Name began with a C appeared next to them at the bar.

“Kelly tell ya which table’s ours?” Nick asked Joe, who shrugged in return, almost having forgotten about the whole dinner. “Someone’s feet are hurting again and the barstools are too tall apparently.”

“Okay, you try having your feet swell two twice their size,” Cameron hissed back and rolled her eyes at Joe, like she was suppposed to be some kind of confidante. “You know, I was planning on wearing boots just like yours and I could not get them past by toes. And because _someone_ forgot to pack my flats, I’m stuck in these ugly sneakers that-”

Nick didn’t wait for her to finish. “I asked you ten times if you were sure you had everything-”

Ignoring the squabbling couple except for smiling politely, Derek leaned down to Joe. _“I don’t trust him,”_ he mumbled with his lips against her temple, the low tone resonating straight into her pleasure center. It looked natural, she supposed, nothing more than a public display of affection, but the combination of his scent and words threw her for a loop. _“He tried to blow your head off.”_

Joe made some hopefully appropriate facial expression when Christina sniped back at Nick. She turned her head slightly towards Derek, speaking so low he would have to have werewolf-hearing to catch it: “ _My head’s fine. Please don’t start anything.”_

Glancing over her shoulder, she inadvertently caught Alex’ gaze across the bar where she stood chatting with Kelly and Jimmy. Joe snapped back to the front and focused on Derek because for once it was easier. This was turning into a lot in one night.

They were spared any immediate fistfight — although by now Nick and his girlfriend looked closer to it than Derek and Jimmy. Kelly announced their table to be ready and they dutifully shuffled into the craft brewery’s dedicated section for parties, a little away from the main restaurant. Assigned seats, of course, because Kelly never left anything to chance. As luck would have it, she had placed Joe and Derek on the far end from Alex and Maddy. But she had placed herself directly across from Joe, which meant Jimmy across from Derek and Joe’s smile grew even stiffer when Kelly kept gushing on how lucky she’d been since Jimmy and Derek already knew each other.

As Kelly left them to make sure the staff knew about some food allergies, Joe tried to catch Jimmy’s attention and mouthed: “What the hell?”

Of course he only had eyes for Derek, who in turn stared back evenly. Oh well. As long as they kept their eyes non-glowing, a staring competition seemed manageable.

The servers came around to take their drink orders and Joe worried the dick-measuring contest would get out of hand before they got their drinks. She wanted a large something with a lot of alcohol, but settled for a beer knowing she would not drink it as fast when she did not particularly like the flavor. Getting drunk was not going to improve the situation.

When Kelly returned, Jimmy made a big show of pulling out her chair for her and Joe felt her face scrunch up in something akin to disgust. Her lip pulled back further when Jimmy whispered something to Kelly, who immediately fell into a giggling fit. No, she was not jealous, but Kelly was _her_ friend and she had at least thought Jimmy was her friend too and seeing the two worlds collide made her organs collide inside of her. He could have warned her if he was making a comeback to society by crashing her safe space like this.

A heat on her back made her aware of that Derek had draped his arm across the back of her chair. He had managed to tear his glare away from Jimmy and now watched her. Concern? Jealousy? Anger? Instead of trying to interpret and make sense of anything, Joe just shook her head in dismissal and tried to not wince at the taste of the homebrewed beer.

“So, Derek, right?” Caleb asked with too much enthusiasm for it to be genuine and Joe fought the urge to roll her eyes. He’d always had been a bit protective of Joe for some reason, even though they’d lost contact when they both moved from Berkeley. He had that generic hipster-look, with a finely trimmed mustache and neatly laid hair. “Never seen you around here before. Did you go to Berkeley?”

It took Derek a slight inhale to get back into character.

“No,” Derek said, seemingly without a single care in the world, and took a swig of beer. “I’m a licensed mechanic, actually, out of New York. Originally from Beacon Hills, but moved east after high school. Came back when I missed the fresh air.”

Licensed mechanic? Joe’s eyebrows rose on their own. First she ever heard of it. Not that she knew too much about him, but he did not usually lie and it would explain a lot. She still thought he could make a fortune as a model, preferrably underwe- no. Joe blinked to pay attention to the conversation. His words had piqued the interest of the other male members of the group, several of them were car buffs.

“Mechanic, huh? What kind of car d’you drive?” Kyle, another seat over with his shy girlfriend between him and Derek, butted into the conversation.

“2009 Chevy Camaro.” Derek seemed more at ease now and winked when Caleb let out a low whistle. “With a six point two litre vee eight.”

They might as well have been talking in code, but apparently this was exciting news for everyone who knew about cars.

“Horsepowers?”

Derek didn’t hesitate. “Four fifty-five,” he said and laughed at the satisfied groans. Joe met Kelly’s gaze over the table and both shrugged. At least Jimmy’s lip was curled in distaste, as she would have expected. Nice to know she knew him at all.

“Not the six-fifty LT four?” Caleb practically leaned over the table, ignoring his boyfriend Sam, who sat closest to Jimmy across from Derek.

Derek shook his head. “No, too heavy on the mileage. Plus the turbo-charge is so loud you get complaints just by driving around.”

“I guess four fifty-five would be more than enough to get you around,” Kyle said with obvious approval. He leaned across his entire girlfriend to smirk at Joe as he asked Derek: “So, as a mechanic, have you convinced Miss Stubborn over there to finally let that old ‘99 fire-hazard of a Ford shuffle off this mortal coil?”

Out of habit, Joe just gave him the finger while she took a sip of her beer.

“The Fiesta’s holding up good,” Derek came to her defense and she felt his thumb stroke the back of her shoulder lightly, as if sensing her agitation. The small touch sent a charge of something indescribable into her stomach and she nearly choked on her beer. “Changed the engine to a 1753 cc Endura-D after some problems with the coolant cap.” This latest part was adressed almost directly to Jimmy across the table, accompanied with a stiff smile.

“Can we talk about literally anything else than cars?” Joe intervened, although coughing from the beer going down her pipe. She ignored Caleb’s comment on how she used to need a calendar reminder to change the oil on her car. “Kelly, please, how is your alumni-stuff going?”

Kelly took over and it turned into faculty-gossip, as it always did. Professor Kane came up, because the woman wore a wedding ring, but no one had ever come close to finding out who the husband was. Theories ranged from deceased to imaginary, which Joe found unfair, but did not have the energy to argue. She let Derek do most of the talking and found herself glaring at Jimmy instead, who occupied most of Kelly’s time. And Kelly kept laughing of whatever Jimmy said and it did not match at all with how Jimmy usually conducted conversations. He’d used the word ‘copulated’ the last time they met!

And, to top it of, Alex kept glancing her way. She tried to not notice it, they were seated as far as possible from each other, but if she kept it up, Maddy was going to notice too and it would be an awkward conversation all together. Sure, Alex could blame alcohol and Joe could blame Derek leaving her ‘hot and bothered’ as Alex had claimed, but it did not change anything. A kiss was a kiss. Question was if she should tell Maddy or give Alex the chance to come clean?

“Earth to Delgado,” Sam’s slightly whining voice cut through and Joe blinked at him. He rolled his eyes. Where Caleb looked like a generic hipster, Sam looked like he worked in an museum — which he did, having the same major as Joe — but still had to let the world know he played in a depressive indie-band in his free time. “What’s this I hear about you abandoning Kane in favor of Walker? I thought you were with me on the ACAB-train?”

“Hey!” Kelly, who worked for California Department of Justice, protested. She had majored in criminology. “What’s wrong with Walker?”

Before Sam could reply, Kyle burped and said: “She’s a lesbian.” At the chorus of offended groans, he shrugged. “What? It’s true! Face it, I’m the straightest guy here and my gaydar’s better than any of yours.”

“Kyle, I cannot believe we have to have this conversation _again,_ but you’re using really non-inclusive language _and_ you just portrayed being a lesbian as something that is wrong with a person,” Caleb explained patiently. “And you are definitely not the straightest man here. Do I need to remind you of the New Year’s Eve three years ago?”

“We do not talk about that New Year’s Eve!” Sam protested now. “Joe, back me up here!”

All too aware of both Jimmy and Derek’s attention, Joe cleared her throat. “There was no New Year’s Eve in 2008.”

“Thank you!” Sam exclaimed and their end of the table fell into the age-old argument about that disaster of a party where the punch was spiked thrice because of a misunderstanding. Everyone remembered different versions of what happened, but most agreed there had been a partner swap before the big kiss although no one agreed on whose idea it had been in the first place. They had photographic evidence of Sam and Kyle making out at midnight, which Caleb found hilarious.

It didn’t take long for Kelly to steer the conversation back onto safer topics, probably realizing that Jimmy, Derek and Kyle’s shy girlfriend were left as awkward spectators.

After the appetizers, Joe jumped up to use the restroom when most of the table cleared to take a smoke break or order more specialized drinks from the bar. A progressive restaurant in a college-town, they only had three larger unisex-bathrooms down a secluded hall and she chose the one furthest in to get some privacy. She glared at herself in the mirror when washing her hands after tending to nature’s call.

If she kept this up, poor Derek would be forced to do almost all the talking. This was not getting any easier if she insisted on being so sullen. Screw Jimmy and screw Alex. She had more right to be here than Jimmy and just as much right to be here as Alex. With that in mind, she made sure the dress laid correctly over her hips — she still thought it was more cool than ugly and Kelly obviously approved so everything else didn’t matter. Screw Derek too. She straightened her back, made a decision to get her head back in the game and pushed the door open into the hall.

She nearly walked into Derek, who was leaning sideways against the wall just outside the door. Automatically, she held the door open, just assuming he had been waiting in line. When he shook his head, she closed the door slowly behind her and narrowed her eyes at him. No one else was in the hall.

“Do you have some kind of fetish we need to discuss?”

“Our hearing’s selective,” Derek said, unamused by her question, but not moving to let her past either. His tension regarding Jimmy seemed to have eased a bit during the dinner, probably helped by Jimmy focusing all his attention on Kelly instead of anyone else. When her suspicious frown never lifted, Derek rolled his eyes. “I’m not listening to you use the bathroom, Joe.”

“But you could if you wanted to? You know what, don’t answer that.” He made no indication to move out of the way and she folded her arms. “But since you’re obviously not in line either, what _are_ you doing? Are my chemosignals that bad? Am I on suicide-watch?”

He glanced over his shoulder as the door furthest down the hall opened and then closed. Leaning in to her, he dropped his voice lower and said: “I’m handling your ex. Non-violently, unless you want to change tactics?”

Had he spared her accidentally ending up alone with Alex in the hallway or had he stopped Alex from following Joe? Had he said something to Alex? Verbally, she was sure Alex could destroy Derek in minutes if she tried to. As she had not heard any shouting, it must have happened in a civilized manner if it did. No blood on the walls either, so he probably told the truth about the non-violent part.

“You’re being,” Joe’s eyebrows pulled down in concentration, “really understanding and helpful.” He looked somewhat amused at her and she shook her head. “Even though I let Stiles use your car? And pried into your private life? And tried to shoot you?”

“With the kanima-poison,” Derek said slowly, apparently still feeling guilty, “I think we’re even on that last one. Asking once isn’t prying, my car can be fixed, but if you get hurt-”

“Humans heal too,” Joe said, following his lead to lean sideways against the wall. “Just slower. I didn’t even scar after the kanima-claws.”

He did not look convinced. “You got lucky.”

“Pure skill,” she countered and tilted her head to stare up at him. “And for the record, I asked at least twice.”

Now he tilted his head at her. “Do you _want_ me to be angry with you?”

“Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment?”

“Do _you_ have some kind of fetish we need to discuss?” he asked with a raised eyebrow and Joe found herself smiling in response. A flicker of uncertainty over his face. “What?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted and her smile widened without her having any say on the matter. “I like this whole talking-thing we’re doing. It’s nice.”

That earned her a satisfied smile from him too, one that made her heart beat just a bit faster, but neither could follow-up when a tiny voice asked to be let through. They both stepped aside to allow Kyle’s shy girlfriend past them and went back to the table where the servers were preparing for the entrees. He pulled out her chair for her, probably just because Jimmy had done it for Kelly. When she glared at him suspiciously, he only raised his eyebrows, but she saw the teasing smile lingering on his lips. Okay, maybe not just because of Jimmy then.

Down the table, Joe tried to ignore the questioning looks Alex sent her, even more obvious than before. Had she tried to corner Joe in the bathroom? It could have been to apologize, a classic strategy Alex had used as long as Joe had known her. Or it could have been to ensure Joe was not going to tattle to Maddy. Or it could have been a coincidence and she really had only tried to use the restroom at the same time as Joe. Derek had intercepted either way, saving Joe the hassle.

Maybe they could survive this night after all, despite Alex and Jimmy?

Entrees followed and conversation picked back up. Where Joe tried to ignore Alex, it seemed like Derek was prepared to ignore Jimmy for the time being as well. Most of the time at least. Whenever Jimmy took a break from whispering with Kelly to join in the general conversation, it was only to throw jabs at Derek. He of course retaliated in kind. It might have been taken for light-hearted banter if they’d been friends. They were anything but.

The temptation to drown her sorrows surfaced again, but she squashed it. This dinner felt different than the others had. Last year, only Nick had brought his girlfriend and of course, Sam and Caleb had still been together, but there hadn’t been all these newcomers. The guys were discussing cars or sports again and Joe tried to talk to Kyle’s new girl. With Derek between them and the girl’s inability to speak loud enough for Joe to hear, she eventually gave up and focused on her drink instead, studying the label.

This was _her_ friend group and now it just felt invaded by both Derek and Jimmy. And Maddy. Jimmy had not looked remotely surprised at seeing them when entering before, meaning it could not have been a coincidence. Still, he had not actually done anything yet besides gushing over Kelly. Joe noticed she was harboring more suspicion against him now than earlier. Maybe Derek had a point. She did not know what Jimmy was capable of. He’d fooled her once, shame on him. If she let him fool her twice...

At the next small interlude before desserts, most of the table got up to take a smoke or restroom break again. Even Kelly fluttered away and left Joe, Derek and Jimmy alone at their end of the table.

“Are you two gonna start pissing up against the walls or something?” Joe snapped, directing her question to both of them. “Because if you are, give me a warning and I can go drown myself in the bathroom first.” Derek scowled, never breaking eye contact with Jimmy, who looked more relaxed. Rolling her eyes, Joe asked: “What the hell are you doing here, Jimmy?”

Jimmy smiled and trailed his finger around the dew of his beer glass. “Enjoying a mediocre overpriced dinner and,” he took a sip and made a face, “pretending to enjoy this less than mediocre homebrew.”

“You know what I meant,.”

“I did say _I_ would contact _you_.”

“Okay, next time, send an e-mail or something. Smoke signals. Give me a heads up, man.”

“You would have to admit it makes more sense to meet outside of Beacon Hills,” Jimmy said, finally looking away from Derek for two seconds. “When Kelly approached me, I saw an opportunity and I took it. I am willing to admit that I am not that accustomed to beautiful women asking me out either and by the time I realized she was your friend, it seemed crude to cancel. To leave lovely Kelly alone here among all these,” Jimmy shrugged a bit, but there was a glint in his eye, “couples.”

“Never could get a date in high school, could ya, Slimmy?” Derek asked drily and Joe found herself shrinking as Jimmy’s facade bristled.

Jimmy’s hand tightened around the beer glass and Joe saw the remains of some red splotches, like he had been covered in before. “High school is over, Hale, but I suppose it’s easy to get stuck in your heydays when you never actually did anything worthwhile after that.” He seemed to inhale meditatively before continuing. “If you must know, Kelly found me while I was using the college library to look into the 2006 swim team like Joe asked me to. By that confused look on your face, Hale, I assume Joe never told you we managed to find the missing connection between the kanima’s victims.”

His words made Joe try to shrink even further under the intense glare, courtesy of Derek Hale now. She had not told him Jimmy knew about the kanima at all.

“I would have been surprised you didn’t manage to make the connection yourself, but then again, I actually knew you in high school. If it wasn’t about the next big basketball game or the cheering girls on the sideline, why would you notice it, right?” Jimmy asked drily. He shifted his attention to Joe, his voice a little less taunting. “There was nothing in my notes connected to any deaths surrounding the swim team. I checked the crime databa-”

“I already did that,” Joe cut in, trying to ignore Derek’s deepening scowl next to her. Focusing on work might remind both of them they were on the same side. “There’s nothing. No murders, suspicious deaths or other reports.”

“Indeed, but considering the swim team mostly consisted of minors, any records related to them might be sealed. There is another reason I agreed to a date with Kelly. Her vocation.” He trailed off and Joe’s eyes widened when she connected the dots.

Leaning over the table, she hissed: “You are _not_ using Kelly for information!”

“As an employee for the California Department of Justice, she has access to the forensic service archives and even the state hospital records-”

“No!” Joe snapped loudly, glancing at the few people down the opposite end of the table in case they heard. A tiny part of her questioned if she was angry he was using her friend or because she hadn’t thought of it first. She squashed the thought, deciding it was definitely the first. “That could get her fired. There’s other ways to get access to those records. We can just take what we have to the Sheriff-”

Jimmy tilted his head. “You trust the Sheriff? The police? Really?”

“Don’t trust you,” Derek cut in, sounding uncharacteristically calm, and Joe glanced over at him. He was leaning back in his chair, at least appearing casual as he held onto his beer bottle with one hand. Only the flexed jaw betrayed how agitated he still was. “You might want to consider calling it a night, _Jim_. Walk out of here while you still can.”

“Well, unlike you, Hale, I was actually invited here tonight,” Jimmy said, unpertubed. “Joe told me _you_ invited yourself, correct?”

Remembering how she had let that slip under her rant yesterday, Joe closed her eyes in defeat to avoid looking at either of them. Now it was Derek’s hand that tightened around his beer bottle, even though he directed his glare towards Jimmy instead of her.

“But I must say I’m impressed by this act,” Jimmy continued, hot under the collar apparently when seeing a physical response to his taunting. “What are _you_ doing here, Derek? Talking about cars? Pretending to be normal? Who are you trying to convince — Joe, her friends or yourself?” He leaned over the table and whispered: “Or are you really just biding your time until you work up the nerve to repeat history and give her the _bite_?”

The near empty beer bottle exploded in Derek’s hands. The noise attracted the attention of the lower half of the table and Joe winced at the pain when shards of glass cut into his hand. Swearing, Joe shot up from the chair and spotted the waitress already hurrying over with a rag.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered and gestured for Derek to get up too. He only frowned, like the idiot he could be. Like the other people had not seen him smash a beer bottle with his hand. She hissed under her breath to make him understand: “We gotta at least wash the blood off. Come on.” She gave Jimmy a sour look when passing him, but said nothing. This was ridiculous.

Joe led Derek away from the general restaurant and into the same large unisex toilet at the end of the hall. It followed the decor pattern as the rest of the building with dark walls and rich bronze accents.

Without even making a face, Derek picked glass out of his hand and Joe felt the twinges of it in her own hand. She ran the cold water, but by the time he put his hand under, it was healed. Good thing he had his sleeves rolled up, otherwise he’d get blood all over his shirt.

“Maybe we can fake a trip to the ER,” Joe bit out and absentmindedly cleaned his hand like it was a natural thing to do. For some reason, Jimmy’s words had struck a nerve with Derek, but she couldn’t figure out why. They had even talked about the bite in the car. “End the night early. What do you say?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Derek muttered, as if he hadn’t heard her, and his eyes were fixated on her hands where she scrubbed stains of blood from between his fingers. The cold water counteracted some of the warmth from his skin, but not all of it. Eventually the water turned clear instead of pink.

Joe scoffed. “Power trip. He’s living every high school loser’s dream. Getting a makeover and rubbing it in his bully’s face. Like Isaac. And Erica. Oh wait, Boyd too. You’re the bully in this narrative if you’re confused.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Derek said and ignored her quips. Bloodless, he grabbed some paper towels to dry himself of. “He’s different. He’s like a werewolf, but there’s something else, an edge to his smell, I can’t...I can’t place it. Something sharp.”

“A sharp edgy smell?” Joe asked with raised eyebrows as she leaned against the sink and Derek rolled his eyes at her question. “Sorry, regular nose here. That doesn’t make any sense.” Seeing Derek so frustrated while being this close to him and let’s face it, feeling pretty guilty for not telling him everything about Jimmy already, made her sigh. “When I first saw him, he said he was between states. Does that mean anything?”

Obviously not judging by the blank look Derek gave her.

“Look at his hands when we get back.” They were still waiting for desserts and couldn’t leave just yet, not without making some excuse at least. She could not even remember what they had eaten for entrees. “He had blisters like that all over him. And he was, I dunno, lumpy. Half-turned, all the time, not like you, but almost like Peter. I don’t know what else, he covered himself up so I couldn’t see all of him.”

“ _All_ of him?”

“He wore a ski-mask,” Joe clarified, not bold enough to make another oh-you’re-not-jealous-comment. She sighed, guilt still making her stomach churn. “Derek, I never told Jimmy I didn’t want you to attend this dinner, I-”

“Doesn’t matter.” He cut her off and curled up the paper towels. “You told _me_.” The small lump sailed into the traschan with precision that made more sense now that she knew he used to play basketball. He lifted his eyebrows at her. “In the campus coffee shop, remember?”

“Can you just let me apologize? I know I should have told you about Jimmy-”

“No,” he cut her off again, his anger shifting into a cold flat blankness. Why did so many of their conversations take place in bathrooms, she thought, when he went to lean against the opposite wall. “I’m not entitled to know everything in your life. Besides, if you managed to find him, I probably would have too if I tried.”

“Way to undermine my detective skills.”

He shrugged, not bothered by her sour tone. “As you said, I have an unfair advantage.”

Derek sighed and looked down at his own hand, his completely healed and bloodless hand. The accelerated healing was something Joe never got fully used to seeing. He flexed his fingers and bent them one by one. “Peter was always into the weird stuff. And I mean really weird. Ancient, occult...if Jimmy became his protege, he might have learned something he probably shouldn’t have.”

“Like coming back from the dead?” she asked, trying to be witty, but had to swallow to suppress the bad memories. It wasn’t funny.

They’d never talked about that night. She’d talked to Scott about all of it. She’d talked to her dad about some of it. Aunt Mel, the Sheriff, the FBI-agents... but never Derek, not that they had too many deep conversations to begin with, but this would be a hard one. Too much to unpack, she guessed. Starting with the torture, ending with Joe’s promise to Kate.

Her words came hesitant. “When Peter-”

He glanced up at her, concern laced in his bright eyes and she realized he was probably accurately sensing her mood again. Sometimes she wished he put that concern to himself as well. Her memories were bad, she could only imagine his.

“When Peter killed Jimmy or bit him or whatever he did,” Joe tried again, “I stared into Jimmy’s eyes after you-” She took a deep breath. “After you saved me. He was dead, Derek. There was _nothing_ in his eyes. I would never have-” Never have helped Kate if she knew Jimmy was alive. Or even thought for a second he might be still alive. This was the real reason she had looked so hard for him. This was the festering guilt inside of her.

Her face scrunched up on its own, memories too vivid, too clashing with the asshole supermodel-version of said dead guy that was just out in the restaurant. Her voice cracked. “I swear, he was dead.”

Without her noticing, Derek had pushed off from the wall and stepped closer to her. Not sure who closed the distance completely, but she found herself encapsuled in his arms again. She leaned into him where he held her, rubbing small circles on her back, calming her down — again. Last time he held her, she’d been so scared for Scott, so terrified beyond words, but now... The memories faded away too easily by his scent and his heat and his soothing hand on her upper back.

Some other things became apparent when her mind filled with him. The warmth seeping through his shirt, penetrating the thin layer of her dress. Her body molding to fit perfectly against his. And where normally the tip of her nose would reach his chin, the heels she wore made them almost equal in height, bringing them closer, their faces closer, their lips...

Something shifted. Something changed. If it was her, or him, or both of them, but the embrace became less comforting and more enticing. His hand stopped rubbing her back and instead slid up to her neck, slowly, as if giving her the chance to stop him. She did not, even with her heart hammering in her ears and her mind slowing down to nothing.

Her breath stopped however when his fingertips touched her sensitive skin through the small keyhole fastening of her dress. Skin against skin, it sent sparks straight through her spine and into her core. With his other arm holding her in place around her waist she had no chance to escape, but that hadn’t been on her mind at all. There was nowhere else she wanted to be. Her eyes closed involuntarily when Derek’s fingers edged up the back of her neck to her hairline. She suppressed a shudder as they continued up, cupping the back of her head with her curls between his fingers. He was so careful. Gentle. Soft. Curious.

Was he moving her head or was she doing it on her own? They were so close, she did not even know whose breath she felt in her own body. Her hands rested on his upper back, a remainder after the innocent embrace that had turned into anything but. She did not dare move them, afraid of both interrupting and continuing.

With every breath he took, his chest rising and sinking so the motion transferred into her, she felt it on the side of her neck, fanning over her blushing skin as they moved slowly, but with purpose. Just like at the rave, turning their heads at a torturous pace towards each other. Stubble scratched over her cheek. She kept her eyes closed, too afraid of what she would see if she opened them, not sure what would happen if she saw him looking at her with those burning eyes. Her lips parted on their own. Ready. Wanting.

A heavy knock on the door and Joe tried to practically jump through Derek. He steadied her, even though he closed his eyes in obvious frustration at the interruption. More obvious than she thought he could manage. More frustrated than she thought he would be too.

Kelly’s voice came through the door: _“You guys okay in there? Do we need to call an ambulance or something?”_

Joe tried to talk, but her throat was completely locked down and Derek had to answer instead.

“We’re fine.” He cleared his throat. “Just a superficial cut, it’s already stopped bleeding.”

_“Okay, great. Dessert is ready in like two minutes and there’s that special announcement, so...”_

“We’ll be right there,” Joe said, voice breaking on the second syllable. She heard Kelly’s heels click away from the door and unconsciously rested her head on Derek’s shoulder while trying to catch her breath. “Oh my God.”

Derek said nothing, and let her stay for a few seconds while they both just tried to breathe normally. He inhaled deeply, steeled himself, before he stepped away and made a great show of adjusting his rolled up sleeves without looking at her. He sounded gruff as he said: “Two minutes.”

Two minutes. Head spinning, Joe turned and tried to gauge the damage in the mirror. Lips flushed, but nothing to indicate they’d done anything else than patch up Derek in the bathroom. Not that they _had_ done anything else, but she somehow felt more ruffled than she actually was. Derek’s hand had been in her hair, but he hadn’t ran his fingers completely through it, thank God, as that would mess up the curl pattern and Kelly would definitely have noticed. Joe adjusted some wayward strands of hair and shimmied in her dress to make sure it laid correctly over her body.

She caught Derek behind her in the mirror, watching her in the midst of straightening his shirt. It did not look as strange as she thought it would. They did not look that strange. They kind of looked...cute together? To cover up from the increasingly tense atmosphere, her head still spinning from his scent alone, she tried to smile. “You don’t like the dress?”

It had not been the right thing to say. Somehow his eyes became even darker. Derek shook his head, but if it was an answer to her question or to clear his mind, it was hard to say.

“You look-” His eyes were heavy lidded and trailed from the top of her curls to the bottom of her high heeled boots. She waited for whatever adjective he decided to use, half anticipating the standard ‘fine’ or ‘okay’. Derek did not seem to know either and let out a long breath as he went to open the door. His eyes came back to hers, open and sincere. “-amazing.”

A tingle erupted somewhere in her chest. Joe met her own stare in the mirror as he slipped out the door. If her pupiles dilated any more, her eyes would turn black. She leaned over the sink, unable to catch her breath, and bit her lip gently as if that would make them relax instead of anticipating Derek. This was probably what Alex meant when she had said Joe looked ‘hot and bothered’. Hooo boy.

Weak-kneed for some reason, she wobbled a bit when she walked, but Derek, forever the faux-gentleman, had waited for her outside the bathroom door again and gave her his arm. Trying not to overthink it, she took it and they returned to the others. No sign of broken glass or beer on the table; Joe made a mental note to tip the servers. Their desserts waited for them already and they sat down as Derek explained away the broken beer bottle somehow to his newfound buddies of Caleb and Kyle.

Jimmy, however, gave Joe such a knowing look that she tried to put her whole face into the chocolate-based whatever they were getting for dessert. She asked the waitress for a cup of coffee, done with any kind of alcohol for now, hoping she could get her hormones in check before being confined inside a car with Derek for half an hour. Maybe she could convince him to go out for a quick 15 mile run to Beacon Hills if she got sober enough to drive?

When Kelly excused herself to go administer something, Joe mumbled into her dessert, knowing Jimmy would hear it just fine. “If you hurt her, Jimmy...” She was talking about Kelly, beautiful, bubbly, social Kelly, who had her own share of trauma like everyone else. “If you hurt her or use her in anyway, I’ll hogtie you and deliver you to the Argents myself.”

“Come on now, Joe,” Jimmy said conversationally as he leaned across the table to be heard. Something playful in his eyes, so unlike what she was used to. “Don’t lose your head here.”

Pure instinct made Joe slam her hand onto Derek’s thigh to stop him from rising. It seemed to do the trick, although he practically trembled in badly-concealed rage. The other guys closest to them gave them weird looks and Joe tried to convey with her eyes that Derek _had_ to calm down.

He remained seated, but was anything but calm. Joe saw his lip lift in an animalistic snarl and his eyes flashed red, once, too fast to be anything but a trick of the light if you weren’t paying attention.

Only two people paid attention, and while Joe only rolled her eyes, Jimmy smiled slowly. Like Derek, he revealed his own set of canines and his eyes flashed-

Joe could not help herself. “Purple?”

Someone down the table clinked a spoon against a glass and Jimmy’s eyes were back to his normal ones in a blink. Joe looked at Derek, but he seemed equally as confused as her. No chance to talk, as Alex had risen from her seat all the way down the table.

“Speech!” Kyle cheered on and Alex gave him a finger, much like Joe had. “Fifty words or less!”

“Shut up, Kyle,” Sam hissed, giving Joe an apologetic glance, and it seemed to do the trick.

“Uhm, I, uh...” Alex seemed nervous, dressed in a loose shirt and a pair of jeans. She and Joe had not even come close to talking all night and now their eyes met briefly. There was something apologetic in her eyes, but it seemed to strengthen her resolve. “Unfortunately, most of the people at this table represent my closest friends. I say unfortunate, because I think most of you are assholes.”

Laughter, heartfelt from the original group, a little uncertain from the partners. Joe just stared, wondering what fresh hell this could be. She had hoped to just finish the desserts and high-tail out there.

“I think it’s cool how we get together at least twice a year. The amazing Kelly Brooks is of course in charge of it and deserves a hand.” Kelly, down by their side of the table, smiled shyly at the applause earned from the group. “This year, everyone brought along someone they felt were special enough to share this evening with us. And so did I.” Alex looked down at Madeline by her side, who gave her hand a squeeze visible even from where Joe sat.

“Most of you guys know Madeline by now,” Alex said and Joe raised her eyebrows. How long had they actually been dating? How bad had that kiss at the rave really been?

Joe was barely aware of Derek’s arm coming from behind her chair to the side.

“Most of you guys know Madeline to be the same amazing girl as I know her to be.”

Derek’s hand grabbed onto Joe’s, stealthily holding it underneath the table and she cast him a confused look. What was going on? Did he know something?

“And, so, I found it appropriate that you guys should be the first to know.” Alex tried to compose herself, but cracked in a huge grin. She lifted Madeline’s hand to the air and cried: _“We’re getting married!”_

* * *

Somehow, by a miracle, Joe had managed to act normal the rest of the evening. Like a trophy wife, she’d trailed after Derek who held his arm around her at all times. They had to stick around for the champagne to celebrate Alex and Maddy’s announcement. She’d even congratulated them, still not sure how or what she’d said, but there hadn’t been any screaming so she couldn’t have made too much of a fool of herself.

Somehow, Derek navigated the rest of the evening to avoid both Jimmy and Alex. Somehow, Derek had been the one to make some excuse to get them out of there, that they had to be up early the next day for something or another, she couldn’t even remember. Derek was a hell of a good liar.

“You should seriously consider acting as a career choice.” Her voice came muffled because she had her face propped against the passenger seat window, letting the cool glass alleviate some of her feelings. Her makeup would leave marks, but Derek would probably survive. He didn’t answer, too engrossed in his driving and probably worrying about important stuff, like Jimmy’s _purple_ eyes. “I think...I think that’s enough normal for a while.”

Derek snorted loudly, but at least he looked more amused than angry. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Jimmy.” Her voice sounded hollow and lost, not like her own. “I just missed having someone to talk to again about this stuff. Makes you color-blind. A lot of red flags ignored.” She mimed something passing right over her head. “Whoosh.”

“Again, with this dinner I dragged you to, I think we’re even,” Derek said drily and focused on the dark forest road. She guessed he liked to flex the Camaro’s muscles on the open stretch of roads instead of the highway. “You okay?”

Joe didn’t move from the window. “Does everyone turn into an asshole when they’re bit?”

“You think Scott’s an asshole?”

“No, Scott is precious and should be protected at any cost,” Joe mumbled to the window again. She felt drunk of that single beer and two glasses of champagne she had. “He’s the exception. And maybe Isaac, he’s too adorable to be an asshole.”

“Isaac? Isaac who beat up a pair of guys to get tickets to the rave?” Derek asked with an amused look on his face.

“A-dor-able,” Joe repeated slowly, too not-really-drunk and empty to care about stuff. “It’s the curls. Can’t be an asshole with curls.” Her face twisted at her choice of words, especially when Derek let out a loud laugh. “I’m sorry for that mental image.”

“Jesus Christ,” Derek said in a tired voice, but kept laughing. He rubbed his face. “What a mess.”

She glanced over at him. He probably meant more than her attempt of a conversation. Derek’s eyes were heavy, even though they seemed alert as ever and he scratched his five o’clock shadow that was getting closer to midnight now. There was amusement in his voice, as he had reached that level of fatigue where things were funny instead of infuriating.

“I got three new werewolves that I’ll probably have to chain up during the full moon,” Derek explained, gesturing to the road. “A venomous snake-monster that’s roaming the streets on some psychopath’s bidding. Hunters breathing down my neck, a beta that’s dating one of said hunters. A purple-eyed whatever doing who-knows-what.” Derek looked over at her where she sat slumped in the seat. “And I got you. The most stubborn woman alive.”

“I thought you said you _didn’t_ got me,” Joe pointed out their earlier conversation and Derek shook his head. “But I’m glad to be included on that list of things you consider your biggest problems.”

“You know what I meant.”

“And I’m not that stubborn.”

Derek glanced over at her with a good-natured eye roll. “No, you are, which is why you’ve been fighting to stay awake for the last ten minutes now. Get some sleep, Joe. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

Her initial instinct was to argue, but then it would only prove his point about stubborness. Instead, she rested her gaze on him. He was easy on the eyes, so to speak, and not the worst thing to see before falling asleep. She just hoped she wouldn’t snore.

“This did _not_ count as a first date,” she let him know before her eyes shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This could/should probably have been split into two chapters, but... A lot happening, with Jimmy and the bathroom and Alex. Hope you enjoyed it nevertheless ^^  
> Next chapter will shed some more light on Alex, by the way, I realized she's coming off a bit one-dimensional right now. 
> 
> There's a lot going on in real life now, with the pandemic and Christmas and deadlines and everything. I've had so much overtime at work I've been told to take a few days off to rest. I just wanted to say how much I appreciate all you guys who read (and especially comment on) this story. Did not have any particular ambitions when I started writing this, but it's been a welcome reprieve in keeping me sane the last few months. So I'm grateful, is probably all I want to say <3 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and I'm looking forward to hearing what you think.


	41. The Motive

True to his word, Derek did wake her up when they arrived at the McCall house. Joe blinked her eyes open as he nudged her and she stretched her neck, sore from the awkward position where she had slumped in the corner of the seat. Derek’s eyes narrowed a bit, as if he felt the strain in his neck as well.

“I’d carry you inside,” he said softly, a small teasing crease on his mouth, “but your aunt’s up and I suppose it’d be awkward.”

“Jeez, what am I, five years old?” Joe mumbled at the prospect. She managed to unbuckle herself, but paused before exiting. “Are purple eyes normal with you guys?”

“No.” Derek sounded sincere. “Never seen it, never even heard of it.”

“Ugh. Maybe we’re lucky and he’s just using contact lenses.” Joe rubbed her eyes and winced when she realized she had a full face of makeup on. She let her hands fall awkwardly to the side, squinting at Derek through eyes still heavy with sleep. “They were blue the last time I saw him, I-”

“We’ll figure it out,” Derek promised and leaned over to brush dried mascara off her cheek. His touch was electric, soft, and gone before she could appreciate it fully. “One problem at a time. Get some rest, Joe.”

“Yeah, God, I felt like I was in a coma,” she murmured and yawned. It had been a long time since she slept that heavy. “Was I snoring? No, wait, don’t answer that. Better if I don’t know.” She still didn’t get out of the car, brows pulled together as she remembered everything that had happened tonight. “I gotta tell her, right?”

To her surprise, Derek shrugged. “That’s up to you. Is it possible Alex doesn’t remember what happened?”

“Maybe,” Joe admitted as she hadn’t even considered that. “She was always a high-functioning drunk. Did you smell anything particular tonight?” Joe asked, again not sure what she was trying to find out. Could he smell if she was a) blissfully unaware of the little alcohol-fueled indiscretion or b) an evil, manipulative bitch?

A smile tugged on his lips. “Depends what you’re asking. There were sixteen people around the table and you were right next to me.”

“I just,” Joe squinted, mind fogged up with sleep still, “can’t imagine Alex being a cheater. Of all the problems we had, it was never that. To be honest, our relationship was just bad overall, but it was equally my fault. The first months were okay, I guess, but we wanted different things and I was spending all my time trying to get ahead in my classes and she had just come out of another relationship that ended on a sour note and then my insomnia got out of hand and...”

A sigh rose up from her inner core and she shook her head. “I’m just worried that I hurt Alex more than I realized, that this is my fault. Maybe she never got over the break up because I never gave her the chance? I mean, she pretty much gave me an ultimatum and I don’t respond too well to those, so I just packed up in the middle of the night, blocked her number and wired her money to cover next month’s rent and-” Joe realized what she was doing and ran a palm over her face. “I’m sorry. You literally listed up everything else you have to deal with, I’ll spare you the relationship drama.”

“My problems sound easier,” he said with a patient half-smile, one she returned. “Most can be solved with violence.”

“Haven’t ruled that out yet,” Joe said and lifted up her curls, giving her neck air to breathe and remembered vividly how he had ran his hand through it. “Uh... See you around, I guess?”

Derek sighed before she got the door open and she paused again. “I meant what I said about the depot. Don’t come there unless it’s an emergency; the Argents are trailing the entire county looking for us. For me. Scott has my number, call if you need me.”

“Okay sure.” Joe did not have any immediate needs to go there anyway. “Say hi to Erica for me, thank her for the extra hour for my hair.” She pushed the door open and tried to step out without her dress riding up. “And uh, as much as tonight sucked, you made it suck a little less, so, thanks?”

Luckily, he didn’t comment on the lame attempt of a compliment and just gave her a nod before she closed the car door behind her. He didn’t drive away until she was inside the house.

Utterly exhausted, she leaned against the front door and tried to catch her breath. It’d been a hell of an eventful evening. And even with Jimmy’s presence and Alex’ announcement, now when Derek left she was free to focus on how close she and Derek had gotten to-

“Wow,” said Aunt Mel and Joe snapped her eyes open. Aunt Mel, in regular clothes for once, stood with folded arms and raised eyebrows in the doorway to the living room. “I was gonna ask how the date was, but that might be a bit superfluous judging by that expression. That good, huh?”

Joe realized she was touching her own lips gently and let the hand drop. “Uh...yeah.”

“No judgment here,” Aunt Mel said and raised her arms in surrender again. “Just slightly bitter, but mostly happy for you. It’s nice to see you get out again.”

“Yeah,” Joe murmured and then blurted: “Alex is getting married.”

Before she knew it, Aunt Mel placed a beer in her hand and sat her down by the couch so they could talk it out. She told Aunt Mel most of it. Dancing with Derek, leaving out how insanely ‘hot and bothered’ she’d been, and how Alex surprised her by kissing her, their argument following, and how Derek did not seem to be jealous, but actually kind of supportive. Extremely supportive, actually. Annoyingly supportive. She felt like she did not deserve it.

“Okay, there’s a lot to unpack here,” Aunt Mel began and took a sip of her own beer. “Did you talk to Alex? No? And you feel guilty for Madison-”

“Madeline.”

“Madeline, right, because you think she’s engaged to someone who won’t be faithful to her. And you’re also a little annoyed that Derek’s _not_ jealous, which I get, because it’s nice to feel wanted. Did you tell Derek that?”

“Not verbatim,” Joe said, which Aunt Mel interpreted correctly to ‘not at all’.

“Okay, you know what I keep telling you. Communication is key,” Aunt Mel said, quoting herself from many times before, but Joe was sure the advice originated from the magazine Cosmopolitan. “I’m not sure if you should talk to Madison-”

“Madeline.”

“Madeline, right, before you talk to Alex. Maybe try to give Alex a chance to come clean first. As you said, it was just a drunken kiss. A dealbreaker for you or me, but maybe this Mad _eline_ is fine with it. People are strange, you know. And as you said, Alex might not even remember it.”

Groaning into her beer bottle, Joe pushed off her boots, wiggling her bare feet into the carpet. “I just don’t want to be seen as a homewrecker and I hate keeping secrets. Am I a bad person if I don’t say anything?”

“No, just a person,” Aunt Mel said with a sympathetic smile. “Am I old-fashioned though for thinking they’re moving a little fast ahead? I mean, it’s only been two years since you guys split.”

“That’s why they call it U-Hauling,” Joe mumbled and then had to explain the stereotype of queer women moving in with each other on the second date. She and Alex had at least waited a few months before they made that decision. “They may have been together since we broke up. I haven’t really talked to Alex since the night I moved here.”

“Well, I remember that night.” Aunt Mel squeezed Joe around the shoulders. “Keep in mind that because of how you handled things,” implying how Joe never handled it at all, “Alex never really got closure. Even if she doesn’t have feelings for you anymore, there’s a possibility she has feelings tied in with the break up itself. Didn’t you say she mentioned that when you fought? That it was cathartic?”

“Yeah,” Joe mumbled, now feeling even more guilty. “Ugh. So I owe her an apology too?”

“Maybe,” Aunt Mel admitted. “Or just a conversation. As I said, closure.” She smiled at Joe. “There’s no easy answers to life, Joe. But talk to Derek, at least, if you want that to work. Tell him how you feel. Use your words. Be honest. Be explicit. Communication - is - key. Maybe he’s just bad at expressing himself.” Aunt Mel nudged her good-naturedly. “God knows you are.”

Joe snorted. Understatement of the year.

* * *

With Spring Break upon them, Joe found herself avoiding Scott in the house at odd hours of the day. She was trying to wrap up her paper, but no one at the county returned her requests for interviews and she suspected they had began screening for her number. There were limits to how many times she could rewrite the same sections and there was no TA-work either, which left her restless and with far too much time to think.

She hated secrets. Hated lying to Aunt Mel about Scott’s extracurriculars, to Scott about Victoria Argent’s imminent doom, to Madeline about the kiss, to Kelly about Jimmy’s true intentions, to Derek about her feelings... okay, that last one didn’t count. That was still a work in progress.

A few days after the dinner, Joe had made at least ten attempts to knock on Scott’s door and just confess everything to him. She had also chickened out at least ten times. It seemed like Scott and Allison were having issues, based on the frequent loud and angry music coming from his room. Maybe it was just the fact they were trying to keep away from each other, but Joe remembered Scott’s lament the first time she had asked him to stay away from her. Kid was in love. Did she really want to add to his burden?

With Aunt Mel at work and Scott sulking in his room, Joe ventured downstairs to make coffee for herself. While it brewed, she leaned over the counter and stared into the infamous backyard, blessedly empty for once. No word from Derek, not that she had been expecting any. He was probably busy doing whatever he did to prepare the three newly turned werewolves for the full moon in a few days.

Just as she poured the coffee into a mug, her phone rang. Kelly Brooks. She hesitated, in case Kelly was calling to tear her a new one for not fessing up about that kiss to Madeline or warning her that Jimmy was a two-faced liar. Steeling herself, she answered.

“Hello?”

_“Hiii!”_ Kelly’s voice sang through the speaker and Joe could imagine her big enigmatic smile. Not how Kelly usually started a lecture, so Joe relaxed a bit. _“How are you? You have five minutes?”_

When Joe made a noise of confirmation, Kelly continued in the same bubbly tone: _“Didn’t get a chance to say good bye the other night! You guys left so soon, I’m sorry I missed you. Guess Derek agreed with me on that dress and wanted to get you alone, huh? I’m surprised the table didn’t catch fire whenever you guys looked at each other.”_

“Uh...” was all Joe could muster and could not particularly remember any impromptu arson taking place.

_“You have chemistry, Joe, that’s a good thing! Anyway, it was Derek I wanted to call about. I, uh...”_ There was a vulnerability in Kelly’s voice that Joe seldom heard. “ _I haven’t heard anything from James since yesterday. We’ve been texting on the regular since I flew back to San Diego, but then it just stopped.”_ She talked fast, almost like she was apologizing for even calling. “ _I figured since he and Derek knew each other, you could ask if Derek might have heard something? If something happened, maybe? Like, if there’s a family emergency or if he’s really busy with his project? I’d call Derek myself, but I wanted to catch up with you too! Felt like we barely got a chance to talk during dinner.”_

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you bring dates,” Joe commented drily and sipped her coffee. She hadn’t heard anything from Jimmy either, not that she was expecting to. He was playing some sort of game here and until she could figure out the rules, she was not ready to entertain him. Joe forced herself to sound detached. “I guess I can ask Derek to check in. You guys, uh, hit it off?”

_“Well, he turned out to be a bit of a gentleman. After the dinner, he walked me back to my hotel, thanked me for the evening and left. Sent me a text the next morning to thank me again and hoping we could stay in touch. So then I regretted not asking him up for a drink. But then again, him leaving and sending a text first thing is why I wanted to ask him for a drink, so I guess that’s a typical paradox. But we’ve pretty much been texting non-stop since then.”_

“Uh-huh,” Joe said and had to admit that did not sound particularly worrisome. “What are you guys texting about?”

_“Oh, everything really! He’s got such in depth knowledge on things! Does not seem to like Professor Kane, though. He’s an amazing writer, such a way with words. He’s actually working on a book. Normally I wouldn’t be so hung up on this, but it just seemed so out of the blue that he stopped answering.”_

“Maybe his phone broke?” Joe suggested, thinking his generator up in the cavern could have malfunctioned. The alternatives were worse — Argents. If they were out for blood, searching the entire county for Derek, they might have stumbled upon Jimmy. She could go up to check on him, but Joe could not shoulder more guilt and would have to let Derek know first. Not ask him for permission, she added mentally, just let him know where she was going. She figured she owed him that at least.

_“Maybe,”_ Kelly sounded doubtful, “ _or maybe the distance became too much. I don’t know. It’s funny though, he asked me about you and Alex! I didn’t think it was that obvious I put you on opposite ends of the table. Well, it was obvious you were at opposite ends, but I didn’t think the reason behind it was. I gotta say, I really am so glad you decided to attend anyway. I know it was hard with the announcement and all, but it was so good to see you again and to meet Derek properly. He is such a nice guy. Even Caleb seemed to like him, which is mind blowing because he never likes anyone and-”_

Joe let Kelly talk while she drank her coffee, not even tasting it. She wanted to tell Kelly about the kiss, ask for advice. Then again, maybe Joe was reading too much into it. Maybe Alex really didn’t remember. Was it her business? If she told Kelly, she would only shift the burden over to her and that wasn’t fair either.

Which was exactly why she couldn’t tell Scott about Victoria Argent, Joe realized with a heavy sigh. If she told him, he would face the same dilemma if he should tell Allison or not. Ultimately, the responsibility to ‘confess’ laid with the Argents. If Victoria knew what she was going to do, she had every chance to tell her daughter. Maybe that would open Allison’s eyes to what kind of business their family ran.

_“Joe?”_

“Sorry,” Joe said quickly, realizing she had zoned out. “So sorry. You were saying?”

_“Just asking if you’re hearing this weird beeping sound? Or if it’s my phone that’s acting up?”_

“No, I hear it too.” Joe made a face and held the phone away from her ear. It was very faint, like the sound a disposable camera makes when you activate the flash. “I got my phone fixed by a high schooler, so it might blow up. If you lose me, that’s what happened.”

_“Oh, haha! Okay. Listen, I gotta say it again, I’m so proud of you for coming to that dinner. I was surprised you agreed to let her do the announcement there, but I guess she explained it was pretty important to Madeline, since she feels like an outsider, which I suppose she is, but still.”_

Something cold ran down Joe’s neck. “What?”

“ _I just meant that since we never attended classes together-”_

“No, wait,” Joe said to cut Kelly off. “I never agreed to _let_ her do anything. I didn’t even know she was dating anyone until I happened to run into them a month ago.”

For a few seconds, all Joe heard was that weird steady beep.

_“Oh, I’m going to kill her!”_ Kelly shouted and something banged in the background, like Kelly had slammed a cupboard door shut. _“She swore she would ask you before the dinner if it was okay! I didn’t even think to check — I can’t believe her! Are you serious? She really didn’t ask you? I told her so many times she could not announce their stupid engagement at the dinner unless you were okay with it. Oh my God, Joe, why didn’t you tell me? Well, I guess you couldn’t tell me because you had no idea, did you? Oh, no, I feel so bad! Ohh, no, no wonder you guys left! Oh my God, Joe, I am so, so, so, so sorry!”_

  
Yeah, no, Joe was definitely not telling Kelly about the kiss.

It took Kelly a while to stop apologizing, which left Joe exhausted just from listening. To be honest, that Alex was getting married was not bothering her. If it hadn’t been for the kiss, she would have been surprised and then not cared as much. At least she hoped so. Finally, Joe managed to get off the phone with the promise to ask Derek about _James_. Just as she hung up, Scott padded into the kitchen with a moping frown on his face.

“Food?” he asked in a voice that betrayed he did not have high hopes for her answer. Normally his teenage angst would annoy her, but she gave him a free pass because of everything that was going on.

Sighing, she inspected the fridge and the cupboards. “Not gonna lie, Scott, it doesn’t look good. I can make some pasta? With,” Joe took another look in the fridge, “ketchup?” She peered over her shoulder and his face was an open book to how tempting that sounded. “How ‘bout we go grocery shopping and pick up something on the way home?”

“Sounds like a safer option,” he admitted and leaned over the counter, doing the same thing she usually did by just staring out the kitchen window. He looked the same as ever, albeit a bit scruffy like he hadn’t showered today and his hair stuck up in weird places. It would do both of them good to get out of the house.

“You okay, kid?” she asked and then grimaced at herself. “Okay, that sounded way too much like Dad. I’ll try again. You okay, Scott?” When he didn’t answer, she hopped up on the counter to sit next to where he was leaning onto his elbows. “You know you can talk to me, right? I’m not as good as Aunt Mel, but since she doesn’t know everything, I guess... I guess I’m the best option you got and I feel really sorry for you.”

Not an outright laugh, but he seemed to smile a bit, still looking out the window. “Yeah.”

“This about Allison?” Joe guessed, wondering how much more room she had for relationship drama. To be honest, she would rather discuss the kanima. “You guys talk yet?”

“No,” Scott mumbled. “No, I-” He sighed and tapped his knuckles against the countertop. “She told her dad and Gerard about Jackson. About the rave. That’s why the Argents showed up and,” he blew air out his mouth slowly, “and the plan failed.”

The plan. When had they ever executed a plan without failure? Leaning back against the window, she nudged Scott with her foot. He was not telling her everything. “And?”

“And,” Scott said slowly and studied his hands again, “she went to the rave with Matt. Which is my fault because I told her we should see other people in public, I just didn’t think she’d be, y’know, stoked to do it.”

“Matt Daehler? The photography-kid who fixed my phone? He doesn’t really seem like her type.” As he nodded, Joe shrugged. Maybe it kind of made sense? He had mentioned knowing Allison after all. “They didn’t check IDs at all at that rave, huh? Those bouncers were just for show.”

“Yeah.” Scott finally gave her a real smile, glancing up under the now limp strands of hair hanging in his face. He really needed a shower. “This may come as a surprise to you, but a lot of high schoolers have fake IDs anyway.”

She grinned. “Oh really? I had no idea.”

“Yeah, most only got one though,” Scott said, frowning to appear serious. “Not a whole collection like Uncle Rob found in your room. What did you have, like twenty of them?”

“Hey, I was dating a forger,” Joe laughed and nudged Scott again. “Those fake IDs was the only good thing I got out of that relationship. All part of my master plan.”

“That got you eight months in Tryon.”

“Only because it failed for reasons beyond my control,” Joe defended and pulled her legs up to the counter as well. “Pulling that fire alarm was the most idiotic thing I ever did though. That made it a Class E-felony. The trespassing was still just a misdemeanor, would maybe have gotten community service, if that.”

“I remember Mom was so angry about that fire alarm. Evacuating a hospital unnecessarily-”

“I know. I deserved every single day in Tryon,” Joe mumbled, more serious now, glancing at her own hands. Tryon Detention Center for girls. She hadn’t thought about that place in a while. “Never cried so much in my life.”

“In juvie?” Scott asked, glancing up at her with concern.

She nudged him again, poking him in the ribs with her pointed toes. “No, when Aunt Mel yelled at me. Dad always yelled at me, never phased me, once but when Aunt Mel showed up?” Joe let out a low whistle, even though her stomach churned at the memory. “Man, I think Uncle Raf worried she would suffer an aneurysm. She was right though. I got lucky, Scott, really luck that no one was hurt.”

“Is this a ‘actions have consequences’-lesson?” he asked without looking at her and she shrugged again.

“It’s more a ‘actions have consequences beyond what your teenage-mind can comprehend’-lesson. Everyone’s a dumbass when they’re fifteen, but that’s not an excuse when people are getting hurt.”

“That’s the thing,” Scott mumbled and slumped down even further over the counter. “That’s all I want, for no one to get hurt and-” He rapped his knuckles against the window now. “And I’m not sure how to do that. Jackson is killing people, I know, but I still don’t think it’s right to kill _him_ because he’s not in control.”

“Without criminal intent, murder is technically manslaughter,” Joe said, referencing some of her Criminology-textbooks. “At least academically. The law might look at it differently if, say, Jackson _knows_ he’s suffering blackouts or similar and doesn’t do anything about it.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think he knows anything. He’s been acting so weird lately. It’s almost like he’s more the kanima than Jackson now, you know?”

“Like his human side is the dormant one?” When he nodded, she tried to remember if they had ever covered this in her early classes. “Could be to disassociate himself from the murders. That’s the old-school definition of dissociative identity disorder, that the mind creates alters to cope with on-going trauma. Not really sure how that fits in with the kanima-myth, but...”

She cleared her throat. “I, uh, have to tell you something, Scott, that I probably should have told you a while ago.”

He peered up at her with interest, obiviously paying attention, but she never got the feeling that Scott was _listening_ to her like Derek was all the time. Maybe it was because Derek was born a werewolf that it was like second-nature to utilize all his senses where Scott only remembered when prompted. Anyway, she tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice when telling him: “I found Jimmy.”

It was one less secret to worry about and she felt her shoulders drop a few inches when telling Scott everything, including the parts she left out from Derek in fear he would disregard their rule for no dismemberment or carnage at the reunion dinner. Kidnapping, strange SUV, and helping with the kanima-murders — although Jimmy had let that last one slip.

“2006 swimming team?” Scott repeated when she got to that part. He’d taken the kidnapping a lot better than expected. Possibly he recognized how a little light-hearted abduction where no one actually got hurt did not matter in the long run. He perked up as he connected the dots as she had done. “And the kanima’s afraid of water. That’s,” his face fell, “not really helpful?”

Joe laughed at his expression. “No, I know. I’ve checked the crime databases and newspapers for almost the entire county that year and there’s a few accidents related to water, but nothing tied to the swimming team. The only thing I can think of is suicide or something that was ruled an accident, because that’s not reported the same way and it’s against media guidelines to publish stories on it unless it can be determined to be public interest.”

“So it’s a dead end?”

“Not necessarily. It’ll still be in the police records, just not in the public crime database. Jimmy suggested it might be sealed records, if the swim team were minors. Uh, about Jimmy, Kelly just called and says she can’t reach him so I thought I would go up and check, but I...”

She trailed off, ears getting warm with the admission she had to make. “I kinda feel like I have to tell Derek first. Like in case the Argents got Jimmy this time, it’ll be safer- Scott McCall, if you don’t wipe that grin off your face, I’ll do it for you!”

To his credit, he did seem to try, but his face kept splitting into a huge smile. “I didn’t say anything!”

“You don’t have to!” she snapped and nearly fell off the counter trying to dig her foot into his side. “Shut up!”

“I’m still not saying anything!” Scott laughed and fended her off without effort. “Relax, relax! I get it. He’s your mate, it’s your instinct to- _ow! Joe!”_

She’d succeeded kicking him in the ribs, but it could not have hurt too much as he kept laughing. Fuming, she handed her phone over to him. “Just give me his number, asshole.”

“How do you not have his number?” Scott asked in wonder and he rubbed his side pointedly. Before he could begin entering Derek as a new contact, her phone buzzed and he handed it back. “It’s from Kelly?”

“Oh,” she said and read the text. Heck of a coincidence. “Okay, nevermind, she heard from Jimmy.”

It didn’t say much else, only another apology for causing any unnecessary concern. No emojis, which Kelly’s texts were usually full of, so it might not have been good news. Not that Joe minded, she had no interest in Jimmy and Kelly getting together. Guy lived in a cavern. Unlike Derek, her own brain treacherously added, who was squatting in an abandoned railway depot. Oh well, at least Derek’s place was indoors.

Joe hopped off the counter and poked Scott in the same place she’d kicked him. “Grocery shopping and take-out?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And, uh, Scott?” She cleared her throat as she followed him into the hallway. This was equally payback and a much needed PSA. “Just something I thought about, out of the blue, related to nothing...but you do know that flavored condoms are only for oral use, right?”

He froze in the middle of putting on his jacket, his stare fixed out in the air in front of him.

Shrugging, she tried to sound casual. “I know you only got a C minus in Biology-”

Panic highlighted his face as he slowly looked at her.

“-but sugar does not belong in the _concha_ , Scott. It messes up the pH-level.” As he looked nowhere near ready to speak, she shrugged again. “Just saying, you don’t want to give your partner a yeast infection.” She left him standing there with an open mouth, patting his arm on her way past to the front door. “Whoever that might be. You ready to go?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short(er) chapter to catch our breaths after that last one where everything happened at once. A hint of Derek and some McCall-family time :)   
> Thanks to ghostface001 for the yeast infection-idea ^^ Let Joe have a little payback for Scott's teasing.
> 
> I'm still on leave and trying to get as much rest as possible. Hope everyone else has a great Wednesday :) Thank you for reading and I'm looking forward to hearing what you think (as always).


	42. The Pill

After discussing the swim team-angle and Scott desperately trying to avoid her informative talks on safe use of condoms, she and Scott decided they needed more help. With the murders, not the condoms. The next day they made a house visit to the Stilinskis.

It seemed like every time Sheriff Stilinski laid eyes on Joe, his face fell and his shoulders slumped. Either she had really bad timing or it was like he knew her presence meant more work than he was comfortable with. When he opened the door to the Stilinski house and spotted her and Scott, he let out a deep sigh.

“Joe,” he said with a solemn nod and repeated the gesture to Scott, who was perched behind her. “Scott.” His eyes returned to her. “I told you, I’ve been suspended from my position as sheriff and I can’t help you. Not with interviews or Mr. Carter’s-”

“All the murder victims was on the 2006 swim team!” Joe blurted out and held up a 2006-yearbook Scott had borrowed from the school library as a shield in front of her. “And Mr. Lahey was the coach!”

His stare lasted a full second before he scrunched his face in a grimace. He groaned: “Not you too. Fine. Come on, get in.”

Even though he seemed to have second thoughts, he invited them in and shouted for Stiles to get down here. It sounded like an elephant bounding down the stairs. She imagined Stiles had been perched at the top, eavesdropping, as he brandished another 2006-yearbook when he skidded into the kitchen.

“Swim team?” he asked in a loud, excited voice and did a fist-pump when Joe nodded. “Yes!”

Sheriff Stilinski, looking every bit a policeman even in normal clothes, gave all of them a slow headshake. He held up a half-filled carafe. “Coffee?” As she nodded and the two boys perked up, he shook his head at them with narrowed eyes. “You don’t get coffee. Especially not you, Stiles.”

“What did I do?” Stiles asked, innocent as always, and blinked in confusion. He seemed over it fast enough and tore his copy of the yearbook open on the page showing the entire 2006 swim team with another photo of Coach Lahey down on the page. He then dragged Scott away to conduct a tense whispered conversation in the corner.

Joe sat down by the table and leaned forwards to see the highlighted names of the victims, including one Marc Bennett she guessed was the unknown Argent-hunter.

As Sheriff Stilinski put a cup of coffee down for Joe, he asked in a tired voice: “Okay, what’ya got?”

“Uh, that was pretty much it,” Joe admitted, putting both hands around the warm mug.

Sheriff Stilinski did not look particularly impressed and he glanced over at the whispering boys in the corner with another sigh. “Okay. So no suspect and no motive, nothing that’s more compelling than the same car spotted at three different crime scenes?”

“What car?” Joe asked instantly, thinking of the SUV. And also of her own Ford Fiesta, as she’d been frequenting most of the crime scenes as well, either before, during or after the murders. “What crime scenes?”

Seemingly against his better judgment, Sheriff Stilinski listed: “Trailer, hospital and rave. Two different cars have been spotted at the same locations, but only one of them is distinct enough to be conclusive. Tire tracks at the trailer matches the description of a car spotted at the hospital and warehouse at the time of the murders.”

“That’s circumstantial at best,” Joe protested, silently relieved her own car wasn’t mentioned. “There were dozens of cars at the rave and there are probably hundreds of cars at the hospital every day. And same car does not equal the same driver. And what about the three others?”

“No links. Some reports of a suspicious silver SUV cruising around, but nothing substantial.” He seemed to agree with her though and shrugged with one shoulder. “They’re bringing him in for questioning, not arresting him.”

“Who?”

“That’s conf-”

“Mr. Harris!” Stiles almost shouted as he launched himself into the chair next to Joe. At his father’s groan, he shrugged innocently. “What? You told me, we can tell Joe!”

The name was familiar and she scrunched her face up, looking at Scott for confirmation. “Your Chemistry-teacher?”

“And Physics,” Stiles added and flipped through the yearbook. “All the victims except Kara was in Harrris’ class in 2006. And except Coach Lahey, of course, which is pretty circumstantial to show that Mr. Harris is _not_ the killer!”

It seemed like this was not a new conversation. “There’s physical evidence linking him-”

“His car!”

“-to three crime scenes,” Sheriff Stilinski finished, unpertubed by Stiles’ outburst. “Even if the victims weren’t all in his class, they were still students at the high school and he could possibly have interacted with them at any other point.”

“You got a motive for him?” Joe asked and leaned back in her chair. Stiles did a ‘thank you’-gesture and glared at his dad.

“No,” Sheriff Stilinski admitted. “Not yet. That’s what the questioning’s for. Look, guys, I appreciate you’re trying to help, but one, I’m no longer the Sheriff. That means I’m off the case. And two, this swim team connection? It doesn’t make a difference.”

“Not yet,” Scott said from where he stood next to the table. “But Joe’s got a theory.”

Joe winced a bit at Scott’s words, especially with the Stilinskis’ expectant expressions that followed. Stiles was of course excited while the Sheriff looked skeptical. “It’s not exactly a theory, but most textbooks say there’s only three real motives to crime. Power, sex and revenge, right? Sex is obviously not the motive, none of the victims were sexually assaulted. Power is also off the table — this isn’t about money, because a lot of the victims were broke and it’s not about causing fear, the girl at the hospital deviates too much from the other _modus operandi_.”

_“Modus operandi?”_ Stiles repeated and turned in his chair from Joe to his dad and back again. “That- that doesn’t sound good. Is it good? It sounds evil.”

“It’s just fancy talk for method,” the Sheriff explained tiredly. “We just call it M.O.”

“Right! I know what M.O. is!”

“So it’s revenge?” Sheriff Stilinski asked Joe with his eyebrows twisted while Stiles did a sort of victory-dance in his chair, gesturing to Joe. “For what?”

“That’s the part we don’t know yet,” Scott admitted and Joe nodded in confirmation. She explained what she had done so far, with the crime database and the newspapers.

“But we’re thinking it might have been covered up as an accident or, possibly, suicide,” she concluded and was half worried Stiles’ head would explode if he kept nodding at her words. “That means they’re not in the database-”

“But in the police records, yeah,” the Sheriff finished for her. He rubbed his forehead. “That’s a lot of transcripts to sort through.”

“It’s gotta be related to the swim team in some way. Possibly a drowning or boat accident? Something connected with water,” Joe said and cringed when the Sheriff’s face turned to her in puzzlement. She’d gone off script with trying to keep the kanima-aspect out of it.

“Uhh, water because of swimming, right?” Stiles swooped in as a poor rescue. “Swim team, swimming, swim in water.” He shrugged theatrically, somehow making his head follow along. “Makes sense to me.”

The Sheriff did not look convinced. “There was no water present on any of the crime scenes.”

“Well, it was raining pretty hard when Coach Lahey died,” Stiles pointed out. “The trailer was next to a lake. The, uh, sink at the mechanic’s garage was leaking- okay, so, forget the water. Just, if there’s anything related to the swim team, that could maybe lead to a better suspect than Mr. Harris!”

They all held their breaths when the Sheriff seemed to consider this. He squinted at Joe. “Is this related to your paper? I thought that was about the Kate Argent-murders?”

“It’s, uh, for my next paper,” Joe said slowly and watch his face clear in something akin to disappointment at the obvious lie. “Look, I just have a feeling about this. Can you take this to the station? They’ve stopped answering my calls and it’ll hold more weight if it comes from you anyway.”

“Well, if you’re anything like your dad, I guess your ‘feeling about this’ holds some weight with me. I’ll ask the guy working the case, but I can’t make any promises.”

Stiles did another fist-pump. “Yes!”

* * *

A few days passed without Joe hearing back from anyone, neither Jimmy or the Sheriff. It had been a whole week now without anything happening. Joe could not remember last time Beacon Hills got a whole week without even a hint of murder or carnage. Despite her misgivings, it made her drop a guard just a little. Maybe they were over the worst?

Sixteen people on the swim team, including the coach. Seven dead now, including Camden Lahey. Could the kanima be done killing? Some of these people had moved out of state, but they were still alive and healthy based on what she could find out online. Maybe the kanima-master did not have the opportunity to travel that much? Lacking either funds or opportunity or both... It did not narrow it down much, to be honest.

After all the strange stuff happening, Joe kept the curtains closed on her bedroom window. She opened them now just to peer up at the moon. Another day until full. It did not give any indication of being particularly interested in supernatural matchmaking and she wondered how that whole thing worked. Derek had said there was no why or why them. Both Kane and Jimmy had talked about statistics. Her mind kept coming back to Victoria Argent testing her out on the school parking lot, how disappointed or confused she had seemed when Joe did not heal. She had expected her to be a werewolf. Why though? Was it just a hunch or did they know about her and Derek?

Scott swore on his life that he had not told it to Allison. Stiles had no reason to go yapping about it. Derek would not even get the chance as he’d been shot on sight — also the one with the least motive. Who knew then? Kate and Jimmy. One hopefully dead and the other...She wanted to believe that Jimmy would not directly put her in harm’s way, but after the reunion dinner she had no idea what to think. Maybe his loathing for Derek went deeper than his alleged friendship with her?

A whole week without Derek had also been an unexpected reprieve. A welcome one? She was not even sure. As stressful as the reunion dinner had turned out to be, his presence had been its one saving grace. Was it weird that neither had discussed what happened in the bathroom? One thing was the rave, where she had been drunk and full of wanton thoughts, but she had not even had a buzz at the dinner. Nor had she been too focused on him beforehand; not on a conscious level at least.

Was it just inevitable when they spent time together like that? They had been touching each other almost the whole night, but even though he radiated heat from his core, she had found the closeness more comforting than tempting if that made sense. Did anything make sense? After Alex’ revelation, every thought about Derek had disappeared until she was safely back in the house, maybe a self-defense mechanism because of the closed confines of the car.

So a whole week without Derek at least gave her time to think, but she was not so sure that was a good thing. If she kept waking up after dreaming about him — his muscles, his strength, his power and how it could be used for more than violence — she would have to air out her bedroom in case Scott started to catch on to her chemosignals. Derek had said to call him if she needed him, but she doubted it was this kind of need he meant. No amount of cold showers seemed to help either. Maybe it was the full moon tomorrow? Or just her sexual frustration wreaking havoc on her hormones.

Someone knocked on her bedroom door. Living with two people, she had learned to distinguish between Aunt Mel’s careful knocks and Scott’s more frantic ones. This was neither. It made her lock her computer and rise from her chair instead of just yelling for whoever to come in.

Opening the door slowly, she let out a sigh. It was Derek. It was _always_ Derek. Again, she wondered if she somehow summoned him by thinking about him this much.

“Your aunt let me in,” he explained as Joe stepped aside for him to come into her room. She wondered if he said that to discourage any breaking in-jokes.

“Of course she did.”

Joe closed the door behind him and now wondered if she should start to wear actual clothes in the house instead of her usual sweats. Normally not the one to be bothered, she still acknowledged how sloppy she looked compared to the reunion dinner. Hair up in a high frizzy bun, no makeup, loose t-shirt with some bleach-stain on the front — at least he knew what he was getting into. Not that he had much of a choice in the matter.

Before she could ask what she owed this surprise visit, or ask him to hold on while she freshened up, he pulled out an orange pill bottle from the pocket of his jacket and gave it to her.

“I talked with Deaton and got the right pills,” he explained as she shook the bottle, noting the vast difference in both size and color from the earlier ones she’d swiped from the clinic. “Apparently what you took was some sort of anti-inflammatory intended for livestock. Half a pill for a grown bull.”

“And I took two,” Joe whispered and realized she might be lucky to still be breathing.

Derek nodded and crossed his arms while leaning against her dresser. “You took two. Side-effects on humans include mood swings, confusion and fever. Which explains why you kept trying to both fight me and take your clothes off.”

“Don’t look so disappointed.” Joe was referring to the disappointed look on his face regarding her pill use, not the clothes issue, and cleared her throat when he raised his eyebrows. “Shut up, that’s not what I- uh, okay, so, why are you giving me these?”

“Full moon,” said Derek, as if that explained everything. “It’s gonna be a rough one. According to Deaton, one pill should be enough for the night.”

Joe glanced from the pill bottle to Derek. “Because you’re gonna...?”

“Potentially be mauled by one of my betas who won’t be able to control themselves. First full moon is brutal.” His explanation was devoid of any emotions, straightforward and probably honest. “You should have seen Scott. They’re gonna try and kill anything with a pulse.”

Lovely, Joe thought, still staring at the pills. “And you?”

“As long as you don’t show up with a taser, I should be fine,” Derek said with a slight twitch to his lips that told Joe he was teasing her. It was weird, but she kind of liked it. A welcome change from his usual brooding self. “It’s not gonna cut the bond completely, but it’ll dampen it so you won’t feel any pain.”

“What about Scott, is he...” She trailed off, again not even knowing what to ask.

Derek considered this non-question with some thought. “He should be okay, I think. He’s learning fast. He’ll be temperamental. Agitated.”

“Okay.” Such a small bottle for such a big deal, Joe thought, but aloud she said: “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“That’s my line.” Again a slight teasing smile on his lips and she ducked her head down to conceal her own grin in response. “Don’t worry, I’ll heal. Unlike you if you get caught in the crossfire. Take one pill tomorrow and stay indoors. Whatever you do, do not come to the depot.”

She weighed the pill bottle in her hand. Something felt off, but she had no way of articulating what. No way of finding the right questions to ask without it coming across as another cross-interrogation. There was so much she didn’t know. Would this be her reality for the rest of her life? Every full moon or whenever he deemed necessary? Would there always be something to hunt or something to fight?

“Joe?”

“Hm?”

“You okay?”

She’d zoned out and glanced up at him again where he watched her. As usual, his expression was attentive and expectant. Of course looking at him just made her flood with even more questions. What had happened at the dinner? Where did they go from here? Was there yet another long talk coming after the full moon about...everything?

“I don’t like this,” she said instead, knowing it would be hopeless to articulate everything else going on inside of her. He could read her chemosignals or whatever — let him struggle to make heads or tails out of her feelings.

“This?”

If she hadn’t been paying attention, she might have missed that slight uncertainty in his voice. She might have thought he was still teasing, but even though his face gave away nothing she got the impression it was a genuine question. Maybe her chemosignals were more confusing than she initially thought.

“This,” she repeated and shook the pill bottle. The oversized t-shirt suddenly felt too small and she turned around a bit to glance out the window to escape some of his scrutiny — or the possibly relieved expression if she was inclined to interpret it that way. “What if something happens?”

“If you stay inside, there’s no-”

Still facing the window she cut him off: “I meant with you.” Joe glared at the stupid shining natural satellite in the sky, holding it personally responsible for making her feel so emotional and stupid. “Are you affected now?”

“Not by the moon, no.” He cleared his throat behind her and for once continued without prompting: “It’s only the actual night of the full moon that’s bad for us. It’s the price we pay.”

Derek’s visit was apparently a short one as she heard him move towards the door. Before he could open it, Joe managed to turn around and find her voice again. “Can you call me when it’s over? Just so I know you’re okay?”

There was a small chance she would evaporate under the heat of his gaze alone. Her breath stopped completely when he held out his hand to her, but not palm up for once. “One pill tomorrow and don’t come to the depot, I’ll call you when the sun’s up. Deal?”

“That doesn’t seem like an equal deal,” she said with narrowed eyes, totally not stalling to shake his hand.

“Your survival versus a phone call?” Derek asked as he dropped his hand back. He did sort of have a point, both things were to her benefit. For some reason, he seemed inclined to humor her, his lips twitching as if he held back a smile. “Okay, what do you want?”

“Honest answers.” It slipped out without her brain intervening and she watched him tilt his head as he scrutinized her. She realized her mistake. “Not about...that. I meant what I said about never asking again.”

“Joe, I’ve never lied to you.”

“But you’re good at telling the truth without being honest,” she said with an awkward shrug. “Give me five questions that you answer honestly. Over the phone.” As his brows pulled together, she shrugged again. “Even the odds a little.”

“Five questions,” his eyes narrowed as he obviously tried to work out her angle, “that you’re not gonna ask me now?” She shook her head and now he gave her a half-smile. “Really?”

“Really,” she confirmed and smiled back without a chance to stop it. Steeling herself, she reached her hand out to him. “Deal?”

“You get three.”

“I’ll take it,” she said without hesitation.

Something unreadable in his eyes as he looked at her hand and then back at her face. Taking his time, he came just close enough to shake her hand without breaking eye contact. His touch was every bit as electric and hot as she thought it would be, but she managed to remain upright and not evaporate from the heat. His grip was firm, but not crushing like it probably had been with Jimmy.

“Deal.”

It was not until she heard the front door slam shut downstairs she managed to breathe again. There was another reason she did not want to ask him now — she had no idea what to ask him about. She needed to prepare the exact questions, make them worth it. Maybe starting with what he meant by that he was not affected by the moon, no, implying he was affected by something else. By her? By the situation? By what? Three questions and she had probably a thousand she wanted answered.

* * *

In stark contrast to Derek, Scott was not too worried about the full moon. He was even planning to attend a party the same night and not even knowing that werewolves couldn’t get drunk did anything to still Joe’s nerves.

After he had assured her for the sixteenth time that he was sure he had control and that Stiles would be there in any case, Joe relented and helped him pick out a shirt. A nice green color that complimented his skin tone, even if they argued how many buttons he should leave undone.

“You look like a choir boy,” Joe pointed out and reached over to undo the two top buttons. “There, now you look like a healthy sixteen-year-old.”

“I just feel so exposed,” Scott said and fingered the collar as he studied it in the mirror. He was pairing it with jeans and a casual blazer. Apparently it was Lydia Martin’s birthday party and the dress code was smart casual, although Joe was not sure which part of Scott’s outfit was smart.

She put both hands on his shoulders and peeked up behind him in the mirror. “You got the collar bones for it. Embrace it, Scott.”

Since Aunt Mel was at work, she’d left Joe in charge of making sure Scott remembered the rules. He was still not completely off the hook for the failed classes and restraining order. Apparently this party was a big deal however, something about helping Lydia get back to normal after her assault earlier, and he had been allowed out on some conditions.

“No drinking, no fighting, no smoking, no killing, no kidnapping, no fraternizing with the enemy, no blood baths, no caffeine after midnight, no-”

Scott stopped her from where she was reading aloud from a list. “Are- are you making these up?”

“Okay, you got me. The actual rules are no drinking, no smoking and be home by curfew. If you’re not home by then, Aunt Mel gave me specific instructions to come and get you, even if I have to drag you out of there myself. And, this is important, Scott, I will not be changing my clothes before I do so. I will show up in house slippers, pajama pants and my failed attempt at a tie-dye sweatshirt with absolute disregard for your high school reputation. Don’t think any enhanced strength is gonna help you, I will pull you out of there by your ear.”

He made sincere promises he would be home by curfew.

“Scott,” she said as he was about to leave, already halfway through the door. He turned with expectant eyes and Joe sighed, knowing it was sort of breaking a promise to Derek. “If you feel like it’s too much, with the full moon and all, call me. I’ll pick you up, whenever and wherever, okay?”

He came back inside and gave her a quick peck on the cheek, like he did with his mom. “I will. Thanks.”

“Oh God, way to make a girl feel uncool,” Joe said with a grimace and rubbed her cheek. “Go have fun, Scott. Go party. Be a teenager. Come on. Get out, I wanna order pizza and veg out with the TV for myself. Shoo.”

At least give him a few hours of happiness, she thought and watched him leave, before things fall apart. As much as she believed in the truth, she sometimes wished Derek hadn’t told her about Victoria. A heavy burden to bear, which was probably exactly why he had told her. Everyone would eventually reach their limits with secrets.

As it was getting past sunset, Joe stared at the pill bottle in deep thought. One pill for the night. Derek was afraid he was going to have to fight and was giving her a way out, so she wouldn’t be subjected to agonizing pain. Thoughtful of him, so why was she so hesitant in taking the stupid pill? It was the smart thing to do! Even Derek wanted her to and they had made a deal.

Maybe it was just the ‘sitting inside doing nothing’-part she didn’t like? Maybe it was the ‘feeling completely useless’-part she didn’t like? Maybe it was the guilt that she allowed Scott to go to a party when Derek practically forbade her to leave the house? Maybe it was the acknowledgement of the mate-bond that made her uneasy?

Maybe maybe maybe.

“Get over it, Joe,” she mumbled to herself and popped the pill before she could change her mind. She flushed it down with a swig of non-alcoholic beer, wincing at both the taste and sensation. It was the only thing they had in the fridge as she had forgotten to add anything else on Scott’s grocery list. The pills were smaller than the ones she had taken before the ice rink and they still went down harder. Something inside of her did not like that she wouldn’t know if Derek got hurt or not. Stupid hormones. Stupid emotions. Whatever.

Not feeling any different, she kept the plans she had for the evening. Order pizza, watch whatever funny show she could find, decide on the exact questions to ask at sunrise and try not to worry about Derek. First two went fine, third was harder and she failed miserably at the fourth. The only question she had right now was if he was okay. Stupid. He was fine. He knew what he was doing.

She paused, watching, but not seeing the characters on the TV move around. He _probably_ knew what he was doing.

The pizza tasted of cardboard as she chewed. He _had_ to know what he was doing.

Like he knew what he was doing when turning Isaac into a werewolf practically the day before a full moon and then two more kids before the next. Even Peter had only turned Scott. Balance, she remembered; Peter had been banking on Derek as a beta as well. Nevertheless, Peter seemed like a planner. Derek? Well...

Putting her conflicted feelings about Derek to the side, she listed the characteristics she had gathered of him. Strong. Kind. Stoic. Aggressive. Possesive. Rash. Stubborn. Compassionate. Proud. None of those points indicated any particular adeptness to long-term planning. Derek was a here-and-now guy. Pragmatic, but not a strategist.

He did not know what he was doing.

Phone in hand, Joe paced the living room, TV and pizza both forgotten. Should she call Scott? No, let him have fun. Tonight could possibly be the last night of fun he had in a while, if Derek’s theory about Victoria Argent held true. Who else to call? Joe was not that far gone that she thought her showing up to the depot would shift the odds in Derek’s favor, shotgun or not. He healed, she didn’t, as much as that thought aggravated her. Unfortunately, she did not know that many werewolves besides Derek and his pack.

As if on cue, her phone vibrated. It was a text message from the last probably-a-werewolf she knew of AKA the purple-eyed whatever as Derek called him. Jimmy. It was short, but effective.

‘ _help_ ’

Already worked up, Joe blew air out of her mouth as she looked at the first text message from Jimmy in a few months. Or, you know, since he _died_. Something about this felt like a trap.

Scratch that, this was definitely a trap, but to what purpose?

What game was Jimmy playing? Even if it was a trap, it was weird. And so vague. No location, no further info. Had he accidentally killed Kelly in her hotel room or was he writhing in agony up in the cavern, stuck between states again? Something about that last image refused to leave Joe’s mind. Jimmy, half-morphed, using what little he had left of strength to compose that text and send it to her.

No, this was too strange. Why wouldn’t he call? What would Jimmy need help with? This would be his second full moon and he’d obviously survived his first one. Besides, going up to the middle of the Preserve right now was probably not the best idea. If some stray shapeshifter didn’t get her, Derek would afterwards if he ever found out.

Not that she needed Derek’s permission to do anything, she mentally corrected. And she had technically only promised to not go to the depot. Semantics, her other half argued. Stay indoors.

Still, Jimmy knew where she lived if he wanted to hurt her somehow to get back at Derek. And if he wanted to trap her, he would be stealthier. Guy had her fooled for months, he was stealthy enough. Maybe whatever gave him purple eyes meant he was suffering during the full moon somehow? Or that the second one was the hardest for him? Like Derek said all the time, this wasn’t an exact science. And her usual trustworthy internet was not helping right now because she had no way of knowing what was real or not of the little info she could find.

She paced around in the house, changing her clothes just in case. Running tights, dark sweater and a sports bra; if she had to run for her life sometime during the evening, she would at least not worry about that.

No, this was ridiculous, she was not going up to the cavern just because Jimmy sent her the vaguest text in history. Not even if it was the first text she’d gotten from him in a few months. The first text since he got his throat ripped out by Peter.

What if the Argents had found him? What if Derek’s betas had escaped and hunted through the woods, descending upon Jimmy as easy prey? What if the kanima-master had found out about Jimmy’s research and decided to get rid of some evidence? What if that’s why he couldn’t call, because he was hiding?

What if what if what if?

Fully dressed for a night raid, shotgun laying across her lap, Joe sat on the couch chewing on another pizza-slice and arguing with herself. The smart thing to do was to stay home. She did not owe Jimmy anything. Especially not after the reunion dinner. Then again, he hadn’t actually done anything _wrong_ by coming to the dinner. He’d been an asshole, but there was unfortunately not a law against that. Like she did not need permission from Derek to do anything, Jimmy did not need permission from her to attend the dinner. With a grumble, she tried calling him, but the phone was now switched off. Figures.

There was a buzz in her body, like she could not sit still. It had been there all night, ever since she took the pill, and she realized her worry over Derek had just been a convenient outlet. Now she had a real reason to worry. Derek would be angry if she left the house, she knew that much. Then again, Derek was angry about a lot of things.

In the end, she knew she could endure Derek’s rage more than she could endure her own resentment if something actually had happened to Jimmy and she sat here cowering in the house. She sent a text to Scott to let him know of her plans, please tell Derek about it when convenient, but also not worry. It was probably nothing.

* * *

The drive up to the Preserve felt ominous and she kept tapping a hasty rhythm on the steering wheel. She’d never taken this road in the dark before, even though the bright full moon lit up through the trees like ghost lights. It turned eerily quiet when she killed the engine and she hated the way shadows twisted when her front lights died. At least she had the GPS-trail, otherwise she would never have found the cavern at night.

Birds and bats and insects buzzed around her in the woods as she crept towards the cavern, shotgun loaded, but still hanging by her side. If a werewolf was nearby, the forest-creatures usually disappeared, so in a way all the noise was comforting. Except if it meant that Jimmy was dead of course.

Nothing out of the ordinary and she reached the small grove of trees that concealed the cavern entrance.

Now she brought the shotgun up to her shoulder and tried to breathe evenly through her nose. Step by step, she edged her way inside, rolling her feet to stay silent. Quiet like the grave. Maybe Jimmy _had_ torn Kelly apart at her hotel and-

An anguished cry echoed through the stone halls.

“Jimmy!” Joe shouted and tried to pinpoint the direction. He sounded hurt, really hurt, and she ran through the passages — so many! — looking for any sign of him. “Jimmy!”

She found him laying on the floor in the middle of the largest dome, clutching his stomach, dressed in nothing but sweatpants. His phone laid next to him in a pool of blood, which explained why it had died. Joe put the shotgun on her shoulder and dashed down to him. “Jimmy, oh my God, are you okay?”

He clearly wasn’t. Frantically Joe tried to make sense of his injuries. There was so much blood and why wasn’t he healing?

“No,” he croaked out and his eyes were glowing purple as he looked up at her. They were also rimmed with tears. “No, Joe, why did you come?”

Delirious. This was bad. “Okay, come on, we have to get you to a-”

His hand grabbed around her wrist with surprising strength. “It’s her...”

“Her?”

Footsteps behind her and Jimmy’s eyes flickered. Without thinking, Joe reached for the shotgun, but froze at the sound of a hoarse, barely familiar voice.

_“Hey, Berkeley.”_

Joe turned around and the last thing she saw was the end of a rifle stock with Kate Argent smiling behind it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! So, obviously, I won't be following the show's storyline for Kate (mostly because I hate it), so the story's going to be slightly AU from here :) Hope you won't mind.
> 
> On FF.net it's been suggested that the "official" ship name of Joe and Derek is tied between Halegado or Doe, although I still hold a torch for Joseferek because it sounds like a generic Soviet-villain. Still open for new suggestions ^^
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and please let me know what you think :) Getting closer to the season 2-finale. Wish everyone a nice Friday, please stay safe and healthy!


	43. The Full Moon II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is not a happy chapter. Description of non-consensual touching, some violence and swearing. A lot of Kate being Kate.

_“Come on. Wake up, babe. Come on, there’s a good girl. Hello, there you are.”_

The voice came from far away, as though shouted through a tube. It sounded raw, like whoever was talking had yet to recover from a serious chest cold. Something tapped Joe on the cheek, light slaps, growing harder when Joe still would not wake up. Joe frowned and blinked her eyes opened, head reeling from a sharp pain originating somewhere around her nose.

The world blurred into focus, someone moving in front of her illuminated by the soft glow of...camping lights? The blonde-haired person tilted their head at her — it was the source of that unfamiliar voice. Fighting down the urge to vomit from nausea, Joe forced her eyes wide open to see the blob for the person it was.

“Hiii, baby,” Kate croaked and Joe’s head rolled sideways, trying to focus. Through a haze of confusion, she felt Kate’s hands on her thighs, running up towards her torso.

Joe’s initial response was to shake Kate off and she jumped violently, but found all limbs fully secured to their original position. No matter how hard she pulled, nothing budged except the toes of her feet that kicked helplessly at the ground.

Ams strained where Kate had fastened somewhere above her head, feet bound together at her ankles, she barely managed to stand. A piece of fabric stretched around her head to keep her from talking or spitting in Kate’s face as she wanted. Her thrashing made no difference to Kate’s groping and she tried to yell, but could only make guttural noises that echoed in the cavern.

She yanked at the rope binding her hands, but it only hurt the already agonized muscles under her arms. Screaming only made her short of breath with the gag soaking up most of the noise. Kate seemed to wait for Joe’s panic to die down, watching her with a gentle tilt of her head as Joe tried everything to get loose.

Jimmy. Oh my God, Jimmy. Joe tried to ignore Kate and scanned the cavern, finding a shivering lump chained to the wall. The chains looked new, bolted deep inside the bedrock, but Jimmy was not even trying to break free. He clutched his abdomen as before, whimpering and gulping for breath.

“Hm? Oh, that,” Kate said as she noticed Joe’s attention not fully on her. Like they were inspecting a new couch to buy, Kate stood next to Joe and studied Jimmy’s near-unconscious body. “You know, the chains were already here. I just removed the safety feature so he can’t get in and out himself. Convenient, when your prey does all the work for you.”

Kate Argent alive.

It was surreal. How was that possible? How had she not realized it before? Joe tried to understand, but couldn’t. Kate’s voice was harsh and guttural, but that was to be expected by the angry red line crossing Kate’s throat. Scarring on her vocal chords. A small nick in her eyebrow, courtesy of Joe, but otherwise she looked the same. She did not look dead. She looked very much alive, although with slightly more insanity in her eyes. The same wide eyes from Joe’s nightmares now narrowing at Joe in a mockery of enjoyment.

“Mmmm, I’ve missed you,” Kate said and took obvious pleasure in Joe’s revulsed squirming as she continued to run her hands over Joe. “My little Nancy Drew. And her still useless sidekick.”

There was no thought to Joe’s actions. She yelled through her gag, cursing Kate as best she could, but it was unintelligeble and Kate did not even pay her attention. Kate, in cargo pants and a long white tank-top, stalked over to Jimmy’s form. She used her foot to tip him over on his back and Joe saw the large gaping bullet hole in his stomach. Angry black veins spread from it, writhing over his twitching muscles.

“I gotta say though,” Kate murmured in thought. “He’s filled out in all the right places. Late bloomer, hm?” He choked out a gasp as Kate kicked him in the ribs. “And not useless I suppose.” Kate looked up at Joe and winked. “He got you here. You took your time though. Almost thought you weren’t coming. Trouble in platonic paradise?”

_“Ffff ooo,”_ Joe tried to say, but was unable to form the correct letters. Hands tied tightly, blood circulation already waning, she was unable to give Kate the finger either.

_Question number one: Do you hate me for saving Kate’s life?_

Throwing her hands out in the cavern, Kate took a deep breath. “I’m trying not to sound like a Bond-villain, but I gotta be honest. I’ve waited for this. Waited and waited and waited for the right opportunity. First I was too weak, of course. Lost a lot of blood, a lot of muscle, some of my mind.” Joe tried to get her hands to move, to see if she could slip out of her binds. “Then you kept on staying by Derek’s side. Oh my God, Joe. baby! Give the guy some room to breathe!”

She laughed, that familiar throaty laugh. “Can’t have that, can we? First rule when hunting _mates_. Gotta separate them.”

“I mean, you’re probably wondering why I’m doing this tonight.” Kate had a taser wand strapped to her thigh that she unhooked now to twirl it around lazily. Whatever she wanted with Joe, she was not in a hurry. “I’ve been a hunter for a long time. There’s always a risk when you hunt werewolves on the night of the full moon. ‘Cause they’re stronger, right?”

Kate kept talking like someone who loved the sound of her own voice. The grin stretching over her face made her look almost normal, but there was an edge to her eyes that had not been there before. “Stronger, okay, but also stupider.

“And,” she said with another happy grin, “I made a new friend.” Kate retrieved something from a pocket, it looked like a regular cell phone and she pressed the screen once. Derek’s voice rang out:

_“Full moon. It’s gonna be a rough one. According to Deaton, one pill should be enough for the night.”_

“As I said,” Kate smirked, “convenient when your prey does the work for you. How is our big bad Alpha, by the way, and his gang of ragged teens? Not good, it seems, as he gave you the pills. Oh, he can act tough, but we know him, don’t we, Joe? He just can’t stand anyone getting _hurt_ -”

At her last word, Kate threw a solid punch into Joe’s side and she nearly choked on the fabric in her mouth.

“It’s sort of sad he won’t feel it,” Kate said as she leaned in with both hands stroking Joe’s waist, only adding to the pain she had just caused. “Two birds with one stone and all. No way to find you, because you didn’t tell him about Jimmy’s place, did you? No, no one knows about this cave, other than us. You gave me that as well, by the way. GPS.” She shook the phone in Joe’s face again and winked at her. “Super convenient.”

Tears flooded down Joe’s face, both from the throbbing pain in her side and the words Kate threw at her. Jimmy still lay so unmoving on the floor, shallowed breathing, that she thought he was going to die any second now. His wound looked like Derek’s had back at the vet clinic. He’d been hit in his arm and nearly died, Jimmy had been hit in the stomach. And it was her fault. Joe’s fault.

“Matt, my new friend, is a special boy,” Kate said conversationally, pocketing her phone again. “Very talented. Deeply disturbed. Eager to please. A lot like Derek when he was that age.” The laughter rose in her throat at the sight of Joe thrashing harder in her binds. “Has a thing for the Argent-girls, but I’m not worried about Allison. She’s got more important things on her mind now.”

Joe tried to look away, but Kate was having none of that. She got up in Joe’s face and grabbed her cheeks with one hand, pinching them together and forcing Joe’s face up again.

“You know, I’m almost tempted to remove that gag. It’s more fun when you talk back. You’re so full of fire, Joe. Not like Derek, he only snarled and roared and whimpered, but you!” Joe let out a harsh noise when Kate grabbed her thighs again, squeezing at the soft flesh. She leaned in to whisper in Joe’s ear, who tried to turn away. “You’re _fun_.”

Psycho Kate was back. Joe struggled against her restraints, even if she knew it was futile. If Kate could hold werewolf-Derek captured for a day straight, she knew how to subdue someone like Joe as well. She had to get help, but Kate was right, no one knew about this place. Scott knew she was here, but he did not know where here was! How could she have been so stupid, how could she have wandered right into this? Her only hope was either tricking Kate to let her go, which was hopeless with the gag still in place. Just the thought made her cry. No hope. Her fault. All her fault.

“Oh, Joe, baby!” Kate said and kept rubbing her hands on Joe’s thighs. “There’s so much I want to talk about. Jimmy filled me in on a few things, you see, we’ve had fun for a couple of days now. Aww, don’t cry, baby. It’s not your fault he’s hiding out here, you couldn’t know... I worried that pretty miss Kelly Brooks would get you to come up here too early, but I sort of broke up with her. Over text, and to be honest, _that_ made me feel pretty bad.” Kate made a noncommitting noise and shrugged. “I guess I did her a favor in the long run.”

“But, see, that’s the thing, right, no one could know I was back. It got close, didn’t it? There were so many times I thought ‘Oh, she definitely saw me’,” Kate’s face stretched in a large cat-like grin. “Only action I’ve been getting the last few months.”

_“Grrd nn oo?”_ Joe tried to ask if Gerard didn’t know. She found that hard to believe from his comments to her. “ _Ff?”_ Chris? “ _Affn?”_ Allison?

“Matt told me you went to my funeral,” Kate said coyly, ignoring Joe’s attempt of speech, and brushed tears from Joe’s cheeks. “Showed me some pictures. I’m flattered. No, really, I am. Especially since I _remember everything you said to me!”_

Joe screamed through her gag as Kate shoved a taser wand she’d had strapped to her leg into Joe’s chest. Pure lightening tore through Joe’s veins, pulling and tugging painfully on her cells, leaving her mind crushed into something unrecognizable. She coughed and sobbed for breath when Kate removed the wand. Derek had to feel that. He _had_ to! He said the pills would dampen the bond, not remove it, and if that hadn’t gone through, nothing would.

“Aww, baby,” Kate cooed and grabbed Joe around her straining mouth. “I know that look. You’re thinking he’s gonna come save you. You found him, right, he’s gotta find you! Hm hm hm,” she tutted in dismissal, “he’s not coming. Do you know why else it had to be tonight, hm?” Joe shuddered and tried to recoil when Kate stroked her hand over Joe’s hair. “Full moon, you know. He tell you what he did to Victoria? To my sister in law? To Allison’s mom?” Kate leaned in to whisper: “ _Do you know what Victoria had to do tonight?”_

_Had to_. It was already done. No remorse in Kate’s voice, Joe noted. No sympathy. Sociopath, narcissist, unable to feel anything for anyone but themselves. She was not here because of Victoria.

Still whispering, Kate rested her head on Joe’s twitching cheek. “Derek’s not gonna come save you, Berkeley. He’s too busy being hunted. Your dad’s a cop, you know what happens when one of their own gets killed. They get _vindictive_.”

With a small shove that made Joe’s armpit twinge at the impact, Kate stepped back and threw her arms out nonchalantly.

“You know, _I_ was following orders!” Kate yelled into the cavern, drowning out both Joe and Jimmy’s painful groans. She had lost that coy edge, dwelving into pure rage. “That’s all I ever did! All I was ever taught. And when I was told to eradicate the Hale pack, I did! What else was I supposed to do? But now, when the buck’s being passed around, it’s suddenly my fault?”

Kate scoffed loudly at this major injustice in the world. Joe could barely see her through the tears as she tried to kick the bindings off her ankles. She stopped when Kate got up in Joe’s face again, so close that Joe could see the manic glint in her eyes. Not shouting anymore, she seemed to calm down a bit, although calm was probably not the right word. “Did Derek ever tell you how we met?”

Without thought, Joe swung her head and crashed it into Kate’s nose. Swearing, Kate stumbled back, nose running with blood. For a second, Joe thought that was it. Kate would kill her and it would still be worth it, but Kate threw her head back and laughed while wiping her bloodied nose.

“See? There’s that fire!”

She went over to get something out of her bag, kicking Jimmy in her wake just to see if she got a response. There was none. A large pool of black ooze had gathered around Jimmy, as if he’d vomited when they weren’t paying attention.

“The boys, ah...they’re weak. They break so easily. I broke Derek just by mentioning his sister. I didn’t even get to Paige.” Instead of whatever torture instrument Joe imagined, Kate had brought out a small pocket mirror that she used to study her reflection, making sure to get all the blood off her face. Kate lifted her eyebrow as if a thought struck her. “He did...tell you about Paige, right?”

No, no, no! It was impossible to block out Kate’s raspy voice, no matter how much she tried.

“Ohh, sweetie,” Kate cooed when Joe could not help the truth shine in her wide eyes. “He didn’t, did he? It’s okay. It took some time before he told me too. I was substituting as a guidance counselor, that’s how we met, by the way. Poor Derek...so scarred, he just needed a shoulder to cry on. And he got that and so-”

Joe threw herself at Kate, but the restraints snapped her back before she could even reach her. She thrashed and ignored the blazing pain in her wrists from the tugging. She could not listen to Kate tell her about how she raped Derek. She could not!

“You wanna know what he did to poor baby Paige? She was fifteen years old.” Kate had a pout and nodded theatrically. “So young, a brillian cellist...”

On the floor, Jimmy whimpered loudly. At least he was still alive, but Joe wished she could die now. She did not want to hear this, not from Kate, not like this!

“And she met handsome, popular, basketball-playing Derek Hale. High school romance. It’s _brutal_.”

The new punch to her ribs didn’t even register. Joe tried to shut off her ears, tried to make noises to drown out Kate’s voice, but she just kept talking louder and louder until she shouted into the cavern.

“And he wants to turn her! Because he’s afraid she’s gonna leave him when she finds out what he is! And he can’t turn her. Not him, no, his bite won’t do it, it has to be an Alpha.” Kate was stalking around, gesturing lazily with her hands, like she was pitching a brand new marketing strategy. “His mom said no, of course, so he asks this visiting Alpha from another pack. Big bastard, not gentle.”

Joe screamed through her gag, tugging at her burning wrists and trying to kick herself off the ground, as if gaining momentum would make her able to stop Kate from talking. Why was she doing this? What did she want? Revenge? Then just kill them!

_Question number two: Do you hate me for being human?_

Nothing worked, her hands stayed bound and if she moved her feet, she could feel the effort suffocating her. However tempting, it hurt too much for her to follow through. Jimmy groaned on the floor again and she saw how his hands flexed against the sandy floor.

“Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Kate peered at Joe to see if she was still listening, as if she had a choice. She fully ignored Joe’s insane thrashing.

“She rejects the bite, Joe. She’s dying! Because of Derek! And she begs him to kill her, because the pain is just - too - much!”

Now Joe’s breath came in short heavy bursts through the gag, like a steamroller, unable to think, unable to listen to this bitch spewing venom out of her mouth. Kate was trying to turn Joe against Derek. Separate the mates. She said it herself! But why? She screamed again, as much in frustration as to keep Kate’s focus on her. Anything to give Jimmy a chance to get up, to get away.

“And he does. Derek kills Paige, his first love, out of mercy.” Kate ended with a laugh, her voice coming more conversational now. “Such a shame he never told you about it. His version of the story is more fun.”

Not even the roar of Joe’s own heartbeat could block out the sound of Kate’s voice. She hated this. She hated her. Inside, she was screaming at Jimmy to get up. By some odd twist of luck, the wounds hadn’t killed him yet, not judging by the twitching of his fingers against the sandy floor. Maybe there was a chance. Maybe he could escape.

With a flourish, Kate pulled something out of her pocket. It looked like a photo ripped from a yearbook. She forced it into Joe’s vision, grabbed her cheeks to make her face it, shoved it into her eyes.

“You see her?”

Joe did. A pretty brunette smiling gently in a black and white photo. Paige Krasikeva.

“Fifteen years old! See those soft lips? See those big eyes? That fair smooth skin? So innocent and pure and _defiled by those animals!_ ” Spit flew from Kate’s lips as she snarled in Joe’s face. “Died a virgin. I know, because so was Derek until I-”

_“Anggrh!”_

Joe let out a muffled cry and pulled her bound legs up high enough to kick Kate in the stomach. Her arms and core muscles screamed in protest, but the force was enough to send Kate flying back. It was worth it to shut her up. Joe would rather die than hear this from Kate.

On the ground, Kate threw her head back and laughed. She knew what Joe knew. Nothing Joe could do would make a difference. Her kick did not make a difference.

At least it shouldn’t have.

As Kate laughed on the ground, a shadow rose behind her and Joe could not help her eyes being drawn to it. It was Jimmy.

He got up slowly from the ground with steam rolling off his expanding muscles. White plumes of smoke came out with every breath, he looked to be functioining on pure rage. He kept rising, growing, morphing into something beyond anything human, even beyond a regular werewolf.

The chains snapped off his wrists with a loud metallic sound.

Nearly dying had not dampened Kate’s reflexes. The gag muffled what Joe yelled as a warning as she saw Kate pull out a handgun from her waistband. Everything slowed down and Joe could see how Kate pulled back the slide as she rolled around, then aiming and firing straight into Jimmy’s chest without hesitation.

The bangs echoed through Joe’s skull as much as her own scream did.

Jimmy — or the thing that used to be Jimmy — roared in both pain and anger. The bullets lodged themselves into his chest, pushing into the already massive open wound in his stomach.

Even with the bullets, at least a dozen of them, he continued to grow. Thick black fur sprouted on his skin — it had a purple sheen to it. Not quite what Peter had turned into, but similar. Thin hind legs, but a massive torso with a rounded back that ended in long arms reaching nearly to the ground. His claws were several inches, sharp and descending upon Kate.

She kept firing her gun, but it did not seem to make a difference. Each shot burst through Jimmy’s thick fur and while he made a grunt of pain, he kept coming. Kate avoided the first strike with his heavy claws. She rolled on the floor, got up in a knee-stand and fired her handgun again. Pulling the trigger until she only got empty clicks.

Gagged and helpless, Joe could only watch even though she yanked harder and harder on the ropes holding her arms.

Jimmy seemed to move almost sluggishly. The wolfsbane. It made him slow and stopped him from healing. Kate, who’d dropped the empty gun, hit him with the taser wand instead and his muscles spasmed in response, an unnatural shriek rising from Jimmy’s throat.

Biting into the gag, Joe braced herself and jumped up, trying to keep her feet up when coming down to loosen the fixture to the ceiling. The burn on her wrists made her cross-eyed, it hurt so bad. As she whimpered, knowing she had to keep trying, Kate kept shocking Jimmy with the baton.

Letting out a harsh snarl, Jimmy swept one of his gorilla-like arms and knocked Kate to the side. She cried out, but managed to dodge the next strike, diving for a large rifle by her bag. Joe only saw Jimmy’s massive back, how the first shot opened up a large gaping hole in his flesh, how the second expanded it.

Pain and anger as he howled in pain, then a long ragged human scream from Kate.

Joe, unable to close her eyes, saw Jimmy stagger back to reveal Kate, bloodied and wild-eyed. Kate let out pained gasps, shoving herself back on the ground, clutching her side. A large gash in her torso — bite marks.

Desperate people do desperate things, Joe’s dad had told her once, and it was all she could think when seeing that Kate was getting up, pulling a knife from a holster, heading for Joe. Bound and gagged, Joe tried to squirm out, cry for Jimmy, beg for mercy.

Kate let out a horrific war cry and seemed to muster everything she had left to pull back her hand and-

A large furry arm shot out and struck Kate right in the ribs. The impact threw her off the ground, through the air until she hit the far side of the cavern wall with an organic crack. Her body slumped down, unmoving, blood in her blonde hair.

That left Joe and what used to be Jimmy. Purple eyes glowed at her and she saw the teeth still wet with Kate’s blood.

Full moon, her mind yelled at her, full _fucking_ moon! This was not Jimmy, this was a werewolf, no matter the color of its eyes. If it was her or Kate or any other soft prey, it didn’t care!

“Mmy,” she still screamed through her gag, crying and whimpering and her voice rising like a chainsaw in her throat. “ _Mmy_!”

One of his — its? — claws came up, but as Joe steeled herself for a sharp stinging pain, she felt the gag loosen around her mouth. Jimmy snapped it with no apparent effort. He did the same with her arms and Joe fell forward onto her face, her breath kicking up large plumes of sand. Next thing she knew, Jimmy’s heavy form crashed down by her side and when she managed to squirm around, he was just Jimmy again.

Jimmy with a large gaping wound in his stomach.

“Oh God,” Joe whimpered and her teeth chattered, muscles so cramped up she could hardly breathe. Her wrists burned and her hands were swollen from the lack of blood. She tried to flex them, flinching at the sharp pain, but desperate to try and help Jimmy. Not bothering with her bound feet, she crawled over to him where he laid shirtless and shallow-breathed — and mortally wounded.

“Wolfsbane,” Joe gulped, remembering now and noted the angry black veins spreading across his entire upper body. “Stops the healing.” What had Derek done back at the clinic?

The bullet, she had to find a bullet.

Kate’s discarded knife lay on the ground next to her and she used it to cut the cord on her feet. Tumbling, out of balance and muscles screaming, she limped over to the assault rifle. One bullet left in the chamber. Behind her, Jimmy’s breath got more and more shallow.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Joe chanted to herself, trembling almost too much to get back to Jimmy. What then? What had Derek done? The powder, she had to set it on fire and then use the ash to spread it into Jimmy’s open and violently infected wound. “Oh God, oh God.”

This was not a tiny scratch on the arm. Joe unscrewed the bullet and poured the powder onto the floor. A small pile. She doubted there would be enough ash for the literal hole through Jimmy. Needed to try anyway. Fire. She needed some kind of fire.

Her eyes fell on the taser wand and she used it to get a spark going on the floor, watching one of them leap to the pile of powder. Like at the clinic, it ignited immediately and she scooped up the ashes, cringing at how much sand she got in as well, and while whispering apologies to Jimmy, she pressed it into the writhing carnage that used to be his torso.

“Uhhhn!” Jimmy’s back arched off the floor and she fought to keep her ash-coated hands into his wound. The black veins retreated, just as it had with Derek, but Jimmy’s head snapped back as he screamed, no, howled in pain. His eyes burst open and the clear purple shone up at Joe.

“You’re okay,” she mumbled, over and over again. “You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay.”

After a small lifetime where Joe thought her own heart would stop, he flopped back down on the ground. Sand clung to his sweaty skin, making him almost yellow in appearance, and while the wound was healing, it was still bad. Not enough ash.

If she had more, if Kate had more ammo-

Joe looked up, but Kate was nowhere to be seen.

_Question number three: Do you wish you never met me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of Derek, but he's too busy getting mauled by his betas... And the night's not over yet :)  
> Hope I answered some of your questions from before (or Kate did as she was monologuing pretty bad in this chapter...)
> 
> Thank you for reading anyway and please let me know what you think! This was one of the hardest chapters I had to write, so I would love some feedback on it.


	44. The Full Moon III

Joe thought her head would explode from the sound of her own pulse. It burst through, hard and fast, filling her every sense. Her lungs burned, but she had to keep going. She had to keep going!

“Come on, come on.” Her voice was barely a whisper, no air left to spare, but she pushed through everything she had, supporting Jimmy’s annoyingly heavy body over her shoulder. They stumbled, fell, skidded through the dark forest. Joe kept looking over her shoulder, kept looking for Kate, knowing she was out there somewhere. Wounded, but not dead.

She should have killed her. She should have let her die. She should she should she should...

“Come on, come on,” she hissed and grunted when Jimmy caught onto a branch, practically collapsing onto her. Groaning, she hoisted him back up, as his head lolled sideways, unable to assist. “Couldn’t you have stayed skinny, you asshole?”

Joe wanted to cry when she found her car. In her mind, she’d pictured Kate finding it first, leaving her stranded up here with a half-dead werewolf. Somehow, she managed to shove Jimmy into the backseat and she wondered how the hell they’d gotten Derek in here that night at the school. She realized he’d never told her what really happened, that time where she first felt his pain, when she thought it was all fake.

If you survive, Joe told herself, you’re gonna ask Derek about it.

She had Kate’s shotgun, handgun, taser wand and knife — stuffing all of it into the passenger seat — and still glanced over her shoulder constantly in case the insane woman appeared out of the shadows. The look in Kate’s eyes, especially when she came with the knife, it filled Joe’s head every time she blinked.

“Please don’t die,” Joe whispered under her breath as the Ford jumped and tumbled down the dark gravel road. With only the full moon and her headlights, it was straight from a horror movie. Anytime now, she’d see Kate’s silhouette in her rearview mirror. Or Kate would bound out from the forest, throwing herself onto the hood. Or she’d just appear in the backseat, ready to strangle Joe. The last one made Joe check behind her, but her backseat did not have room for much more than Jimmy, who groaned every time the Ford bounced in a large pothole. “Please don’t die.”

No answer.

“I’ll take you to the hospital, please, Jimmy, just hold on, just-”

“No...hospital. Derek.”

Joe pulled in a sharp breath and hit the steering wheel as she screamed: “Why does everyone want Derek when they should go to a hospital? _What is wrong with you people?”_

“Healing. Slowly. Need Derek...” Jimmy’s words came slurred and broken, only half conscious. His head swung with every movement of the car. “Warn Derek...”

“I can’t take you to Derek!” Joe screamed again. “It’s the full moon. He’s being mauled by his betas!” She clutched the wheel desperately, keeping the car on the road, sobbing loudly. “I can’t, Jimmy, I’m sorry...”

“Wolfsbane,” Jimmy mumbled so low Joe barely heard it.

“I know, I know, it’s poison!”

“No...” Jimmy’s eyes were closed as he managed to talk slowly. “Won’t kill...me. Just weak.”

“What?” Joe turned around, but he was already slipping back under. “What do you mean it won’t kill you? Jimmy!”

“I took...steps.”

“Steps? Steps! You know what?” Joe’s voice rose to a tight roar. “You can take that mysticism and shove it up your ass, Carter! You and Derek and Kane and all those other shapeshifting assholes can all shove it up your _ass_!”

Even in his state, his brows furrowed. “Kane?”

“Oh yeah!” Joe’s voice reached hysteria. “She knows about all of this, by the way! She’s known for forty years! She knows about _all of this_! About the shapeshifters, the kanima, the hunters — everything!”

Jimmy’s lips barely moved, but she heard the low: “That bitch.” He shifted slowly, but slumped back down. “No hospital. I’m healing...slow.”

“I seriously frickin’ hate how everyone keeps saying no hospitals!”

She found herself praying as she sped towards Beacon Hills. They were technically Catholic, which meant they went to church during the major holidays and felt guilty the rest of the year. Last time she prayed it had been on her grandmother’s deathbed. Like then, she prayed in Spanish, rushed and fervently, like a child, knuckles going white from clutching the wheel.

No hospital, no Derek — what the hell was she supposed to do?

“I’ll take you to Deaton-”

“No!” Panic in his voice and she heard the rush of a shaky breath. “No, don’t, I’ll heal...just don’t leave me alone.”

“I have to-” Joe’s hands trembled when she wiped her face, drenched with sweat and tears and her mouth was raw from where the gag rubbed into her skin. “I have to report Kate to the police. She’s not gonna lurk in the shadows, her picture should be plastered on every news station in the country!”

Jimmy asked the question that preyed on her mind as well. “You think they’ll...believe you?”

They had to. They had to! She’d dig up the damned grave herself to prove it.

First she had to tell them. No one was picking up when she tried calling, not even the landline at the Stilinskis’. Scott, Aunt Mel, Stiles, the Sheriff’s station, no one picked up and when she reached Beacon Hills, no calls went through at all. For some reason, she did not have service.

Matt had messed with her phone, she remembered and turned it off with an angry grunt. Evidence, she would need it for later. Okay, fine, she would just go straight to the sheriff’s station, Kate couldn’t come after her there. Could she?

True to his word, Jimmy did seem to improve little by little by the time Joe reached Beacon Hills. If the local cops wouldn’t believe her, she’d call her dad. He’d believe her. He had to.

She turned to the ghostly pale Jimmy. “Okay, wait here, I won’t be long.” Joe pushed the handgun into his arms. Anything coming at him in here would be close range anyway. “Safety, clip, trigger. Don’t keep your finger on the trigger unless you’re shooting. Okay? Okay. Three rounds, don’t waste them.”

Knowing it would possibly end with her own arrest, she still could not make herself leave the shotgun behind. She put it over her shoulder, wincing at the stabbing pain from Kate’s left hook, hoping the front desk would at least give her a warning before shooting her. Kate could be anywhere. Waiting for her. Waiting for Joe to drop her guard.

Again, Joe was struck with how eerily quiet the night was. Obviously not a fast night for the sheriff’s department either, as all cars were parked up front and she could not even see anyone at the front desk. Coffee break, probably. Or processing some drunk and disorderly out back.

Eyes darting around the street while searching for Kate, Joe pushed the doors open into the station.

Quiet. Too quiet.

Something made her stay silent instead of calling out. Something made her realize things weren’t right. Something metallic in the air, like blood and Joe walked slowly forwards, taking the shotgun off her shoulder.

Vomit rose in her throat when she passed the front desk. The deputy she had expected to be manning it laid bloodied and unmoving behind it. Large claw marks up her torso. Breath shivering, Joe crept on her hands and knees to the woman, face locked in a scared expression, and knew what she would find even before she felt the woman’s pulse. Dead. Gone.

Werewolf? Or kanima? Or Kate?

Did it matter? Did anything?

Trembling, Joe pulled the shotgun up to her front and was going to creep out of the station, find a payphone, call her dad, call the damn national guard if she had to, but she felt _his_ scent. Derek was here. Down the hall, his scent strongest there. She crushed her initial reaction to call his name. He had to know she was there too, there was a reason he was keeping quiet. He either wouldn’t — or couldn’t — call for her.

Separate the mates. Had Kate been here? Or the Argents? It was hard to breathe, but Joe realized she could not bring herself to leave Derek behind.

Slowly, blinking away tears, she made her way down the hall and covered her mouth to avoid sobbing when she saw the other hallway. At least three bodies, all in uniforms, walls practically coated in blood. Blood filled her nose more than Derek, like something subdued his scent, like he was dead. Everything hurt from crawling, from holding the shotgun, from squeezing her mouth shut to not draw attention. What was happening here? It was like a neverending nightmare.

A sudden hissed whisper made her freeze: _“Joe, get out.”_

On the other side of the hall, through the door to the Sheriff’s office she met Derek’s wide, pleading eyes. Out flat on his back, unmoving, but alive. Paralyzed. Kanima.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Joe muttered under her breath and darted into the office. Stiles was next to Derek, equally paralyzed, but she could not see anyone else. No Scott, no Sheriff, no kanima. On her knees next to Derek, instincts took over and she put the shotgun to the side to check both of their conditions — no injuries that she could tell and Stiles even gave her a close-lipped smile when she checked his pulse. It took a lot to keep her voice down. “What the hell is going on?”

“Joe,” Derek’s voice was so low she could barely hear it even when hovering over them, “you need to get out.”

“I’m not leaving you here,” she hissed back immediately, checking over her shoulder if anyone was coming. Her hands trembled and she had no idea how she was going to move either of them. She could probably manage to drag Stiles out, but Derek outweighed her by at least sixty pounds. “How long have you been like this?”

Neither answered and she immediately looked behind her again in case the kanima had snuck up, but she realized they were staring at her.

“What happened to _you_?” Stiles whispered and she automatically touched her face. Slick with sweat and the skin around her eyes felt swollen after the first blow from Kate. No idea how she looked, but she could imagine some heavy purple bruises. Now she also saw the angry red marks around her wrists from when she tried to fight out of the restraints.

“Joe,” Derek said now to get her attention and she met his wide eyes, filled with surprise or shock or concern. Joe fully understood now that he had not felt _anything_ that had happened to her tonight. How long had he been paralyzed? How powerful were those pills? How could he not have-

“What the hell are you doing?” Unable to look him in the eyes, her gaze had drifted and she saw his clawed hand digging into his own thigh. “Jesus Christ, Derek, what-”

“He’s trying to push the toxin out of his body,” Stiles supplied helpfully in that same low whisper and Derek nodded with closed eyes, obviously strained by the effort of just moving his hands. “Joe, Dad’s handcuffed by the holding cells, there’s spare keys in the key safe. Get him out and run like hell.”

“The kanima handcuffed the Sheriff?” Joe asked in a trembling voice, almost afraid of moving from them. Hell, every fibre of her body screamed at her to not leave Derek’s side, not when he was down like this, paralyzed, helpless — tied up and gagged.

Only Stiles shaking his head — or trying to at least, mostly his eyes moved — broke her out of her temporary trance. “Not the kanima, but the guy’s controlling him. His name’s Matt-”

“Daehler?” Joe spat, breathless all of a sudden, feeling like someone was pressing a foot into her sternum. Like she was back at the Hale house with Kate laughing over her. That little slimeball was here? She was about to say something else, but stopped when Derek’s eyes darted to the side, to something over her shoulder.

A split second passed before Joe reached for the shotgun on the floor, but it was too late.

Something clicked behind her, sounding like the safety of a gun being switched off. “Drop it.”

Male voice, not Kate, a small consolation all things considered. Grimacing, keeping her eyes on Derek who was now glaring at the person behind her, looking seconds away from snarling, Joe slowly retracted her hand from the gun.

“Now get up.” Apparently not moving fast enough, he barked again: “I said, _get up!_ ”

_“It’s okay, Joe, just...do what he says.”_

“Scott?” she whispered, but kept looking at Derek. His face. His furrowed brows and his dark eyes and his slightly open mouth, furious beyond belief and completely unable to do anything at all. Joe rose slowly, bringing her arms up. She knew that voice, the one giving orders. Not shouting at her, not sounding so crazy, but she knew it all the same. Joe turned as she got up and faced Matt Daehler with a handgun.

“Hello, Joe,” he said with what she had to call an insane smile.

She saw Scott too, standing to the side, clutching his side where a large bleeding spread from his abdomen. Scott tried to calm her down, as if he had not been shot close-range by some high school lunatic. Her chest heaved, trying to get air into her system, and he must have noticed her trembling because he said: “It’s okay, Joe.”

“It’s turning into quite the family reunion!” Matt joked, gun not wavering an inch, not even when he jerked his head to the side to make her step away from the Derek and Stiles. Her eyes kept darting between all of them — Matt with the gun, Stiles and Derek on the floor, Scott holding his hands over a gunshot wound. Only Matt’s voice brought her back to stare at him. “You okay, Joe? You look a little rough, if you don’t mind me saying.”

He hacked her phone. When she paid him to fix her screen, he’d hacked it. And he’d sold the info to Kate. Or given it for free, if it could be counted as that. How much had Kate heard? How much had Kate known? Was Kate already here? Was Kate still listening? Kate Kate Kate.

“To be honest,” Joe said, surprised her voice came out as strong as it did. The gun in her face didn’t bother her. Kate could point just her finger at her and be ten times as dangerous. This little punk, this little shit, this stupid pathetic high schooler with a gun thought he was intimidating her. Her! “You’re seriously the least scariest thing I’ve faced today.”

She focused on Matt, staring into wild blue eyes. She could not look at Derek, could not tell him right now, could make him more worried now that he was paralyzed on the floor, helpless, unfeeling. He had to know something was wrong, she probably looked more than a little rough, but that was for later, for now, focus on the immediate threat. Watch, evaluate, survive. A mantra her father taught her. Watch, evaluate, survive. Don’t just act, think! Think, you stupid girl, think! How many times was she going to walk into a trap tonight?

“Really?” Matt sounded less than amused by this, but his voice shook, a psychotic break unfolding in front of her. He pushed the gun further against her, like she was supposed to recoil from it, but she didn’t. She held her arms up, fists tightening, staring at him. “Are you gonna say the same if I shoot Scott again? No, wait, you _know_ don’t you? Not like Scott’s mom who’s screaming her lungs out now thinking her son’s dying-”

His voice turned to a roar in her ears. She saw his lips moving, but her brain never processed anything from the point where he mentioned Scott’s mom. Aunt Melissa.

“If you hurt her-”

“What? What are you gonna do?” Matt waved the gun in front of her, obviously emboldened by the weapon, as a high schooler who’d never held real power in his hands. “No calling your FBI-dad now, Joe, I disabled your phone when I saw you approaching. GPS, right? Convenient.” He leaned in closer to her, a smirk written all over his face. “By the way, I hope you don’t mind, but I copied some of those photos of you and...Alex, was it? To my personal collections. They were kinda hot.”

Joe blinked, thrown for a loop. “What photos?”

“The ones in the private folder.”

“There’s a private folder on my phone?” Joe asked incredulously, more confused than embarrassed.

“Oh my god, you’re just like him!” Matt yelled and gestured to Scott who held up his hands slightly, as if to calm the loon. Scott looked more uncomfortable at the prospect of her and Alex in some pictures than she did. She had no idea what pictures he could mean. “So technically incompetent it’s scary you have a driver’s license! You’re all so stupid!”

Unravelling. This guy was falling apart. Scott stood to the side, obviously wanting to intervene, but by now it was lucky Matt hadn’t accidentally shot himself or Joe already. He went on some kind of monologue about the high school swim team, but Joe found her gaze dragged back to Derek, to his determined eyes, to his clawed hand digging into his own thigh. Triggering the healing process, pushing out the toxin. Not fast enough.

Kate was alive. Joe could not focus on any other fact. Kate was alive, insane, out there, obviously harboring some kind of resentment. She had never told Joe why she had trapped her and Jimmy. Separate the mates, Joe kept coming back to that. Only it had to be tonight because Derek was being hunted. She had thought Kate meant the Argents. Had she meant Matt? Why had she trapped Joe? Motive. Means. Opportunity. Why why why?

Apparently Matt’s motive was revenge. He’d fallen into the pool or something when the swim team celebrated them winning state championship and drowned and been revived. Never told anyone. Never!

“You know,” Joe started, hearing how rough she sounded, “Alex, who I’m guessing you jerked off to, she’s a licensed psychotherapist. I’d give you her number, but I think you already got it.”

Matt stopped re-telling how he felt like he was drowning every time he closed his eyes. So many murders could have been avoided if the mental health counselor at the high school did their freaking job. Matt laughed.

“That’s cute. You’re gonna psychoanalyze me, _Joe?_ Huh? Like I’m some kind of nutjob?”

“Sure, let’s start with your physical health. Did you climax when looking at pictures of Alex and me? Because antisocial personality disorders are often linked with impotence and the way you’re clinging to that gun right now is called projec-

“Shut up!” Matt roared and pushed the gun further against her. “ _Shut up!_ ”

Derek’s growl grew louder and that made Matt laugh.

“Really?” His voice dripped of sarcasm as he turned to look at the downright livid Derek Hale. “Are you _trying_ to give me leverage here?”

“Matt...” Scott tried, panic evident in his voice. “You’re getting what you want, you don’t have to shoot anyone. You don’t want to-”

“I don’t want to? Are you sure about that?” Matt ignored Scott and pushed the gun against Joe’s chest while he addressed Derek. “How does this work, anyway? Are you gonna die too if I shoot her?”

Not looking at Derek or Scott, Joe breathed in and out, moving Matt’s gun with each inhale and following exhale. Holding a gun against someone’s chest beat the purpose of a long-range weapon. Bad gun technique.

Even worse was taking your eyes off the target while doing so.

Matt paying more attention to Derek was all Joe needed. She made up her mind and tore herself to the side, angling her body out of his aim and reaching up underneath the trigger guard, clamping her other hand over the gun. Push back and rotate at the same time, she loosened his grip, leaving her free to yank hard, hearing and feeling his finger break, forcing the pistol out of his grip.

A move she practiced a hundred times with her dad, over and over, until she could do it without thinking. It would not have worked on Kate. Not on Chris. Not on anyone with actual training. But it worked on Matt.

Instead of just aiming the gun at him, she front-kicked him in the chest so he stumbled back, crashing into the doorway. Distance. A gun was a long-range weapon.

“Back off!” Joe barked, struggling to keep her own finger off the trigger. She wanted to shoot.

God! She wanted to shoot him! Only Scott’s panicked gaze by her side stopped her. Only Derek’s shocked face stopped her. But they didn’t know! They didn’t know! She wanted him dead this small slimy son of a bitch who helped Kate find Jimmy and torture him and capture her and she was still out there and-

The world went dark.

All lights in the station flipped off and it took a few seconds for the emergency system to kick in, alarms blaring and safety lights flashing. A few seconds was all Matt needed. Momentarily blinded, he crashed into her as another shadowy figure crashed into Scott. By the sound of the screeches, it had to be the kanima.

Joe fired, but the shot went wild, hitting nothing. She and Matt tumbled to the floor and his disgusting hands gripped for the gun that she refused to let him get hold of.

Chaos erupted as heavy scatter of what had to be machine-gunfire broke through the night, tearing through the windows of the station, raining glass and smoke down on them. Blind, deaf, angry, she wrestled with Matt, neither relenting the weapon. Shots upon shots upon shots kept coming over their heads, like they were under siege.

Next came smoke bombs. Thick plumes of harsh white smoke erupted from small canisters tossed in through the broken windows. In the chaos, she heard Scott snarl, obviously fighting something, but she could not see anything. Joe managed to slam her knee into Matt’s face and the act made him drop the gun. She flipped to her stomach, trying to crawl underneath the smoke, only instinct taking her towards Derek.

Matt did not relent so easily. He clambered up on her back and slammed her face into the floor. Adrenaline trumped any pain. Twisting around, she tried to get the gun angled so she could just shoot him and be over with it. They were a mass of twisting limbs, struggling blindly and violently for control, neither relenting.

A sharp burning in her chest and her brain split by the ear-deafening roar from Derek, equal parts pain and rage, like he went straight from paralyzed into his fully morphed state.

Her fingers weak, she could not fight Matt, though she did not understand why until she touched her chest and found it wet and she realized she’d been shot. She could not get up. This had to be a joke. She could not have survived Kate Argent to be killed by Matt. No way!

Joe watched Matt disappear into the white smoke, unable to pursue, unable to fight. It was not hurting as bad as she thought, but that was just the adrenaline, giving her body a fighting chance to get through this without losing her mind.

Shit, Jimmy! He was outside in the car, with the machine-gun toting people.

It was hard to move, but she tried. Joe made an involuntary humming sound every time she breathed, it was starting to hurt — bad. Okay, chest wound, what do you do? Writhe in pain first of all. God, she should have reconsidered disarming Matt. Left it to Scott, if she was gonna get shot anyway. To any of the superhumans with healing factors. Now she was down and Derek paralyzed and-

A snarling shape appeared next to her and she opened her mouth to scream until she saw the red eyes. Derek. System override at the realization. Derek. Not her Derek though, but wolf-Derek. Was that her Derek too? Was any of them her Derek?

Smoke covered his face and then he was definitely her Derek — if he was her Derek at all — again although that didn’t make sense because her Derek — this Derek — didn’t have this desperate and scared expression; he was angry and strong and not fervently trying to stop her blood from pouring out of her body onto the floor.

“Don’t do this to me, Joe,” Derek — because it was Derek — muttered, pushing her shirt up. “Don’t do this, please, not now, not like this.”

“I’m sorry,” she wheezed, but was still going into shock because of this intense and blinding pain spreading from her chest to every part of her body. Not lungs, she rationalized in the back of her mind. Not lung shot, she could still talk, still breathe. Broken ribs though, bullet tearing through them.

Joe let out a small shriek as Derek’s hand clamped over her bullet hole. It made her arch her back and he slipped his hand under it too.

“Through and through,” he said as if that made any difference at this point. His voice was so hard, no room for weakness, no room for fear. “No bullet. I’ll take as much pain as I can, Joe, then-”

Her voice came in a slow croak. “Hospital?”

Derek’s beautiful and shiny face stared down at her as his hands pushed into her gaping wound, stopping blood, taking pain little by little. He nodded quickly, obviously in hyper vigilance. “Hospital.”

“I’m not gonna say ‘no hospitals’,” Joe mused aloud, head filling with white clouds beyond the smoke bombs.

The chaos still roared around them. Derek’s arms flexed, pushing and pulling and taking from her, and thick black veins ran up his arms, siphoning the hurt out from her. Physical pain, she realized. Blood on his shirt. Blood. She grabbed around his wrist. “Jimmy! He’s- he’s hurt. Backseat of my car. Said he needed you...”

Derek’s voice came fast, without room for discussion: “You need me.”

She was about to say who did it, before it was too late, but never got the time as a very human, very female scream tore through all the other chaotic noises.

Derek went from zero to a sixty in an instant, wolfing out and ready to fight. But it wasn’t here, wasn’t her, wasn’t Joe. It was Aunt Mel. Joe met Derek’s gaze, felt all that anger and pain and fear, and tried to cut through the buzzing in his brain that saving Aunt Mel was more important than anything.

He gave another nod, as if he _could_ read her mind, and told her to hold on. The gunshot must have forced all the venom out of him as he scooped her up like she weighed nothing. Just touching him helped, Joe realized, it took some of the pain away, made it bearable, made it so she could breathe and as long as she could breathe her heart would keep beating and as long as her heart beat she could keep touching him. Losing a lot of blood though. Her mind felt faint.

Everything rushed past as a blur until he put her down, gently, so she could lay on a bench outside the holding cells area. Not touching him anymore, her mind filled up with excruciating, blinding hot agony. He put her own hand over her chest, trying to make her hold the pressure.

“Go fight,” Joe wheezed and pushed his hands away. “Win.”

Come back with your shield or on it — not enough breath in her lungs to say it. Even her dazed mind could appreciate the cliche.

Saving Aunt Mel was important. She could survive bleeding out if he saved Aunt Mel. Something was off about that thought, but things were blurring into each other now and she only saw Derek’s red glowing eyes disappear and heard his growls and snarls move away from her.

The kanima screeched and Joe jolted when Derek’s fighting transferred into her, new momentary fleets of random pain around on her body. He roared and Joe blinked as her vision turned...red? Like she was looking through an infrared lense, seeing things enhanced. She lifted her arm in confusion, saw how bright it was compared to its surroundings, saw how her veins were darkened and pumped hot blood to her outer limbs. Joe’s head fell back and her vision returned to normal. Blood on her retina. She needed a hospital.

Aunt Mel screamed again.

Joe gritted her teeth and forced herself up. Up from the bench, up on her feet, grunting and sweating, holding onto the wall for support. Strongest together. No doubt in her mind about that at the moment. Dizzy, she slumped against the doorway to the holding cells, vaguely noting her own blood smearing against the wall. Blink. Red vision. One body in the farthest cell, one standing outside the cell, one on the floor, one moving high speed towards her-

“No!” Aunt Mel screamed, but Derek’s hand shot out and grabbed the kanima with a large clawed hand, throwing it away from Joe. Blink. Joe’s vision back to normal and she barely caught how the tail of the kanima flittered away. She slumped forward, but Derek broke her fall, of course he did, and laid her down again.

“Most stubborn woman alive,” she thought she heard him mutter through a mouth full of fangs. He left her on the floor, eyes slipping back into her head, and a loud crash followed, as if someone wrenched a cell door off its hinges. Aunt Mel whimpered and Derek growled something or Scott did or-

She slipped under into the cool sea of darkness, conjoining with the fiery tendrils of pain.

“Okay, okay.” Aunt Mel’s voice broke through and Joe’s eyes opened, barely, to see her aunt’s fce over her. Mascara-stained tears down her face, large worried eyes that looked like hers except they didn’t. “Okay, Joe, just stay awake, it’s gonna be okay.”

Scott said something, tried to take a step closer, and Aunt Mel covered Joe’s body with her own. _“Stay away from her! Call an ambulance!”_

Sound of running footsteps.

_Stay awake._

Joe opened her eyes to glaring bright light. Aunt Mel was there, blood in her face. They were moving. Not just her hands, all of her. Both of them, in the back of an ambulance. “Joe, it’s okay, honey, we’re almost there. Hold on. Can you stay awake? Just a little while longer.”

_Stay awake._

Something pushed over her mouth, making it easier to breathe. Various stinging pains and prodding and a needle in her arm reducing it all to a numb nothing. Aunt Mel was there, somewhere, talking, but the words muddled and slipped away.

_Stay awake._

Steady beeping. Soft bed. Dark now.

“Derek,” she said, but her words hit the plastic cover of the respirator. She flailed around, hands too heavy to listen, trying to remove the mask. Derek’s hand, burning hot, covered her own and put it back down to her side.

He did not let go of her hand, rubbed it quietly with his thumb.

“Derek,” she tried again, forced to rhythm her speech to the air pumped into her lungs.

He squeezed her hand. “I’m here.”

“I know,” Joe said, brows furrowing, he was missing the point. Eyes blinked, too heavy to stay awake. “It’s Kate.” She felt him stir somewhere in the darkness. “Kate’s alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another stressful chapter. Poor Joe and Derek (and Jimmy or anyone else in Beacon Hills), they just can't catch a break. 
> 
> Another hard one to write, so would appreciate any feedback :) If the latest part is confusing, it's because Joe is pretty out of it from being shot. Hopefully you get the gist of what happens.
> 
> Anyway, thank you guys for reading and please let me know what you think ^^ Happy Tuesday, I have to go buy Christmas presents for my entire family now. Wish me luck <3


	45. The Gap II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Frustrating conversations ahead.

Days blurred into each other. Following her surgery, they kept her on a twenty-four hour watch until she was stable. After she screamed every time a blond nurse entered, she was administered a heavy dosage of sedatives in addition to the morphine. It took days before she was cleared for a police interview, before she could sluggishly explain to Sheriff Stilinski, with his star back and all, that Kate was alive out there.

He didn’t believe her.

They had next of kin who ID’d the body, who confirmed it was Kate who was both dead and buried. Joe screamed until her lungs ached, tried to make him understand, give him enough circumstantial evidence to order an exhumation — the surveillance tapes, the SUV, her phone, everything she could think of.

He had been thoroughly understanding; understanding at how several traumatic events could blur into each other causing a so-called super trauma. Joe was not proud of what she called the Sheriff. The nurses, Aunt Mel in front, fought her down into the bed and gave her something to make her sleep.

Sleep. Recover. Heal.

Her dad _called_. Panicked, worried, a thousand miles away. He apologized over and over that he couldn’t be there, he was trying to get a flight out, but it was impossible. He was on an assignment and if he left, good people might die. Same excuse as always. Stuttering, she told him about Kate. He listened. Very understanding. Just like the Sheriff. Confused, blood-loss, multiple traumas, but... Kate was dead. No evidence to the contrary.

No one could find Jimmy Carter to confirm her story. Her car still sat outside the station the morning after the shooting — empty. No sign of him or any weapons, but the backseat smelled of bleach. It did not help that she lied when asked about the location of the so-called torture and assault; she had to. It would expose too much.

Protect the werewolves.

Protect her stupid cousin who sat hour after hour by her side, the only one believing her about Kate, because he could tell she was not lying. But he couldn’t do anything about it, Kate had vanished again. He was hurting too, because Aunt Mel would use every excuse in the book to avoid him. She’d seen him the night at the station in his other form.

“She needs time,” Joe murmured and held Scott’s hand. “She’s confused. Give her time.”

Scott meant they did not have much time, but said little else. Sometimes he looked like he wanted to ask her something, but he never did. She never found the courage to ask about Allison.

Stiles brought balloons. His bruises had cleared up and he smiled like he always did, but there was an edge to him. Something hard in his eyes. Something that might never heal. He gave her the facts of what happened. Of Matt’s body found in the river, of how the machine guns had been the Argents, of how Allison’s mom had committed suicide, a fact Joe pretended she hadn’t known. They found a lot of pictures at Matt’s place, by the way, and the ones of Joe and Alex did not come close to what Matt had of Allison. He’d edited himself into the pictures of her.

No pictures of Kate, he told her, after she asked him to check. Kate had said Matt liked the Argent-girls. Had she used him, like she’d once used Derek? Had she twisted him enough to set him on the path of Allison? Joe tried to push Kate out of her mind, but she saw her everywhere. Every tall woman walking past, every nurse with similar hair color, every shadow moving in the dark. Kate, waiting for an opening. She was out there, Joe knew she was out there, even if no one believed her.

And Joe had another concern.

After several days, she finally convinced the nurses that she was fine using the bathroom on her own. Not that it bothered her too much when they helped her, the morphine took the edge of any modesty issues, but what she really wanted was the opportunity to look at herself in the mirror. More specifically, undo her bandages and study her ribcage in the mirror. Joe was no expert, but she was healing faster than normal. A lot faster.

Not werewolf-fast, obviously, but still. It should take a month to recover from the surgery alone, probably half a year to heal fully from the bullet piercing through her rib cage. And at this rate, she would be fine in just a week, maybe less.

“Is it because of you?” she asked Derek when he came at night. Despite her repeated insistence that he should not, because the Argents were more bloodthirsty than ever, he still showed up at least once every night.Okay, she might not have argued too hard, because she hated being alone in the room no matter how much Kate Argent seemed to have gone underground again.

Sometimes he stayed for minutes, other times for hours — it was hard to tell anyway with all the medication they had her on.

“Are you asking if I bit you?” Derek said as he put his palm next to her bandage, alleviating her pain more than the morphine ever could. Innocent, platonic touch, born out of necessity. Joe rested her head back on her pillow, too high to bother with deep thoughts. Just liking that he was there. “Because then you would have been fully healed already.”

“Not if you bit me,” Joe mumbled — there hadn’t been time for that and she would have noticed. “If it’s because of the mate-bond.”

He seemed to consider it, but shrugged. “Never been a mate-pair with one human before, so there’s no way of knowing.”

They kept their voices low, Derek always listening if anyone approached. Argents had people working everywhere. Most of the time they did not talk.

The bullet had entered a few inches beneath her left breast and missed all vital organs — a fortunate angle probably due to the gun being trapped between her and Matt in the confusion of the machine gun fire and smoke bombs. Now Derek sat in a chair next to her hospital bed, one hand on her at all times. He claimed he was just taking pain, not healing her, that was beyond his abilities. Joe had her doubts. What else could explain the accelerated recovery time?

She watched him for the duration of the time he was there. Shamelessly, as she could blame the morphine if he ever questioned her prolonged staring, which he never did anyway. Not sure he even noticed. An all-consuming anger had taken hold of him and she wished he would be more angry with her and less with himself.

Joe wanted to talk to him about everything. About Kate and him. About Paige. It just felt like a violation, and she never worked up the nerve — she needed to be clear-headed for that conversation. She knew she was supposed to have learned about those things from him, when he was ready, if he ever became ready to share. Not have her nose rubbed into it by Kate. It created a gap between them, filling up with unsaid words, but he still showed up every night, taking away as much pain as he could, but his eyes became harder and he looked at her less and less.

Three questions she could not bring herself to ask.

She could not take away any of his pain either. He healed on the outside and hurt on the inside. And she watched his frown grow deeper with each passing day. He was hiding something from her, but she did not know how to ask the right questions.

Did not know if she wanted to know the answers.

* * *

Reprieve came in a surprising form. After Joe was sure she was going to lose her mind of boredom and caffeine withdrawal — even her paranoia about Kate popping out of the shadows had subsided from the sheer monotony of her days — Aunt Mel knocked on the door to her hospital room before entering on soft feet.

“You got a visitor,” she said and fiddled with her hands in front of her. Nervous. Worried. “And I’m giving you special permission to use the emergency cord if you want her to leave. Okay? Okay.”

_Her_ turned out to be Alex. She took off her beanie while entering, holding it in front of her, twirling it around. “Hi, Joe. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m gonna need more morphine.” Joe looked for escape routes, but was only in a hospital gown so the nurses could change her bandages easier. Not willing to walk bare-assed in front of Alex or resort to the dramatic option of pulling the emergency cord, she remained in the bed with the covers up.

“I, uh, heard about what happened,” Alex said and took Derek’s chair next to Joe’s bed. It sounded like she was trying hard to sound casual. “From Kelly. You don’t have to talk about it. It’s too soon and I’m not the right person to listen anyway. Guy who works here is good though, I had practice with him when I got licensed.”

Joe grimaced as she sat up straighter in bed. A few more days and she would be healed completely. Not natural and she knew the doctors were amazed at the recovery time. The emergency cord looked pretty inviting now — Alex was pussy-footing as she would have put it herself, something was on her mind.

“Nice to know. You in town for _Maddy_?”

“Yeah.” Sighing, Alex leaned back in the chair without looking at Joe. Legs spread, taking up space. She had a very masculine posture, either cultivated or just force of habit. “About that...”

“So you _do_ remember? Jesus Christ, Alex.” The anger flared up, but the morphine numbed it. She glowered at Alex anyway. “I’m not gonna go behind your back and tell her, but-”

“You don’t need to,” Alex said slowly. “She already knows. Don’t give me that look, okay, I’m gonna marry the girl, of course I told her. When I sobered up that same morning.”

Joe had no qualms about being jealous, unlike Derek, and her eyebrows rose. “And she was okay with it?” Joe wouldn’t have been.

“Uh, no.” Alex flipped on her beanie again, smoothing it down in the back. “Definitely not. But she appreciated my honesty, after we were done yelling and crying and...” She took a deep breath. “And made me realize exactly why I wanted to marry her in the first place.”

“Okay?”

“I’m here to apologize, Joe,” Alex murmured and was looking down at her ripped jeans, “for my behavior at the rave.”

“And it took me getting shot for you to work up the nerve?”

Alex looked sick. “I, uhm, I think I might have a problem...”

“Of sticking your tongue down other people’s-”

“I think I drink too much sometimes.”

The words rushed out, obviously rehearsed, but not giving off the impression of being fake. Every single thing Joe had been in the midst of saying died out to nothing.

“What?”

“Or, uh, Maddy thinks I drink too much sometimes.”

_“What?”_

“I’ve been going to some meetings.” Alex nodded, as if to encourage herself to keep talking. “That was part of the deal with Maddy, that I stopped drinking and tried to get help and- I, uh, I deal with a lot of shit in my job, you know? Some of these kids I work with, they’ve been through hell and back and, well, I’m good enough at my job to recognize I could be self-medicating to avoid dealing with the fallout.” She tapped her hands on her thighs, a fast and nervous rhythm. “I know that’s not an excuse. It’s just an attempt to justify it.”

Joe said nothing, not sure what to say. She was waiting for Alex to yell ‘Sike!’ and laugh. It never came. Part of her hoped this was some sort of drug-induced hallucination. _What?_

“Three weeks sober,” Alex said with a fake cheery smile and held up something that looked like a keyring. “Which is not something I thought I would ever need to brag about. Haven’t had alcohol since the rave when I messed up so bad I nearly lost Maddy. Kinda put things in perspective.”

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Joe muttered and glanced at the emergency cord. “Are you serious?” She swore when Alex nodded again, same shaky movement from before. “Shit.”

Of all the things Alex struggled with, Joe would not have guessed it was substance abuse. There had not been any signs of that when they were dating. Okay, Alex always liked a drink and she liked to party; it had been an issue when they dated because Joe was fine going out once or twice a month, but not every available night like Alex had wanted. Getting blackout-drunk every weekend was normal in college though. Not a warning sign. As negligent as Joe had been those last few months though, maybe there had been other signs she had missed? Or didn’t want to see?

“Alex, why- why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because we’re not friends, Joe. We’ve been a lot of things, but never friends. I just, I need to be honest and...” Alex gave her a crooked smile. “You were right. I projected a lot of my insecurities onto you and our relationship. I hated the fact that you were bi. Hated that my competition was literally everyone. Because so many girls I liked were just testing the waters with me, y’know, like a little college experiment. _Hated_ seeing you with Derek at the rave. Not because I want or wanted us to get back together again, because I still think you’re a bitch and... I dunno. At the meetings they say we’re not supposed to try and rationalize the mistakes we make when drunk; just face it, be honest and apologize.”

“Alex, it really is fine,” Joe tried to intercept, not caring about the name-calling. “I’m over it. We’re both over it.”

“No, Joe, we’re not.” Alex rubbed her face tiredly and slumped down further in the chair. “I’m not. You know, the reason I’d been drinking so much at the rave was to work up the nerve to ask you about the engagement announcement because Kelly said I had to. That’s why I came to find you and then I saw you with Derek and- I lost it. I’m sorry if I messed something up between the two of you. I have no way to justify it. I got so angry and-”

In many ways, Alex and Joe were quite similar and Joe wondered if this was how Derek felt when Joe rambled on. There was a reason ‘fifty words or less’ had been her and Alex’ game.

“I feel like absolute shit for not warning you or giving you a heads up about my and Maddy’s engagement.” Alex shook her head, tore off her beanie again, only to adjust it and put it back on. “It was a big deal to Maddy that I was going to announce it at that dinner because she’s insecure about not being cool enough for you guys and she’s insecure around you because you’re like, a faculty favorite and- Jesus Christ, Joe, I messed up! So bad! I never even told her all those things I said to you. I never should have said those things to you either, they were just the last remnants of what I wanted to say when we broke up.”

“They were kinda true, though?”

Alex was not even listening to Joe’s attempts to stop the flow. “Then I thought about calling you, after the rave. Couldn’t work up the nerve without booze, booze was a no-go, so I figured I’d just tell you early at the dinner, you know, figuring you owed me that much to let me go ahead with it. That obviously never happened when your boyfriend told me, very clearly, to back the hell off.”

“Obviou- what?” Joe repeated before her words caught up with her. “Boyfriend what?”

“Don’t get me wrong, he seems like a nice guy, but kind of intense, you know? He made it pretty clear that I’d have to go through him to talk to you and by then I was so over it I didn’t bother trying anymore. Sorry, Joe, but you _did_ owe me that.”

The incident in the bathroom hallway replayed in Joe’s mind. Okay, she would have to deal with that later. She cleared her throat, because Alex had a point — Joe probably did owe her that. “Alex, the engagement is fine. The announcement was fine. If you’re happy, that’s all that matters.”

“Don’t patronize me, Joe,” Alex snapped and her face scrunched up. “I drank too much, I’m not an invalid. The announcement is one thing, I feel bad for the stupid kiss, okay? You don’t have to be the bigger person. Yell at me. Call me names. Please, just don’t-” Joe had never seen Alex actually cry. Her skin would blotch red, her face locking in a disgusted scowl, but never tears. Not now either. “Don’t be so goddamn nice.”

“I’m not nice, Alex, but what do you want me to say?” Joe pleaded with a heavy sigh. “That you’re a bad person, that you’ve made mistakes, like we all do eventually? You’re not immune, Alex, just because you’re a therapist. I’m sorry, I’m in the hospital recovering from a gunshot wound after a lunatic shot up the entire sheriff’s station, it puts things in perspective, okay? You love Madeline, right?”

“I do!” Alex said loudly and now large red blotches stained her cheeks. “I do, so much I don’t get why I would do anything to try and ruin that, not even to get back at you, it’s-”

“And at one point, you loved me. I’m not rubbing it in your face, Alex, I swear there’s a point to this. If I’m being rational, I know you were trying to help me with all that stuff with Dad, but at that point we were so bad for each other that everything we did to each other got corrupted. It’s...intent and motive, again. You did it because you cared, but you did it really, really wrong and I reacted really, really bad.”

Alex let out a harsh laugh. “No shit?”

“And since my way of dealing with things is ignoring it, we never got closure. You hating seeing me with Derek’s got nothing to do with feelings you have for me, it’s feelings related to the whole situation with the break-up.”

“Break-up? Joe, you just left! I spent weeks waiting for you to come back. Expecting you to come back. Failed my first final because of you, nearly lost the apartment when I could barely cover the rent while you holed up in the neighbor town-”

“I know,” Joe cut in, glad of the morphine now to take the sting out of Alex’ words. “I messed up and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. That’s what I’m saying. Trauma’s trauma. You wanted to hurt me at the rave, not because you want me back, but because I hurt you.”

Silence reigned for a few seconds.

“Forgot how _rational_ you can be,” Alex muttered eventually, but looked less on the verge of throwing up now. “Your logic’s sound, Joe, but your delivery is kinda blunt.”

“Again, recovering from a literal gunshot wound,” Joe pointed out and then pointed to the small pill cups on the table next to her bed. “And drugged up, so...”

With a heavy sigh, Alex leaned forwards on her knees. “I really did come here to apologize, Joe. I never meant to add to your burden-”

“Oh shut up. If you want to get yelled at, call Kelly. I let it slip you never asked me about the announcement s0 she’s plenty pissed.”

Joe sighed as she adjusted in the bed.

“Alex, I’m sorry for what happened between us, I’m glad you’re getting help and I’m glad you’re getting married. That’s it. I don’t have the energy to be anything else. Okay, so, seeing you wandering around Berkeley holding hands with a Sophomore threw me for a loop, but to my defense, it had been a pretty weird day already.”

“I’m sorry for springing that on you,” Alex mumbled through her hands. “I didn’t even meet Maddy at Berkeley, I met her through this convention-stuff. I never deliberately tried to hide it, I just...”

“Never deliberately tried to tell me either?” Joe guessed and shrugged when Alex gave her sad eyes, ringed with black. “Alex, I really mean this, it’s fine. You don’t owe me an explanation to what you do with your life and likewise-”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t owe me one. I get it.” Alex looked sideways out the window, tapping her knuckles together.

“Can I ask you something?” The question had been nagging Joe for a while now. “What _did_ you tell Maddy about me? I mean, why does _she_ hate me?” Some comments had Joe worried _she_ was the reason for Alex’ alcoholism and Maddy knew about it.

“She doesn’t hate you. I told you, she’s insecure. You’re what, a year from getting your doctorate and she’s two years older than you and a Sophomore. And when we found you drugged up at that gay bar, she thought you might be a bad influence. It’s not rational, it’s just how things work. Come on, you’re not a little jealous of Derek’s ex-girlfriends just because they’re his exes?”

Only one name came to mind and that was a painful path to walk down. Hard to compete with a girl who he loved so much he was willing to kill for her, even if it was her he killed.

“Surprised he isn’t here,” Alex said when Joe temporarily zoned out, “considering how he was literally glued to your hip at the dinner. Thought he was gonna rip my head off every time he looked at me and _definitely_ when he talked to me. Guess you told _him_ about that kiss, huh?”

“Yeah,” Joe said absentmindedly. “It’s fine. He was just looking out for me. He says he’s not the jealous type.”

Alex threw her head back and laughed hard. Then her eyes widened in shock. “Oh shit, you’re serious? I thought it was a joke, what- no way! He said that? Dude, Joe, I know you’re not that observant, but- are you kidding me? He couldn’t have been more territorial if he held up a poster saying ‘She’s mine’ in large red letters!”

“What?” Joe tried to think back to the dinner. There had been the constant touching, but nothing beyond that. Maybe because she’d been so quiet it came across as him talking over her rather than saving her from engaging in conversation? It seemed insignificant now anyway.

“Don’t get me wrong, there’s no red flags or anything, just very clear, very obvious body language. Maybe it was just towards me, which does make sense, I guess, proving a point or whatever.” Another sigh, as if this pained Alex to say. “Which is Maddy’s motive, I suppose when she said I had to invite you to the wedding.”

It took a few seconds for the word to sink in — the conversation had taken a turn for the worse.

“Are you kidding me?” Joe snapped and straightened up in the bed, now tempted by the emergency cord again. “No! Why would she even want me there? Oh my God, no way.”

“Like I said, to prove a point. She’s the one coming across in a bad light if we invite everyone else and not you. That’s what we get for shitting where we eat, Joe. Look, I don’t really care and it’s not until October anyway. You’ll get a proper invitation, God knows we’re spending a fortune on those, and-”

Alex made a face. “Just do me a favor and RSVP? So she knows I asked at least. It’s not black tie or anything. Maddy’s folks got a place up in Santa Rosa. Rustic theme. Burlap, hayballs and goddamn cowboy boots, I guess. Plus one, so bring Derek or whoever you want.”

October seemed like far away and the thought of attending a wedding with Derek just made her squirm. “Yeah, we’re not gonna come. I’ll RSVP, don’t worry, but...” First they had to survive until October. “Are you inviting any of her exes?”

“Yeah, two of them, who are now dating, and one of them has dated the same girl as me before, so don’t worry. It’ll be awkward for everyone.”

“Alex, I am _so_ not coming to your wedding.”

“Hey, I gotta be sober for the entire thing, so I don’t know what you’re whining about. It’s okay, you can laugh. It’s funny even though I’m borderline alcoholic. Humor’s a form of therapy, remember?”

Joe blew air out of her mouth, this was turning into a lot, why not add to it? With a sigh, she said: “Then I hope you’re gonna find this hilarious. Do you know anything about a private folder on my phone? With pictures of...us?”

Alex’ mouth opened in a perfect ‘O’. “Ohhh my God, you still have those?”

“I didn’t know!” Joe protested. “I didn’t know I had a private folder! I didn’t know there were private folders-”

“Oh my God!” Alex said again and fell forward laughing. “You’ve been sitting on compromising pictures of us for the last two years without even knowing it? God, Joe, take a computer science class.”

Joe gave Alex the finger. Her computer literacy was fine. “What pictures? I don’t remember taking any-”

“Umm, if I recall correctly, they’re from that beach trip to Santa Monica.”

“Oh.”

“Yep.”

“Ohhh.”

“Yeah. Give me your phone, I’ll show you how to delete them.”

* * *

Unfortunately Joe did not have her phone as it was still considered evidence, but Alex walked her through how to get to that folder, which was private for a reason. The pictures, now that she remembered them, were not that explicit, just provocative enough that she would be slightly embarrassed if someone in her family stumbled upon them. That beach trip to Santa Monica seemed like a different life.

That night when Derek came to see her, Joe had managed to change into some sweats instead of that stupid hospital gown. The morphine seemed to have the opposite effect on her now, making her agitated and she paced around her small room, ensuring that the blinds were down completely.

“Should you be walking around like that?” Derek asked drily, watching her from where he stood by the door. After she was cleared as a witness and the perpetrator was found dead, the state police did not find it necessary to guard her door anymore and Derek had entered the normal way instead of through the window.

Joe glared at Derek, feeling more alive now than ever. It was as if Alex and her normal world with her normal problems had burst some kind of bubble, like she was finally waking up from some long daydream. Real life was not straightforward, it was messy and unpredictable, because people were just people after all. Joe had no idea how long Alex had been ‘drinking too much’ like she put it, but it had to have been a while for her to seek help for it and it left Joe with this horrible sensation of how she might have ignored Alex’ problems in favor of her own. Despite how bad things were when they broke up, she still cared about Alex.

And she cared about Derek, but she was getting the distinct impression that he was visiting her because he felt he had to, not because he wanted to and it pissed her off! He hadn’t said anything and that was the main problem, wasn’t it? He hadn’t said _anything_ other than learning the basics — not the details — of what had happened.

In order to answer his question, she lifted her sweatshirt without any bashfulness to show him the nearly healed flesh— she was wearing a soft jersey bra for modesty alone because God knows it didn’t offer any support. Her wound looked like a burn scar by now, including the surgery incision, so it was obviously not natural.

Joe shuddered when he trailed his fingertips over it.

His eyes were laced with concern as he looked at her, reading her face for any clues she could give. “Does it hurt?”

“You don’t feel it? It’s like a bruise,” she said with a shrug to cover for the rising blush. Her shudder had not stemmed from pain. Either they had reduced her dosage or she was building up a tolerance, but she did not feel high enough to let him take away her pain like the previous nights. With a clearer head, touching him felt anything but platonic.

Dropping the shirt, she kept walking. She’d spent too much time in bed, feeling both lethargic and weak. “Alex came to see me.” His face did not betray any kind of jealousy — in fact, no emotions at all — and Joe decided not to push that angle tonight. “What’d you say to her at the dinner?”

“Nothing.” Derek sat down in his usual chair and dragged a palm over his growing stubble. Untrimmed, losing that neat line. “Just that if you wanted to talk to her, you would.”

“You should have told me,” Joe pointed out, hearing the annoyance evident in her tone. Something told her he might have been a little more outspoken than that. “She was going to warn me about the engagement announcement.” No answer and she huffed, trying another tactic. “We’re invited to their wedding in October.”

“Do I need to rent a tux?”

He sounded so apathetic she wanted to scream.

“Dude, I’m not going to my ex-girlfriend’s wedding,” Joe mumbled instead of sceaming. “It’s farmhouse anyway.”

As usual, Derek sat in the chair with his gaze focused elsewhere. She’d seen him more the last week than she had ever before and still felt they had never talked less.

“Can I ask you something? Don’t give me that look, you still owe me three questions.”

Instead of the instant rebuttal she expected on how she’d broken their agreement, he studied her for a short while with a neutral expression. “You already asked your three questions.”

“Did not.” Joe scrunched up her face and tried to remember if that had come up the last few days. The morphine made her loopy, but not completely out of it. The way he looked at her made her pause slightly in her pacing. Her heartrate picked up at the prospect of actually asking those three questions she had thought about up in the cavern. “Did I?”

He shifted his focus slightly to the side before it came back with determination. Counting on his fingers, he listed: “What the hell is going on, how long have you been like this and what the hell are you doing?”

“Nice try, but you didn’t even answer those.”

He let out a breath, as if annoyed, but straightened up in his chair with an expectant look. “Doesn’t matter, you lost out on our deal anyway.”

“Deal was one pill and not coming to the depot,” Joe said without hesitation. “So I held up my end.”

A few seconds passed while she waited for him to take the bait. Her stomach churned again at the thought of those questions, but she would ask them if only to get a real response from him. Joe wasn’t stupid, she knew damn well she broke their agreement by going up to the cavern and she wanted him to call her out on it. Like Alex said, yell at her. Call her names. Don’t be so goddamn nice, although Derek wasn’t being nice, he was being...something, but it wasn’t nice.

For once, Derek didn’t bite.

She shook her head again, noting how limp her usually wild hair felt. “This isn’t one of the hard ones, Derek. I just wanna know what happened that time at the high school, when Jimmy and I found you bleeding out in the grass.” She’d promised herself she’d ask him if she survived and so far she was still breathing.

Derek raised his eyebrows, obviously not the question he’d expected. “Peter ripped my lungs apart.”

“Dude, seriously?” She paced further. “But that was before you knew it was Peter, right?”

“Yeah.” He looked somewhat suspicious when he asked: “Why did you want to know that?”

“I don’t know, just something I thought about, realized I didn’t know. Filling in the blanks or whatever,” Joe murmured and tried to work up the nerve to ask what she really wanted to know.

What had happened to him? Had he not felt anything at all when she was up in that cavern? Why was he at the sheriff’s station in the first place? Why wasn’t he angry with her? What was he doing now? She didn’t want to know why he wasn’t out looking for Kate, she didn’t want him doing that without her anyway. If Kate wanted to separate them, it had to be for a reason. But there were so many things he obviously wasn’t telling her!

She went to stand in front of Derek, forcing herself into his line of vision. “Can we talk about everything that’s happened? Are you ready for that?”

Derek’s dark scowl told her ‘no’.

“Can I tell you what happened with me?” Joe asked and rested on one hip. He looked on the verge of saying something before she continued: “Or are you gonna make that all about yourself, make it your fault I got hurt? Even though I distinctly remember making all of those decisions myself? Like, I decided to go check up on Jimmy and I decided to disarm a psycho high school kid with a gun?”

His flexed jaw and flared nostrils told her she was hitting a nerve.

“Oh, sorry, is that interrupting your scheduled self-loathing for the night?” Joe demanded, not giving a damn about tact or keeping her voice down. Any emotion was better than whatever this was and she could handle him being angry with her. “Derek, come on! Please just talk to me! Haven’t you ever heard that communication is key to a healthy relat-”

Joe froze, already too deep in by quoting Cosmopolitan at Derek Hale, even if it was via Aunt Mel’s advice. Derek’s eyes had snapped up to her face at the mention of relationship, even though she didn’t technically say the whole word. For a second they just stared at each other, neither giving in.

“You nearly died,” was his flat reply and Joe rolled her eyes. Again with the cliches!

“Yeah, duh. You’ve nearly died a bunch of times already! The clinic, the school parking lot, the pool, the rave-”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

His grip tightened on the armrests of the chair. “That wasn’t your fault.”

Derek must have realized his mistake immediately as he closed his eyes in defeat even before she could suck in a frustrated breath.

“Excuse me?” Joe snapped, but managed to keep it low enough so the nurses wouldn’t rush in here. “Didn’t I _just_ say that I made those decisions myself?” Joe walked around the chair, too angry to remain still. “How many times are we going to have this conversation? I’m not one of your stray kids you picked off the streets, okay?” She gestured to herself. “I’m a grown woman perfectly capable of owning my mistakes.”

Derek took a deep breath, but did not exactly sound as calm as he probably hoped. She was getting to him. “I just meant that it’s my fault you’re involved in this in the first place.”

“No, it’s not!” She span around to face him, throwing her hands out in exasperation. “You said so, remember? There’s no why or why us, it just is what it is. And anyway, with Scott I would have been involved no matter what. It’s _not_ your fault! None of it is!”

Met only with ringing silence following her outburst, Joe dropped her head back and made a noise of despair. And he said _she_ was frustrating?

Finally, Derek shifted in the chair. He flexed his fingers around the armrests and his voice came so low she had to lean in further to hear it.

“When that gun went off,” he started slowly, looking to the side instead of her, “when I felt that bullet run through you — I thought you were gonna die and...” Derek trailed off, his face expressing more emotions than usual, but as usual, coated in a top layer of anger. “And I thought I was dying too.”

Finally some progress! Joe stopped pacing for half a second. “I get that! We don’t know what happens if the other one dies.”

“No, Joe,” he growled and seemed to clutch at the chair arms like it was supposed to give him strength. “I meant that it hurt so bad-”

“Yeah, because we share pain, that’s a given. The pill must have worn off by then.”

He closed his eyes in defeat, inhaled deep through his nose. When he finally talked, the words came at that careful pace he sometimes used. “It didn’t hurt physically.”

His words left an uncomfortable silence in the room.

“Oh,” Joe said, finally realizing what he was trying to say. “Yeah, okay, that’s how I felt that time at the vet clinic. With the stupid bullet filled with flowers or whatever,” Joe waved her hand around, “I literally felt like my heart was gonna stop because I thought you were dying. And this was waaay before I had any idea what was going on. I didn’t even like you!” An unbidden smile tugged at her lips. “I thought I’d gone soft.”

It did not have the desired effect to lighten the mood. He did a half-shrug without looking at her. “Soft’s not a word I’d use about you.”

“Then that second time,” she continued, determined to make him crack, only noticing a slight twinge around her ribcage when she gestured and failed to notice his darkened expression, “when Peter — apparently — tried to tear your lungs out. It was one thing feeling that, but I’ve never been so scared in my life when I thought you were bleeding out on Jimmy’s kitchen table because you were too thick-headed to go to a hospital.”

Derek’s voice was quiet and he looked at the floor. “I know.”

“You know?”

“That you were scared. Fear has a particular pungency to it,” Derek bit out, as if annoyed he would have to explain. “You were reeking off it when you came into the station.”

“I do not ‘reek’,” Joe protested and he closed his eyes instead of looking at her. “And I was not _scared_ of Matt Daehler.”

“I meant before Matt,” Derek said tiredly. “Before you even found the first deputy. I could smell it the whole time. You were terrified and I had no idea how to get you out of there without drawing attention. I never want to-” He cut himself off. “It’s not a pleasant smell.” Now he did look at her, glancing upwards to where she still stood in front of the chair. Something soft, something vulnerable in his eyes. “Especially not from you.”

“You think I liked seeing you paralyzed?” Joe countered, resting her weight on one hip. “You think I liked the idea of you getting torn apart by your betas before that? I don’t know about smells, but it doesn’t feel good either.”

“I heal, Joe.”

“Apparently I do too.”

Biting in whatever he wanted to reply, he got up from the chair and turned his back on her in favor of looking out the window where the blinds were still down. Just as she thought she’d gotten him to crack, he sealed himself off again. Straight back, tight shoulders, he was obviously agitated and she wondered if it was because of her injuries he refused to take it out on her.

“Did you find Jimmy yet?” she asked, determined to get something out of this conversation and he shook his head. “The apartment, cavern, my car — nothing? No,” she searched for a wording that didn’t sound like she was making dog-jokes, “trace or scent of him?”

Another miniscule headshake. A sick feeling spread in her stomach unrelated to her almost healed gunshot wound.

Afraid of the answer, she asked slowly: “You did look for him, right?”

Derek scoffed. “We looked. He’s good at covering his tracks.” She saw how his shoulders drew together as he sighed. “A little creep in high school, still a creep now no matter what he looks like.”

The sick feeling spread. “Please don’t talk about him like that. For all we know, the Argents took him from my car and-”

“How would the Argents even know he’s alive?” Derek asked and she saw how cold his expression was in the reflection of the windowpane. Something about his question felt off, like he was leading up to something else.

Joe forgot all about her plan to rile him up to get some actual response from him. Her voice was barely a whisper when she said: “Because of Kate.” As he tilted his head a bit forward, a single resignated nod, she found herself sicker by the second by the suspicion creeping in. “What?”

“Are you sure it was Kate?”

His question made her stumble back into the chair he had left vacant. The small twinge in her ribs went unnoticed. “If I’m sure?”

Another curt nod as he glanced at her over his shoulder.

“Of course I’m sure, Derek. What, you think I did that to myself? Beat myself up? Chafed the skin off my own wrists for kicks?”

“No,” Derek said and finally turned around. He softened his tone a bit. “But if Carter can return from the dead and change how he looks, who’s to say he can’t manipulate you to believe this was Kate?” He raised his voice when she scoffed loudly. “We searched everywhere and there’s not a trace of her, her car or anyone else ever being in or near that cavern.”

Joe had been shaking her head as Derek talked and she kept doing it. “Maybe she’s good at covering her tracks too? She’s a hunter, right? Isn’t that the first thing they learn?” She tried to gauge the sincerity in Derek’s expression and found it excruciating. “You think Jimmy did this to me? Why? Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know,” Derek said quietly even if his eyebrows pulled together in obvious sympathy, an expression that grated on her nerves. “Why would Kate? You’re the one who tried to save her life, remember?”

“If I remember?” Joe repeated with tears in her eyes. It was hard to tell if she imagined the bitterness in his voice or if it was there. Question number one. “Yes, I frickin’ remember! And I spent hours up in that cavern paying for that mistake.” She gestured loosely to the air, unable to put what happened that night into actual words. “Derek, Jimmy almost died because of me. He had a literal hole through his stomach because I led her to his location, because I was too stupid to cover _my_ tracks.”

Her voice turned shrill as she shot up from the chair again.

“Because I was too stupid to realize she wasn’t dead in the first place.” Joe paced the floor, aware of the mild twinge in her ribs. “Because after the funeral, when I had a feeling something was off, I should have done more about it. Because I broke into the hospital security room to check the surveillance tapes and they’d been altered,” she swallowed the heavy lump in her throat, “and I wasn’t sure if that was because someone had come to finish the job or if she survived and escaped, but I should have done something.”

Joe rubbed her fingers into her hair, trying to hold the tears back every way she could. “I should have told my dad, but I was so angry with him because he thought everything was okay just because he hijacked some helicopters to come save me and I didn’t trust the cops because Kate had sounded so goddamn sure of herself that she was untouchable and I didn’t tell you because I thought maybe you had killed her and I wouldn’t blame you if you did and-”

Out of breath, she sighed deeply and turned her back on Derek with his concerned expression.

The blatant skepticism almost had her doubt herself now. No, Christ, she knew what happened. Jimmy could have tricked her, sure, but he had no motive. Kate however had at least two. She had said she remembered everything, that meant she remembered Joe’s promise of making sure everyone knew what kind of monster Kate was. And Jimmy wrote that article, ensuring that the Argents’ influence could not squash the news before it reached the public. Revenge is a pretty decent motivator, ask the kanima.

There was something else too.

“Separate the mates,” Joe mumbled, mostly to herself. “That’s what she said. She had to separate the mates. And she knew about Victoria, she knew the Argents were coming after you, I-” Her brows furrowed as she tried to recall the night she had done her best to push away so she could manage to sleep. “She had Jimmy for days, she waited for the right opportunity to get me up there and,” Joe ignored the immediate darkening of Derek’s face, “I think she was prepared to keep me up there for a while as well.”

Without thinking, Joe had started pacing again and now she winced because the wound in her side was not completely healed after all. Prepared to apologize to Derek for the pain, she found him staring into the air with a disturbed look on his face.

“You don’t know Carter. He might be working with the Argents.”

“Isn’t that impossible? I thought you guys and hunters don’t mix.” Derek glanced to the side, obviously holding in some kind of reply and Joe squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. “Jimmy didn’t do this, Derek. He knows where I live, why would he bother getting me up to the Perserve?”

“Because he knows you?” he asked slowly and she could see how the swell of his bicep bulged under his shirt as he dug his fingers into the windowframe he was leaning against. His bright eyes came up to stare her down. “Knows that you’re an idiot who’s prone to walking straight into any kind of trap, no matter how obvious? What the hell were you thinking, Joe?”

The anger she had waited for.

“That Jimmy was in trouble, which he was. I admit I made a bad call, okay? Trust me, I had plenty of time to regret it when _Kate_ strung me up-” She cut herself off when Derek turned his head to the side, obviously holding back another scoff. “How can you not believe I’m telling the truth about this?” It was hard to breathe and she bit her lip again, not even registering how the dry skin cracked. “Derek, I know what happened. Use your stupid lie detector-powers for once and believe me when I say it was Kate.”

“I don’t think you’re lying, Joe, I think you believe-”

“Don’t do that.”

“-that’s what happened, but how can you be sure?” He sighed, obviously hating it had come to this. The next words came slowly, each blow carefully positioned to maximum impact. “According to Melissa, you have a history with hallucinations. And it got pretty bad at one point, right?”

He might as well have punched her in the stomach. Responses flooded her mind, too many to pick one. “You talked to Aunt Mel about me?”

“She talked to me,” Derek corrected, at least looking somewhat ashamed, “because she’s concerned about you and thinks we’re...”

“Well, we’re not,” Joe bit back immediately. “I did not hallucinate this, Derek.” The evident disbelief on his face made her shout: “ _I am not fucking hallucinating!_ ”

He didn’t even flinch, probably could smell her agitation from miles away. Joe bit her teeth together and tried to calm down somewhat. Shouting was not swaying him and judging by his expression, he only felt sorry for her and she _hated_ it. Swallowing the heavy lump in her throat, she took a few deep breaths before she managed to face Derek again with both hands on her hips.

Joe lowered her voice, although it was a miracle none of the hospital staff had come to check on her yet. “There’s a progression to this stuff, okay? Last time I hallucinated, I had slept maybe five hours in a week. There were plenty of other warning signs long before it got so bad I couldn’t tell what was real or not. You saw me the day before, right? Did I look sleep deprived? Emotional? Aggressive? Did I space out at odd intervals?”

He kept quiet even if he shook his head, watching her without any discernable emotions on his face.

“Derek, I don’t _want_ her to be back. I wish she died that night, I wish I hadn’t tried to save her, I wish I hadn’t called my dad, but she’s alive, Derek, I swear and I can’t do this without y-”

The almost-healed wound gave a sharp throb and she broke off with a groan.

Letting out an impatient sigh, Derek pushed off from the wall and, before she could think, placed his palm on the side of her sweaty neck. The pain subsided instantly, pulling into him and she kept her gaze on the floor, unable to take his clouded expression up close.

She hated this.

The words rushed out before she could stop them: “I don’t blame you for not wanting to believe she’s back.”

His hand twitched, but he remained at arm’s length.

“But I need you to trust me on this, Derek, I can’t do this alone.” As if it could soften the blow, she placed her own hand on top of his. Somehow fire meeting fire made it bearable, and she tried to pull on his strength for courage to look at him. “She told me how you met.”

Derek froze and for the first time this night, she saw a crack of uncertainty.

“She told me,” Joe’s voice shook and she swallowed as she tried to regain control, “she told me she was working as a guidance counselor.” The dry air of the hospital room tickled her throat as she tried to take a deep breath to steel herself. This was the part Joe had dreaded since she woke up from the surgery and she closed her eyes before whispering: “And she told me about Paige.”

A sudden onrush of coolness as he withdrew his hand, but Joe did not even think about the pain.

“I don’t know _why_ she told me, but she-” Joe blew air out of her mouth, trying to force the words out. “I wish I didn’t know- not like that, I mean-” Now the tears welled, morphine and fatigue not giving a damn about her dignity. “I’m doing this all wrong. I know I’m doing this all wrong, Derek, I just-”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried again: “Kate told me about what happened with you and her and...” Joe shook her head, tears raining down. “Don’t make me repeat everything, please, I don’t think I can.”

Hearing nothing but his breaths, she managed to look up at him through her own cloudy vision. His eyes were wide, not seeing anything. Not in this world at least, especially not her. Surprised? Ashamed? Panicked? There was a lot of emotions swirling underneath an otherwise calm surface.

Instinct made her take a step towards him. She wanted to do anything to get rid of that expression on his face, but he stumbled back, arm up to keep her at bay.

“Please, I just need you to believe me. I don’t care about the stuff she told me, it doesn’t change anything. Okay? Nothing. But she’s back and we need to stop her and I can’t do it on my own.”

He wasn’t even looking at her, nothing to indicate he heard her. Chest heaving, sweat glistening on his forehead like he was seconds away from a panic attack. Could werewolves even have panic attacks? Would she even be able to help him if he did?

A fresh bout of tears cascaded down her cheeks. “Derek, please, for once listen to my heartbeat. It doesn’t change _anything._ ”

Not what she thought of him. Not how she felt about him. Nothing. She just had to make him understand that Kate was still out there. Joe had to make him understand she needed his help.

He swallowed hard, as if pushing down everything, burying it completely. Not sure how well it worked when he still could not look at her, but at least he got his breath under control long enough to say: “I have to go.”

The words were clipped and business-like. No room for emotions, no room for weakness.

“Please don’t,” she whispered and maybe, if she wanted to, she could believe he paused briefly before tearing out of the room. Maybe, if she really tried, she could believe that. Did not matter because the door clicked shut behind him and she was alone again.

Joe fell back down in the chair — his chair — and buried her face in her hands.

* * *

“Okay, Miss Vampirella,” Aunt Mel said and pulled the curtains apart, letting actual daylight into the room. Joe only half-joked when she hissed in the bed as she’d cooped up under the covers after Derek left last night. God she’d messed that up. Her head throbbed of dehydration after crying until she got her new dosage of the morphine.

Aunt Mel pulled up Joe’s charts. “They want you on another CT-scan later today. They’re worried something’s gone wrong since you’re recovering so fast. Joe?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you recovering so fast?” Aunt Mel looked tired and had her no nonsense-face on. “This is like, miraculous speed. Does it have something to with...Scott?”

“No,” Joe said slowly, not sure if Aunt Mel was asking if it had something directly to do with Scott or what Scott was now. Or all of the above. Joe suspected it had something to with Derek and his painkilling-touch, but now that she thought of it, she’d healed pretty fast after her last run-in with Kate too. All of her scratches and bruises had disappeared in days. Could the bond between her and Derek be enough that she ‘borrowed’ some of his healing factor?

She shrugged in the end. “I’m not sure. Maybe. Have you talked to him?”

Aunt Mel looked ashamed to shake her head. “Not really. I just- there was so many things I didn’t understand that night, that I still don’t understand, and after lying to the Sheriff for hours, I...I need some time.” Aunt Mel looked to be checking Joe’s monitor-stuff, but apparently it was just a front while she was thinking. “Derek. He’s also...”

“Yeah.” Joe saw no use in denying it.

“But you’re not...?”

“No.”

“And Stiles?”

Joe’s eyebrows rose. “No?”

“Okay. I just- so many things happened that I’m not sure what’s real or what I just had a nightmare about later.” Aunt Mel rubbed her forehead and shook it off when another nurse entered the room, looking for her.

People kept coming to visit her. Professor Kane showed up with a large bouquet of flowers and it was strange to see the Professor out of her normal academical habitat. Joe offered to walk around the hospital with her instead of being confined to the room — Joe was antsy to get out of there by now. She felt like a sitting duck ready to be picked off by Kate.

“Sarah offers her apologies that she cannot be here today,” Professor Kane explained as they walked the small path in the hospital garden, which was really just the green field between parking lots. “She bids you a speedy recovery, although it seems you are well on your way to that.”

“I’ve finished a new draft of the paper,” Joe said in response, ignoring the part about healing so fast. At least being confined to a room made her productive. “I’ll e-mail it to her later today.”

Professor Kane’s loafers subbed on the ground. “I daresay work was not expected in your condition. Are you trying to impress Sarah, Miss Delgado?”

Joe shrugged. “Kinda feel she hasn’t really seen me at my best yet.”

“Your mediocre surpasses many’s bests.” Professor Kane smiled thinly and they walked further. “And your brushes with the supernatural? Any more rising concerns?”

“Yeah,” Joe said, glad the Professor brought it up. “If the kanima-master dies, what happens?”

“The kanima always finds a master. It doesn’t have a purpose without a master. It will attach itself to a new one almost immediately. The only way to break the cycle, is to break the kanima’s hold on its subject.”

“You mean killing it?”

That earned her another raised eyebrow from the Professor. “Absolutely not, Miss Delgado, and I must say I am a bit disappointed that was your initial suggestion. The kanima is a result of emotional issues with what was supposed to be a regular shapeshifter, inner turmoil altering the gene. Remember that I am a professor at the Sociology and Pscyhology-institute.”

“You mean the kanima should go to therapy?”

“A concise summary, sure. A kanima has no identity of its own and will take host in likeminded shapeshifters, usually ocurring at the first full moon.”

“Okay, but deep-set issues like that would take years of active therapy to work through,” Joe said with a sigh. They did not have years, even if she managed to snatch Jackson Whittemore off the streets to hand him over to Alex and her youth rehabilitation center.

“He’s an adolescent? Not uncommon for young adults to have problems associated with an inability to access, and gain from, an internal sense of self. Relational safety, self-validity and self-exploration are the three main branches of treatment.” Professor Kane sniffed in disdain when they rounded another corner. “There are those who would take the short route with these options, I’m sure. But long term solutions require long term perspective.”

Joe kept walking for a few steps before realizing that Profesor Kane had stopped. She stood with a rigid back and hands crossed over the strangely patterned tunic she wore. Sharp eyes glinted behind her glasses. “Alan.”

Doctor Deaton had come strolling down the same path they were on. He held the same strict facial expression. “Bridget.”

“Uh, hi?” Joe said, feeling very much like the third wheel. “You guys know each other?”

“Our paths have crossed,” said Doctor Deaton with a friendly smile at Joe that disappeared in a flash as he looked at the Professor again. “Outside the walls of your college campus, for a change?”

“Hm,” Professor Kane made a slightly amused sound, completely devoid of humor. “I see you have removed your white coat, Alan. Afraid of being mistaken for a real doctor?”

Joe felt like she had trespassed into distinct adult territory. This banter went back and forth for a while, neither Doctor Deaton or Professor Kane willing to throw in the towel. They must have done more than cross paths, as their jabs seemed to reference a lot of shared history. Sometimes Joe got the feeling that she was the only one who _hadn’t_ known about the supernatural world prior to Scott’s bite.

“...and that brings me to my main concern. What are you _doing_ here, Alan?” Professor Kane finished up some complicated three-sentence insult that you probably needed a PhD just to understand and tried to stare down Doctor Deaton.

Doctor Deaton smiled good-naturedly and put his hands inside his pockets. “I suppose I could ask you the same question, but for some of us less academically inclined, it is easy to see that you are here visiting an injured student. I was hoping to get a quick word with Miss Joe here myself.”

“No.” Professor Kane’s answer came so swift that Joe had to turn around to look at her.

“Excuse me? What the hell is going on here?” Joe asked, looking between her former boss and former mentor. “All due respect, Professor, but I think I can make my own decisions. I’ve known Doctor D for years.”

With a sour look towards the veterinarian, Professor Kane leaned in so that Joe got a good whiff of whatever herbal stuff the woman used to wash her hair. “Be careful at taking his words at face value. The Emissaries always have a hidden agenda. And considering what he has let happen on his watch-” The Professor cut off, as if she had said too much. “Then I’ll take my leave. Miss Delgado. Alan.”

She strode of in the direction of the far parking lot, leaving Joe blinking behind. What the hell was an Emissary and what had happened on his watch? She asked this verbatim to Doctor Deaton, who gave her a worried glance.

“Hm, Derek hasn’t told you then?”

“No, but whatever it is, I can just add it to the long list of stuff we don’t tell each other,” Joe muttered, more interested in how much Doctor Deaton actually knew about her and Derek. He’d seen them at the clinic when Scott was hurt, sitting too close, Derek helping her stand. Did he know about their bond or just thought they were dating or something?

“He hasn’t told you anything?”

“Again, no. What’s going on?”

Doctor Deaton nodded to himself, as in deep thought. “He is taking this worse than I thought. If he feels he can’t trust you, how will he fare with Scott...”

“The guy’s got trust issues, no doubt about it. But, uh, _what is going on_?”

“Have patience with him, please. He’ll come around.”

And just like that, he left as well. With raised eyebrows, Joe shuffled back into the hospital. Weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's got no business being this long. And I am sorry for the frustrating conversations but 1) Joe is half-high on pain meds and 2) She's not overly good at expressing herself. It became a lot sadder than intended, but emotions are running high and Derek's not good at expressing himself either.
> 
> If you want a little peek into his mind, I'm posting another one-shot from his POV as chapter 2 of "The Realist". The one-shot is set between chapter 44 and 45 of "The Skeptic", because Joe did ask her three questions, she just doesn't remember it.
> 
> So, okay, I'll be back in two days with slightly more lighthearted content. Please let me know what you think, so grateful for your comments on the last chapter! Thank you for reading :)


	46. The First Beta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Brief mention of attempted suicide.

“We’re leaving. Tonight, during the game.”

Erica stood with her head bent and arms around herself, leaning against the window where the hospital buzzed behind them. The extensions in her hair hung limp over her shoulders, contrasting with her increased frizz up top where her natural hair was. Joe was in the middle of getting dressed after a doctor had taken a look at her now non-existent wound, mumbling in fascination, but confirming that she would be allowed to home. Finally.

“What, all of you?” Joe’s brows were furrowed. A lot of people had been visiting her, but Erica had been yet another surprise. She first suspected Derek had sent her as a messenger as he hadn’t been back since their little talk the other night, but Erica’s next word disproved that.

Erica shook her head. “No, just me and Boyd. Isaac hasn’t decided yet.”

“What about Derek?”

Her hazel eyes shifted and she seemed to shrink under Joe’s gaze. Aha. Okay. Without Derek. That explained her nerves. Joe did not need werewolf-senses to catch up on Erica’s anxiety.

“Right,” she said, in lack of anything smarter. Derek’s words from a few weeks ago came back, how wolves without a pack would die either at the hands of another pack or the hunters. “Where are you gonna go? I mean, no offense, but you’re both minors and you don’t even have your driver’s license yet.”

Erica mumbled something about another pack. Apparently she and Boyd had heard it out in the woods the other night — at least twenty wolves. Safety in numbers, Joe thought. When you’re at the bottom of the ladder, any boss would do. Joe let out a long breath and shrugged on her jacket with only a small twinge in her ribs. Kate was still out there. Gerard was still out there. Who knew who else was still out there, just waiting for a pair of newly turned werewolves to stumble into their path?

Then again, wouldn’t distancing themselves from Derek make them safer from the Argents? In theory, at least?

“Why are you telling me?” she asked and Erica only shrugged, unable to look at Joe. “It’s not because of me you’re leaving, right?”

“No,” Erica said sullenly, “not really.” Which was not the same as ‘no’. “I know Derek told us there was a price, that the bite didn’t come for free, but he never said it would be like this!”

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think he knew it was gonna be like this either.”

Joe was not trying to defend him. Of all his bad decisions, turning the teenagers had been his worst. Something must have happened while she was in the hospital. Either during the full moon or after. It was not that long ago that Erica had nearly begged for Derek when she was dying from the kanima-poison. Loyalty went both ways and Joe now worried Derek had spent too much of his time on Joe instead of his pack.

“Are you sure, Erica? I mean, you don’t have to go back to Derek’s if you don’t want to, but what about your parents? Or, I guess, you can come stay with us if-”

Erica had scoffed loudly at the mention of her parents. She looked down at her boots, rubbed the toe into the floor. “Trust me, they won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Joe sighed and wondered again how much of this could have been avoided by some free therapy-sessions for all the high schoolers. “Fine, but what about money? Food? Shelter?”

“If we find the other pack, they’re gonna take care of us.”

She said it with so much conviction Joe guessed it must be a werewolf-thing. Like it was unthinkable for another pack to not take them in and then not take care of them. Beyond Joe’s understanding, probably. “Okay, but if you _don’t_ find the other pack for some reason, or if anything happens, or you need help — call me. You have my number right?”

Finally, Erica glanced up at her, large eyes wide as she nodded. Joe had suspected the girl had saved her number after the little phone-stunt at the depot.

“And if shit really hits the fan,” Joe said as she leaned over the small table in her hospital room to scribble a number on a piece of paper, “call this number. It’s my dad, he’s in the FBI. He’s an ass,” Erica tried to hide a smile, “but he’s been through so much weird stuff that he’ll probably be able to help. Now I’m gonna sound like my aunt, but seriously, call me if you need me. Anytime.”

“Yeah,” Erica said as she accepted the piece of paper with the phone number to Joe’s dad. “Okay, I will.”

Joe watched Erica leave, casting nervous glances over her shoulder, like Joe was doing lately as well. Waiting for an Argent to pop out of the shadows. With Stiles’ help, Joe had changed phones and all her passwords, hopefully locking out anyone with malicious intent. He’d given her a stern lecture on trusting evil-looking high schoolers to fix stuff for cheap. Apparently he’d harbored suspicions against Matt for a while now, solely based on a bad vibe from the now dead teenager.

So Derek was losing his pack. No wonder he had seemed moodier than usual lately. That was probably what Doctor Deaton had wanted to talk to her about. Joe could at least hope that was it, but with her luck, there was probably more.

According to Kane, the kanima would seek out a new master immediately — which meant they were back to square one and pretty much forced to await any new mysterious deaths. Some part of her wondered if a werewolf wasn’t eligible as the kanima-master, because right now Derek himself would seem like the guy in town with the most stuff to avenge. Or not, if you considered that he also blamed himself for the fire as much as he blamed Kate. She just hoped their last conversation did the trick and he realized she was actually out there. Harsh truth better than comfortable lies.

Kanima with new master, Kate out there, Jimmy missing, Erica and Boyd leaving — Matt dying seemed like a feeble win and Joe realized her near-fatal injury had been for naught.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Joe answered Scott, who leaned against the side of the open door to her room. If she looked tired, he looked even worse. For some reason, Scott had insisted on picking her up from the hospital instead of Joe just hitching a ride home with Aunt Mel.

Scott seemed to pull on some reserve strength and gave her a wane smile. “Ready to get out of here?” He held up a small bag. “Got your meds. Thirty milligrams every four hours.”

“Jeez, that sounds like a lot,” Joe mumbled, even though she hadn’t really considered how much she had been administered during her stay. The doctors were apparently expecting her to relapse or something despite her miraculous recovery. “Guess I’m not driving.”

“Guess not,” Scott agreed and took the small bag with her laptop and toiletries out of her hands. He made another thin attempt at a smile. “Got you coffee as well.”

At the sight of the familiar Beacon Coffee-shop logo on a paper cup, she lit up and eagerly accepted it, already inhaling the delicious fumes as they walked slowly to the front desk of the hospital. “You are my favorite cousin, you know that?”

“I’m your only cousin.”

“I mean, probably, but we can’t be sure. I could have some on my mot- _bleh._ ” Joe stuck out her tongue at the taste of what she had expected to be a regular oatmilk cappucino. “This tastes like-” She smacked her lips, shuddering at the sudden horrid sensation she had swallowed an ashtray. “Like something burnt? What is this? Decaf?”

“Uhh, yeah.” Scott both sounded and looked halfway panicked and apologetic. “Yeah, decaf, I thought you weren’t supposed to have caffeine with-”

“Oh, no, this is disgusting,” Joe complained as she tried another sip. “Sorry, Scott, even the hospital coffee’s better than that.”

Ignoring Scott’s alarmed look, because these coffees weren’t cheap, she dropped the whole cup in a trashcan. His hand shot out to grab it mid-air.

“I’ll, uh, go pour this out,” he explained and Joe winced at her own stupidity — a whole cup of coffee in the trashcan would make a mess when they emptied it out. “You go sign your discharge papers.” Joe thought she saw him glance at her medicine bag as he made a beeline for the nearest restroom.

At least her dad’s insurance had pretty decent coverage for gunshots, Joe thought as she signed the necessary papers at the front desk. And his tax for not even visiting her would be footing the deductible, she thought and registered that the bill would be forwarded to his address.

Eventually Scott emerged from the restroom and they made their way to her car. It still smelled a bit of bleach and Joe wondered again if that was Jimmy’s own work or the Argents covering their tracks. After being stuck in the hospital for so long, she felt a sense of urgency to do something again, but right now she just wanted to go home. Technically she was still on bedrest for a few more weeks — standard practice following her surgery. Ridiculous, because she felt fine.

Her baby cousin however, did not look fine. He drove in silence, clutching at the steering wheel, forehead furrowed in thought.

“Everything okay, Scott?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine.” He drew in a deep breath, not looking at her. “Just nerves about the game I guess.”

“Right,” said Joe, letting him off the hook despite the obvious lie. She was not looking forward to the game either, but her alternative was spending the night alone back at the house and with Kate still on the loose, she could not stomach the thought. Stiles, bless his heart, had smuggled out the shotgun from the sheriff’s station and returned it with her car, but Joe would still feel like a sitting duck. 4+1 shotgun shells was probably not enough to take out Kate.

By any luck, Kate had died out in the woods somewhere, too badly injured by Jimmy’s bite. Joe could not bring herself to believe it for more than a second though. You needed to take Kate’s head off to make sure she stayed down, and even then, bury it some distance from the body.

A bite from a regular werewolf would just hurt. A bite from an Alpha would either turn or kill. A bite from whatever Jimmy was would what? No idea. She just prayed that Jimmy had gone into hiding, not that he was captured by either of the Argents. Scott and Stiles had gone up to check the cavern at her insistence, because she had to know if Derek told the truth, but could not find any sign of anyone having been there since they escaped. Same with his apartment.

Scott sounded older than his years. “You okay?”

She looked over at him, who in turn had a concerned frown and watched her hands wringing together. Forcing her hands apart, she flexed her fingers, trying to get the tension out.

“It’s a mess,” Joe answered and Scott nodded in agreement. Nothing else to say. Kate, the kanima, Derek — it was a mess. Something about Scott’s behavior bothered her, so she glanced at him again: “Are you sure _you’re_ okay? Did something happen, Scott?”

A moment’s hesitation before he shook his head. “No, nothing happened. I just- I just wish there was more we could do.” He shrugged as he made the final turn onto their street. “I wish it was as easy as calling Uncle Rob this time. I’m not,” he gave her a puppydog-look, “saying that was easy, but at least then the cops were looking for a killer. Now that Matt’s dead, it’s...” Trailing off, he shrugged again.

Neither got out of the car when he parked at the house.

“I’m supposed to go to work,” Scott said slowly, obviously conflicted, “but I can stay here if you want. Just say the word.”

“Aunt Mel’s home, right?” Joe asked and furrowed her brows when her question made Scott look away before he nodded. “Then I won’t be alone. If Kate shows up, I’ll shoot first and call the cops later.”

“She won’t.” He sounded so sure that Joe raised her eyebrows at him. “At least I don’t think so. Just- just trust me on this. Please.”

“I trust you,” Joe said and reached over to squeeze his shoulder. “Go to work. If she didn’t come after me the week and a half I was at the hospital, there’s no reason she should come tonight.” Hopefully she managed to convince Scott more than herself. “Tomorrow we’ll figure something out, call Dad again or,” she shrugged, “or I’m gonna need your help digging up a grave.”

That at least earned her a faint grin. It faltered again as he seemed to make up his mind about something. “You haven’t heard from Derek lately, right? Or any of the others?”

“Just Erica. She came by just before you did. They’re leaving, something about finding another pack. Why?” Joe hated the mild panic in her voice that she tried to play off as indifference. “Something happen with Derek?”

At least Scott was so preoccupied he did not tease her about Derek for once. He shook his head, almost too quickly for her to believe him. “No, they’ve gone into hiding. Isaac, Erica and Boyd haven’t been to school since the full moon. ”

“Hey,” Joe said and shifted her hand to ruffle up his hair, which he didn’t even bother to protest. “We’ll figure this out. Kanima and Kate and everything else. Worst case we’ll have to kidnap Jackson Whittemore again and subject him to intense therapy-sessions. Now go to work and we’ll see you later at the game.”

“I’m- I’m not sure Mom’s gonna come to the game.”

Joe stopped getting out of the car and sighed, because she knew she had to ask. “You guys talk yet?”

“No. Haven’t even talked to Stiles, not talked-talked. And Mom..She’s- she’s afraid. Not just me. It’s-” Scott slumped in his seat and now ruffled up his own hair. “It’s like when she’s not working, she’s afraid of everything. And I get it, I mean,” he sighed deeply, too deep for a sixteen-year-old, “she watched the two people closest to her get shot in the same night. Doesn’t matter that we both healed, she thought she was losing us.” Now Scott looked at Joe with the eyes of a kicked puppy. “I know how she feels, because I thought I lost you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Joe said with a closed smile and tapped his shoulder with her fist. Yeah, she was getting really good at these comforting gestures. “Except that right now I’m going inside to take a shower with non-industrial strength soap for the first time in a week and a half. Listen, kid, your mom’s gonna come around, you know that, right?”

“I guess,” he said, but did not sound convinced. Scott swallowed and handed her the medicine bag. “Every four hours, remember?”

“ _Every four hours_ ,” Joe repeated in a shrill voice as she snatched the bag. “Can you at least _pretend_ I’m the adult here? For the last time, go to work. I’ll be fine. _We’ll_ be fine. We’re supposed to look after you, not the other way around, remember?”

For some reason her words only seemed to make him more troubled. He left her car in the driveway and took his bike to work, as if things were normal, but the frown on his face never cleared.

Aunt Mel had just woken up when Joe came inside as she’d had the graveyard shift last night. Like Scott had mentioned, she still jumped at the slightest of sounds, so Joe moved slowly and quietly around the house. Maybe it was just as well Aunt Mel was on the Joe-was-just-confused-train when it came to Kate Argent, because something had her more on edge now than Joe had ever seen her before.

It was a comfort for them both not to be alone in the house at least. Joe got the first crack at a shower and relished when her curls returned to normal instead of stringy even if she barely managed to close her eyes while washing them. The morphine should dampen her paranoia, but she felt like the opposite.

As abnormal as things felt, Joe made an attempt nevertheless. Fake it ‘till you make it. While Aunt Mel showered, Joe made herself a decent cup of coffee and took up her usual thinking spot in front of the kitchen window.

It only took a glance out the window into the backyard for things to go south.

“Are you kidding me?” Joe murmured and put her cup down to join Jimmy Carter — because who else would be lurking in her backyard with glowing purple eyes? She opened the back door and repeated her statement: “Are you _actually_ kidding me?”

“Hey, Joe,” Jimmy said and Joe didn’t know if he was trying to imitate Derek or if it was just a werewolf-thing, because Jimmy stood with both hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Brown leather jacket though, so he was like an autumn version to Derek’s winter complexion. Derek wouldn’t wear olive colored slim-fit pants either, like Jimmy currently was. “How are you faring?”

“What,” Joe started, already on the verge of frustrated tears, “the hell is wrong with you guys? Is it a thing that you lose all social skills after receiving the bite? How am I faring? Take a wild guess, buddy! How are _you_ faring?”

Jimmy nodded slowly. “I understand your agitation.”

“You understa-” Joe bit in a silent scream. “Where the hell have you been?”

“In hiding.”

“Meaning what?” Joe barked, throwing her arms out wide.

“I’ve laid low.”

“Oh God!” Joe yelled sharply into the afternoon daylight. “You know what, can you wait here for like a sec so I can go get my shotgun, ‘cause I really want to shoot someone and you’re looking like a real good candidate right now!”

Joe forced herself to take a deep breath as she noticed the flash of panic over Jimmy’s face. Great, Joe, threaten to shoot a guy who’s been tortured for days with the perpetrator still at large. Good job.

Joe blew air out her mouth. “Jesus, I’m sorry, Jimmy. I’m pumped full of drugs and I’ve been worried sick about you, I thought the hunters...”

“They did not,” Jimmy said quietly, as he knew where she was going with that statement. “I hid in your car until the shooting ended and they moved on without ever spotting me. As yourself, I have spent the last week recuperating. You saved my life and I am grateful.”

“Nearly got you killed in the first place.” Joe pinched the bridge of her nose hard, not caring if Derek could feel it, he would be fine. Especially after all those twinges in her knuckles earlier and she could imagine him punching a wall repeatedly or something else totally dumb. “ _How_ are you alive, by the way? One wolfsbane bullet should have killed you, if you are what I think you are, and you took three...” She squinted at him. “What are you?”

“A werewolf.” He sighed at her skeptical frown. “A special one. Not unique, but not that common either.”

“Oh my God, Jimmy,” Joe said slowly, feeling like tearing her hair out. “I am _not_ in the mood to force answers out of you. If I wants partial truths and no facial expressions, I’ll call Derek. You gotta give me something here, buddy. Someone’s gotta tell me something or I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Jimmy, new and improved, at least had a semblance of his old manners. He rubbed his beard, like Derek’s it was getting a bit out of control. “It is a complicated process to explain, but you saw my diminished appearance before?” As she nodded, he gave her a thin shrug. “I have been ingesting wolfsbane in controlled dosages for a while now to regulate the process. Built up a tolerance, I suppose you could say.”

“Is that why your eyes are...” She just gestured to her own eyes.

“No, that is a mere coincidence actually,” Jimmy said with a half smile. “But I can see how you would draw that conclusion, given the color of the wolfsbane flower.” Something weighed on Jimmy’s mind and he shifted a bit, taking his hands out of his jacket before putting them back in again. “I, uh, want to apologize for my behavior at the reunion dinner, where I acted both rude and entitled, and,” he glanced around the desolate backyard, still waiting for spring to get back into full bloom, “if I frightened you when I paid you a visit a few months ago.”

Joe scoffed and hugged herself. “I wasn’t frightened. Just thought it was weird why you lurked in the bushes. _Why_ were you lurking in the bushes?”

“Ah, well, I was quite weak at that time.” Jimmy licked his lips and looked over at the spot where he most likely stood. “I, well, hm. This might be easier to understand if I tell you about Paige first.”

Yes, Derek’s tragic teenage romance who he probably never had time to get fully over, let’s talk about her. God knows Derek couldn’t. Joe tried to turn off her own mind, she was being jealous over a long dead girl.

“Paige Krasikeva was not only a talented cellist and Derek’s girlfriend, she was also my one and only friend in high school.” Jimmy talked slowly, but with a steady voice, like this was not the first time he had told this to someone. “The reason I became fascinated-”

“Obsessed.”

“-with werewolves in the first place,” Jimmy said as if he hadn’t heard her. “You see, her death was covered up and I knew something was amiss, so I dug and dug and dug until I discovered the truth about what happened to her.” Joe waited while Jimmy gathered his thoughts, still not sure how this was related to her in any way. “And after Derek became the Alpha, I suppose I felt compelled to see if history was repeating. If Derek would try and turn my one and only friend yet again.”

Joe let this sink in along with the ice forming in her core. “You were checking to see if I was still human?” She had not missed his statement of ‘one and only friend’, a brave term for someone he had nearly shot a few days earlier. “If Derek had bit me?”

“With the mate-bond, I could not see any reason why he would not.”

With Derek’s history concerning Paige, Joe could see exactly why he had not. Or why he had never suggested or even hinted towards it. To be honest, she was not sure he would bite her even if she asked for it. If he had watched what he thought was the love of his life — because let’s face it, who didn’t think like that in high school — suffer so much that he agreed to kill her...that kind of trauma would take some healing to get past. It was a wonder he had managed to turn Isaac, Erica and Boyd now that she thought about it. He had to have been a hundred percent sure they would respond well.

She realized Jimmy had a small smile on his lips and she quirked her brows. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said and now put his hands behind his back. “Your scent changes when you think of Derek. It turns sweeter.”

“That is seriously the creepiest thing you have ever said.”

He shrugged, as if it was to be expected. “I have analyzed your actions over the last few months. Sheriff Stilinski said you tried to report me missing. I am, again, touched by your concern, when I have done little to deserve it lately.” Jimmy cleared his throat. “Which is why I voluntarily came forwards to the police and backed up your claim about Kate Argent being alive. The Sheriff and the DA are working on getting a warrant for exhuming the grave.”

A large weight lifted off Joe’s shoulders, like she could finally breathe again. For Jimmy to get over his own stupid paranoia and talk to the police, it was a miracle. She dashed forward and threw herself around his neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Jimmy returned her embrace rather stiffly, patting her back awkwardly, before she felt him freeze completely. Both their heads turned to the side at the sound of a low, steady growling. A pair of red eyes emerged from the forest.

“Oh dear,” said Jimmy and pushed Joe away as Derek Hale, enraged Alpha, attacked.

She landed in a heap on the grass and watched two equally large werewolves tear into each other, red versus purple eyes. Her first thoughts went to Aunt Mel, whose nerves would not exactly improve if she glanced out the window to a full carnage in her backyard.

“Okay, guys, stop!” Joe shouted and got up from the ground. She swore loudly when Jimmy landed a hit, but most of her pain came from her knuckles from the hard punches Derek rained upon Jimmy. Their feet and claws tore into the grass every time they gained traction for lunging at each other. “Guys! Come on! Private property here!”

The loud snarls and almost-roars echoed in the night and Joe cast another worried glance at the upstairs window, hoping Aunt Mel was still in the shower and not hearing this.

Derek and Jimmy seemed almost equal in strength, but what Jimmy lacked was technique. Joe thought she had seen Derek fight hard against Scott, but he had seriously been holding back. The guy moved like a cross between a ninja and a professional MMA-fighter, including backflipping across a tree to kick Jimmy straight in the face.

“Hey!” Joe shouted again, but to no avail.

Throwing her hands up in frustration, she stalked over to the heavy concrete flower pots Aunt Mel had made herself in a sudden burst of DIY-inspiration. Joe took a short breath and slammed her shin into the edge of the flower pot with everything she had. “Goddamnit, motherf- _mmmh_!”

Both she and Derek let out loud grunts of pain, both legs buckling and Joe hopped around clutching the sore spot, swearing incessantly. At least it got his attention as his face whipped towards her in confusion.

_“Oh, Joe, no, I’m not the jealous type!”_ Joe shouted as she hopped around, mimicking Derek’s words before reunion dinner. “I call bullshit on that one!”

Jimmy held his distance when Derek stopped attacking and they stood panting with six feet between them, arms still out with claws ready. Derek’s face morphed back from his wolf-state, so he could give her the full force of his disapproving glare.

“Are you two absolutely out of your minds? You can _not_ fight in our backyard!” She put her bruised foot down slowly and limped closer to the two knuckleheads. “Are you so chock full of testosterone that your brain’s not getting sufficient oxygen?” She waited for an answer while Jimmy also morphed back to his normal face. “Look at the state of the lawn. Aunt Mel’s gonna be pissed.”

Jimmy carefully scooted his foot out to nudge a patch of grass back in place. Joe sighed and put her hand on Derek’s arm to maintain balance and tap into that pain-relief as her shin throbbed like a sonnuvabitch. Apparently you needed skin-to-skin contact and he was wearing a jacket, so it didn’t stop hurting at all.

The two hotheads seemed to have calmed down and Derek put his arm lightly on her back to steady her.

“So, now that we’re all here,” Joe said with a serious frown, “I’d like to officially welcome you to the first meeting in the Kate Argent Victim Support Group.”

Derek rolled his eyes excessively and let go of her back while Jimmy raised his eyebrows in polite shock.

“How much morphine do they have you on?” Derek asked her while crossing his arms, forcing her to let go of him as well.

“Not enough,” Joe replied instantly and tested her foot if she could put weight on it again. “ _Shit._ So, what’s up? Why is the backyard so popular for you guys? Is it a canine-thing? I’m not gonna make a dog-joke, just want to know if I have the foundations for one.”

Derek glared at both her and Jimmy in turn. The scratches and bruises on either of their faces had already healed. The coldness in his eyes reminded her that they had not ended things on friendly terms. She had no idea if he even believed her about Kate yet. “You should stay home from the match tonight. We think Gerard might be planning something.”

“Gerard Argent is always planning something,” Jimmy said. “It’s his default state.”

Joe saw how Derek’s biceps flexed inside his jacket. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”

“Not an opinion, merely an observation.” Jimmy’s smile was stiff.

“How about you observe your way back into whatever rotten cave you crawled out of?”

Jimmy was about to snap back, but he took a deep meditative breath. “While I understand your frustration with my presence, rest assured that I have only Joe’s best interest in mind. I apologize if I have overstepped any boundaries.”

Unfortunately, this blatant show of self-restraint and communication skills did not impress Derek. “Did you have her best interest in mind when you tried to shoot her head off?”

“No, I am willingly admitting that I was out of sorts that night.”

Derek’s lip curled. “Out of sorts? Why do you talk like you’re from a 19th-century realism novel?” He noticed their raised eyebrows and scoffed. “Just because I didn’t go to college, doesn’t mean I’m illiterate. How about when you let her get captured by Kate, have her best interest in mind then?”

Okay, so, progress. He did believe her about Kate, but as he did not have the whole story on _how_ she ended up in the Preserve that night, it would be best to intervene before Jimmy spilled the beans.

“If we can ignore your dick measuring contest for half a second,” Joe cut in, noticing how both Jimmy and Derek squirmed at her words, “going to the game at least means there’ll be people, you know, witnesses.”

Derek was shaking his head as she talked. “And how many of them will be working for the Argents? If you think Gerard knows Kate’s alive, if there is even the slightest chance he knows about us-”

Joe tried to ignore how her heart skipped at the word. Us.

“-then you can’t go to the game. He will use you to get to me, no matter how human you are. Scott won’t be able to protect both you and his mom.”

It’s a mess, Joe thought. A huge mess.

“Okay, fine, but where am I supposed to go? I’m not staying in the house alone just waiting for Kate to come finish the job. Where are you gonna be?”

_Will you stay with me?_ was what she wanted to ask, but could not work up the nerve.

“We’re working on something, something to stop Jackson and by extent Gerard,” Derek said with a dismissive shake of his head. Dismissing her. Separate the mates, Kate was succeeding even now. Which was actually the least worrisome part of that statement.

It was hard to breathe but she managed to choke out: “ _Gerard_ controls the kanima?”

“Oh dear,” Jimmy said again. “That does not bode well.”

Casting a weird look towards Jimmy, because Derek had a point about the way he talked, Joe tried to think of what this meant. The strange look Derek sent her did not make it easier. “What?”

“You didn’t know?” he asked, sounding as genuine as he ever did. His lips were slightly parted in confusion and there was just a hint of bunny-teeth she had never really noticed before. It made him look slightly more human.

“How and why would I know?” she demanded and winced when she accidentally put too much pressure on her throbbing foot. “No one tells me anything! And oh my God, that is terrifying, I am _not_ staying home tonight. Not a chance.”

With an impatient huff, Derek asked: “You got somewhere you can go?”

“Somewhere where I want to lead either a homicidal bitch or a venomous snake monster? No, Derek, I don’t.”

This guy with his logic! Unbelievable. They glared at each other, neither relenting an inch until Jimmy cleared his throat.

“I’ll stay with her.” To his credit, he did not shrink too much at the withering and disbelieving glare Derek sent him. “Use your senses, Hale. Joe is not attracted to me and I’m not attracted to her.”

Joe scrunched up her face, wondering if she should be insulted or relieved. “Excuse me, _Joe_ is right here.”

“I don’t care about attraction,” Derek practically growled as he strode up to Jimmy’s face. His nostrils flared as he stared down the equally large man. “I don’t trust you.”

“But I do,” Joe said with a sigh and limped over to them to put a calming hand on Derek’s shoulder, before they started tearing up the flowerbeds again. “And it’s my decision.”

She found it hard to not backtrack at the look Derek gave her. His eyes roamed her face, looking for traces of something she was not sure of. Whatever he found was not enough for the most stubborn werewolf in the world.

“No.”

“Oh my God, Derek!” Joe yelled and her fingers clawed the air, imagining his throat. “If you don’t trust Jimmy, if you don’t trust me,” she gave him a warning finger as he looked as if he was going to protest, “and you don’t, don’t bullshit me — trust yourself, okay?” Joe turned to Jimmy. “Jimmy, are you currently plotting my demise in any sort or form?”

“No, I am not,” Jimmy said evenly. Not done, he continued: “I owe you my life and in turn is willing to give it to protect you.”

He seemed so sincere that Joe blinked several times. “Jeez, that’s a little intense, dude.”

Joe peered at Derek whose face locked in a dark frown. Less angry, more puzzled. Less angry, not completely devoid, as it always simmered right beneath the surface. He and Jimmy stared at each other and again, Joe felt like a definite third wheel.

Eventually, Derek nodded reluctantly. “Keep her in the house. Protecting her from Kate is easy compared to protecting her from herself.”

“Hey. Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

Jimmy never let his eyes waver from Derek as he too nodded. “I will.”

Half-expecting Derek to just go running back into the woods, she raised her eyebrows when he continued glaring at Jimmy until the latter tilted his head lazily to the side.

“I understand you want some privacy,” Jimmy nearly drawled, “but I’ll be just as able to hear you from inside the house as out here.”

With a tight sarcastic smile, Derek said: “But I won’t have to look at you.”

Both Joe and Jimmy rolled their eyes at that, but Jimmy relented almost theatrically and sauntered into the kitchen, closing the door with a decisive click.So Joe found herself alone with Derek — again. Their alone-times had not exactly ended on a positive note lately so Joe did not even bother to try.

“So, did you realize I was telling the truth about Kate before or after Jimmy went to the Sheriff?” she asked, not in the mood for any of Derek’s self-loathing at the moment. “Or do you still need to wait for the exhumation to believe me?”

It was definitely a werewolf-ting, because Derek put both hands inside his jacket as he sighed. “I believed you when you first told me.”

“But?”

“But she’s exceptionally good at covering her tracks.”

“And?”

His nostrils flared. “And it was easier to believe she wasn’t back. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” she bit back and he must have realized his poor choice of words as she could see the way he ground his teeth together. “So now you got yourself a babysitter. What are you still doing here?”

“Trying to apologize,” Derek said in the same scathing tone she was using.

Her eyebrows raised and she crossed her arms over her chest. “For something you actually did or just for some arbitrary reason you feel guilty?” When her words made him hesitate, she rolled her eyes. “Examples of what you did do: Attack Jimmy on sight, not believing me about Kate and talking with Aunt Mel behind my back. Examples of what you didn’t do: Make Kate abduct me, force Matt to shoot me, or magically create a mate-bond between us. So, which is it? What do you want to apologize for?”

Derek seemed to study his feet while she talked, but looked up at her with an open honest expression. “For leaving when you asked me not to.”

“Oh,” she said lamely as the fire inside of her died out all at once. Pursing her lips, she focused on the overgrown bushes separating them from their closest neighbor. Was he _trying_ to make her cry? She shrugged half-heartedly. “That part’s actually okay. If I were you, I’d probably have left a lot sooner.”

“I wouldn’t have left at all if I didn’t think you were safe, from _any_ of the Argents,” Derek said slowly, but an annoyed wrinkle appeared between his brows as she rolled her eyes again, fire flaring back up.“What?”

“Nothing, just guessing you’re gonna repeat that exact same phrase about why you’re leaving now. You’re thinking I’ll be safest away from you, right? Is that because you’re worried about _me_ or because you’re worried I’ll be a liability? You know what, don’t answer that. How about this, I’m worried about _you_ right now, Derek, because whatever you think’s gonna happen tonight gotta be pretty bad if you thought I’d be safer staying here alone. Gerard controlling the kanima’s one thing, but what are you _not_ telling me?”

As expected, this made him clam up and she sighed in annoyance.

“Too broad a question? Okay, my bad. I guess we don’t have all night to cover everything you’re not telling me. Let’s start small. Why are you suddenly okay with me staying here with Jimmy? I don’t have your nose or ears or whatever kind of sense you just used that apparently held more weight than my opinion. Do I still need to watch my back?”

Hard to tell if he was angry or just taken aback. Eventually he cleared his throat, but cast a glance towards the house before apparently making up his mind. “He tried to mask his fear when you mentioned Kate.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“It means,” Derek followed her lead and crossed his own arms now, “that he’ll be on high alert. He’ll catch her scent before she gets anywhere near the house.”

“You think she’s gonna come here? Tonight?” Joe asked, completely unable to mask her own fear in any capacity other than coupling it with rage. One thing was herself, she apparently had some sort of mystical faster than normal healing going on, but Aunt Mel did not.

“I don’t know.” At least he was not lying to reassure her, even if he kept his voice soft. “Before we can figure out what she actually wants, it’s impossible to determine any next move. There’s not a trace of her anywhere, she’s laying low for some reason and we think it’s got something to do with whatever Gerard is planning.”

“Or she just doesn’t want to expose herself to the public as she’d be the most wanted fugitive in the state.”

It must be nearing four hours, because she could feel the edge of the morphine fading away.

“If she wants to separate us, aren’t we playing straight into her hands by splitting up?” Joe asked and tried to pay attention to the micro-expressions fleeting over Derek’s face. “The Argent’s bestiary said something about always separating the mates when hunting them.” Joe inhaled slowly, trying to keep her voice neutral when she continued: “You know that’s why she told me all that stuff, right? To drive a wedge between us. If you haven’t noticed, it’s working and I’m sorry, Derek, but it’s only because you’re letting it.”

He bowed his head as he looked to the side. “I know.”

Patience running thin she only gave him a few seconds before she sighed. “That doesn’t help.”

He probably didn’t even know that Erica came to see her earlier. If he wasn’t even going to offer up something about how his pack had left, she was not going to bother trying for anything else. She’d just get her facts from literally everyone else.

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I first thought Kate might have been alive, but even I didn’t really believe it at the time and now I’m positive you wouldn’t have either.”

Derek made a half-shrug, half-nod motion as if to say ‘that’s fair’ with his gaze still fixed a few feet to her left.

“I’ll sit out tonight’s game, but that’s all I’m gonna promise you. If you or Scott or Stiles or anyone else I care about is in trouble, you cannot expect me to cower inside the house.”

“Joe,” he said as he finally looked at her again. He sounded tired and he probably was, “you got out of the hospital _today_.”

“And I don’t even have a scar, so what’s your point? Derek, again, I’m not a high schooler you need to look after. Think that was the first time I’ve been hurt? Think that was my first time in the ER? Trust me, getting shot is a cakewalk compared to getting my bones reset when I broke my leg at fourteen.”

She had a strange sense of deja vu from talking with Derek in the backyard. Like when he came to see her last time, when she called the cops on him, there was that conflicted look in his eyes. Like he was not fully sure what to think of her or the situation. Then he’d made some weird comment on how she wasn’t scared, but angry — Joe had no illusions this time. She was angry, yes, but also terrified.

At his incessant silence, she shifted her weight onto one hip and gave him a tired look. “You can’t always be there to protect me, Derek. I’ll admit I’m not a hundred percent sure what ‘mate’ means, but I’m pretty certain it’s not ‘bodyguard’.”

For some reason, that made his brows furrow. “Did Deaton talk to you?”

“I mean,” she blinked, wondering where _that_ had come from, “if you count throwing some vague questions at me as ‘talking to me’, sure. Why?”

“Nothing.” His eyes darted out to the side in thought. Right. Nothing. “Just some advice he gave me.”

Even from where Joe stood — safely distanced to not be swayed by his scent — she could see how his whole body language screamed ‘tense’. The way he moved also betrayed that he was under a lot of pressure — he never wasted any energy on unnecessary gestures, but somehow he seemed even more guarded than usual. She had a feeling Jimmy was not the only one on high alert now.

So out of everything she expected to happen, him holding out his hand to her had not been at the top of her list. She was stuck between raising her eyebrows or glaring at the hand, so she did both.

“Your leg,” Derek said simply, but there was definitely something soft and vulnerable in his eyes if she paid attention.

“My leg’s fine,” she said and Derek looked like he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was not a complete lie, it was just a mild twinge now. Didn’t matter. She nodded at his outreached hand, palm facing up like so many times before. “That’s too easy.”

“I know.”

Joe found herself anchoring down in the simmering anger to prevent herself from being drawn in by his bright glittering eyes. He wanted a staring-competition? Fine, she was not giving in.

To her surprise, again, Derek did. “I’m sorry for not believing you,” he said slowly, not breaking eye contact, “and I’m sorry for talking with Melissa behind your back. Just- just let me take your pain, Joe.”

“And Jimmy?”

“I am not sorry about Jimmy.”

Two out of three wasn’t that bad. Still glaring at him, she reached out her hand and let the tips of her fingers touch his. The pain pulled into him immediately while she let him know: “This isn’t over.”

His face was unreadable. “This?”

“This conversation. Me being mad at you. Kate being back. Pick your poison.”

“I know.”

“Good for you because I don’t know shit,” Joe snapped and pulled back her hand when her leg felt tingly instead of painful. He’d said that so many times tonight she worried he was suffering a stroke. As he just watched her without saying anything, she folded her arms and tilted her head to stare back at him. “What?”

“Nothing.” The answer came too fast. Eventually he straightened up with newfound exasperation. “Do you think you can convince Melissa to stay home as well?”

“Absolutely not.”

His eyebrows raised at her immediate response.

“I’m not letting my aunt get caught in the crossfire,” Joe said and shifted her weight again now that her shin was okay. “If Kate shows up tonight, I’m not going to try and have her arrested. I’ll shoot to kill.”

As Derek did not offer any reply, Joe figured this conversation was over and turned on her heel. Leaving him and his strange behavior behind her, she started moving towards the door. She paused when he said:

“You’re not a killer, Joe.”

“Neither are you, Derek.”

Without looking back, she went into the kitchen and by the time she closed the door, Derek had left.

Jimmy had found a newspaper that he studied with great interest and Joe was grateful he was at least going to pretend he hadn’t heard every single word of that conversation. Scowling at the now cold cup of coffee, she emptied it out in the sink and scoured the cabinets looking for tea, as the McCall-household was a caffeine-loving one.

Aunt Melissa’s voice came from around the corner. “ _Okay, so, it might be hard to get good seats tonight because it’s the finals_ \- uh, hello?”

Joe abandoned her search for tea and turned to see Aunt Mel giving Jimmy a wary, but polite smile. He returned it and continued leaning over the counter to read the newspaper, probably making internal judgment on the reported events.

“Uh, Aunt Mel, this is Jimmy Carter, a friend of mine,” Joe said absentmindedly and waved her hands between them. “Jimmy, this is my aunt.”

“Melissa McCall,” Aunt Mel said and shook Jimmy’s hand. She kept glancing at him, but addressed Joe. “Uh, are you- is Jimmy joining us for the game?”

The coffee machine beeped as Joe turned it back on. She rubbed the back of her head. “I, uh, kind of decided I wouldn’t go. Feeling kind of tired and just wanted to stay in, catch a movie and stuff.” _Wait for Kate to show up so I can shoot her and stuff._ Not something she was going to tell Aunt Mel at the moment.

Aunt Mel used her hand to indicate the large muscular man in the kitchen she had never met before. “With...Jimmy?”

“Yeah,” Joe said easily and leaned against the counter.

“What about...Derek?” Aunt Mel spoke slowly and carefully, trying to gauge either of their reaction to the name.

“What about Derek?”

“Is he gonna come over to...watch a movie?”

When Joe just furrowed her brows and said: “Huh?” Aunt Mel grabbed hold of her arm and steered her out of the kitchen while excusing herself to Jimmy over her shoulder. Aunt Mel brought her to the hallway, presumably out of earshot from Jimmy, even though that would probably be a few miles further out.

“Look, when I said I was glad you were going out again,” Aunt Mel started in a low voice and Joe realized what was going on. “And I said I-

“Oh, no, no, it’s not-”

Aunt Mel didn’t hear her, just kept talking: “-support casual sex as long as you stay safe, but too much of a good thing can be bad too, Joe.”

Joe’s face was hot. “Oh God.”

“And I guess I’m out of tune with how kids date these days, with polyamory and sexting and beneficial friends-”

“Aunt Mel, please stop.”

“-and you are of course free to do what you want, and who you want, and if that includes two very good-looking guys,” Aunt Mel glanced towards the kitchen, “that’s fine, but I just want you to think through if you’re doing this because you want to or just because of the thing with Alex.”

Joe grabbed Aunt Mel’s shoulders, anything to make her stop talking. “Aunt Mel. Jimmy is just a friend. A platonic, non-sexual friend. Alex and I are fine, also platonic and very non-sexual, and she and Maddy are also fine, non-platonic and hopefully sexual.”

A worried furrow still lingered between Aunt Mel’s brows, but she nodded at Joe’s words. “And Derek?”

“Derek is...” Joe pursed her lips, but ended up saying: “Complicated.”

She continued reassuring Aunt Mel nothing was amiss and practically led the woman to the front door so she wouldn’t be late for the game. Gerard was after Derek, not Scott, so Aunt Mel would be safer at the game than at the house. At least Joe hoped so.

Jimmy, bless his heart, pretended he had not heard her and Aunt Mel’s conversation either. He declined her offer of any hot beverage, as the only tea they had smelled of cardboard from sitting in the box for so long. Apparently he was not supposed to have caffeine. Joe took her pills as per doctor’s orders and was probably not supposed to have caffeine either, but didn’t care.

Instead of watching a movie, he told her what he knew about Gerard instead. This was not the first time Gerard had been in Beacon Hills.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Joe murmured, well into her second cup of coffee with so much creamer it probably counted as a whole meal. After Aunt Mel left, Joe had put her phone and shotgun on the counter to have both readily available. “Kate must’ve had help. Maybe she could sneak out from the hospital without being seen, or even pay of those cops watching her, but the tapes? No. He must know she’s alive, but why does he have such a hard-on for Derek? Like, revenge is a decent motive, but she’s not even dead.”

Jimmy agreed with her. “Normally I would have said it seemed like a convenient excuse, but he’s also controlling a creature created for vengeance. I’m not sure that would work unless his very soul was dedicated to exacting revenge.” The empty kitchen seemed to grow emptier with each passing minute. “Maybe we are taking this too literal. Perhaps his desire of vengeance is because even if Kate isn’t dead, their family name has been dragged through the mud. Their reputation is dead.”

“Then he would target you, not Derek,” Joe murmured, referring to the newspaper article following Kate’s fake death. “No, I’m not too sure about how strict the supernatural is, but according to Scott, when Matt started breaking the rules, he suffered consequences by turning into a kanima himself. That’s very on point regarding most legends by the way. So if the kanima found a master in Gerard, it’s because _Gerard_ lost something, something that’s impossible to get back, that he blames on Derek.” She sighed and thought about it. “Or maybe it’s not Derek he’s really after.”

That was just something Gerard was saying. He could very well be lying to them, as long as he was seeking vengeance, the kanima would not care until he started killing the ‘wrong’ people. So what had Gerard Argent lost? Victoria Argent came to mind, but Joe doubted the connection between father and daughter-in-law would be that strong. Name, status, wealth — all that was petty stuff. What would Gerard hold high enough in esteem that it would be considered reasons for blood revenge if he lost it? Himself, was the only answer she could think of, but that made even less sense.

“I’m so sorry about giving up your location,” Joe said thickly after they had stared into the counter for a while, each lost to their own thoughts. “To Kate. I’m so, so sorry. I should have respected you wanted to be left alone, I shouldn’t have tried so hard to find you. I’m sorry.”

Jimmy sighed and stretched out his now thick neck. “I think a lot of this would have been avoided if I had trusted you from the start. With my lapse of judgement regarding a certain shotgun,” he nodded towards the weapon on the counter, “we can call it even and,” he gave her a disappointed look, “I’m the reason she managed to take you anyway.”

“I distinctly remember making that decision myself,” Joe said, feeling a sense of deja vu.

“Did you?” Jimmy tilted his head. “I was the author of that text, Joe. She spent some time forcing it out of me, what to write,” he gave a short laugh, “and I know you. You would have suspected a trap no matter what I wrote, but if I made it vague enough, desperate enough — you just can’t resist a mystery, can you?”

The back of Joe’s neck felt hot and she cleared her throat, not knowing how to respond.

“I just hoped you wouldn’t be stupid enough to come alone, but you were,” Jimmy said, sounding equally sad and disappointed. “I have to agree with your mate, the hardest thing it seems is protecting you from yourself.” Now he leaned over the counter and his eyes flashed purple. “And if you ever rush out like that again, without thinking and without backup, I’ll hogtie you and deliver you to Derek myself.”

It was her own threat from the reunion dinner, paraphrased and probably not as empty. And as stupid and embarrassed as she was now, there was something inexplainable about how antsy she had felt that night. Like she literally could not sit still. At that point, she almost worried she would have left the house no matter what text she got. There was another thing Jimmy had said that worried her more though.

“How long?” Joe asked, not having the nerves to embroider the question. Jimmy’s eyes turned hard and away from her.

“A few days, I think. It’s hard to tell...” He blew air out of his mouth. “She wanted to know about you and Derek. Almost obsessed. At first I thought it was because she worried about the mate-bond, but I suppose in the end it was more psychological in nature. She asked me how it felt when you helped her instead of me that night. She saw me, you know, making my escape.”

The distinct sensation of Joe’s organs churning against each other made her shudder. She thought Jimmy was dead and Kate was alive. That’s what the first-aid class taught her. Help them who can be helped.

Jimmy surprised her by giving her a small smile. “I appreciate your concern, Delgado. But there is nothing Kate Argent could say or do to me that is any worse to what I have already done to myself.”

“How long have you been in therapy?” Joe found herself asking and cringed at the sound of it. No tact, no sympathy, only questions. Nosy Josie. She tried to explain: “You mentioned anger-management and unless court-ordered, and you don’t have any convictions, I checked, that’s usually not a viable option until after some counselling.”

“Since I was fifteen,” Jimmy mumbled and stared out the kitchen window. Joe saw his reflection and how his eyes glowed purple. “A proper psychiatrist, thank God, not her.”

Joe nodded, as that had been her expectations. “Grief counseling for Paige.”

“No.” Jimmy shook his head slowly, almost a wry smile on his lips. “Cognitive behavior therapy for suicide attempt.” He might as well have punched her in the stomach and Joe bent over the counter with wide eyes. “Although I did more than attempt, I suppose, given the color of my eyes. I succeeded.”

No air left in her lungs, Joe gasped softly. “Jimmy, I...”

“Prescription pills, my father’s. Overdose. I fell asleep in my bed and woke up in the hospital, getting my stomach pumped after they revived me with CPR.” Jimmy smiled again as he noticed Joe’s silent crying. “I am faring a lot better now, Joe. You see, Paige’s death was covered up as a suicide. And much like Derek, I blamed myself for it.”

He inhaled slowly, still speaking in a calm voice, detached from the subject. “It has taken years of counselling to realize neither of us are to blame, really. Derek was a gullible child, much like I was impressionable. Joe, I want you to understand, I did Peter’s bidding because I had to, not because I particularly agreed with his methods.”

It sounded like there was more to the story, but he never got that far when Joe’s phone rang. The number wasn’t saved and Joe steeled herself for Kate’s husky voice on the other side, but was instead faced with a lot of rustling sounds, almost like someone running and breathing hard.

“Hello?”

The voice came desperate, far away from the microphone. “ _Joe!”_

So much panic in one word, so much fear, that Joe could only press her phone closer to her ear, as if that would make any difference. “Erica? What’s going on? Where are you?”

No answer, just more running, a few sharp slithering noises and then a grunt.

“Erica? Erica!”

A crackling noise. The line went dead and Joe felt the loud beep grow inside her skull until it threatened to split open. She only noticed she dropped the phone when it clattered to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I have no idea how these chapters keep getting so long.
> 
> Also, this was supposed to be more lighthearted, but then it just wasn't. Joe was, understandably, pissed off after what happened in the last chapter. But hey, at least Jimmy's talking...
> 
> For anyone confused about the timeline, the events of today's chapter would have been the day after Gerard used the kanima to threaten Melissa McCall at the house, same day as the lacrosse championship game. 
> 
> Thank you for reading as always and I hope you enjoyed it :) Please let me know what you think in a comment, they mean the world to me <3 Thank you to you guys who comment on every single chapter! Have a nice weekend!


	47. The Returned

_“We’re sorry. You have reached a number that is disconnected or no longer in service.”_

_Beep beep beep_

_“We’re sorry. You have reached-”_

“Damn it!” Joe slammed her phone down after re-dialling Erica’s number for the fifteenth time now. She glared at Jimmy by her side. “Can you _please_ drive a little faster?”

In her car, Jimmy sat hunched in the front seat and followed every speed-limit despite Joe’s insistence they were in a crisis. He had snatched the car keys out of her hands when she made a mad dash for the door following Erica’s call. Joe had blown up, thinking he was going to try and stop her from leaving, daring him to follow up on his threat. She had yelled for several minutes, using the words ‘sixteen years old!’ a lot.

When she paused to catch her breath, he explained that because of the morphine, she was not fit for driving anywhere. So he would do it, but could she please go change to something more suitable for running around in the woods looking for a lost girl? At his insistence, she also remembered to arm herself with her full arsenal of weapons, including the handgun he had kept for her since the night of the full moon. Taser, shotgun and 9mm pistol. For some reason, she felt like the Wal-Mart version of Kate Argent.

He declined her offer of a gun, saying something along the lines of ‘being the weapon’, which was a cliche, but she would let it slide.

At least Jimmy must have realized arguing with her about going to find Erica would be futile, and instead tried to hold his word to Derek about keeping her safe by making sure she was ‘fit for fight’. Not that they were rushing blindly into the forest anyway, which had been her initial attempt of a plan. Jimmy drove them to the high school where the parking lot had emptied out after the lacrosse match. A few cars were still there though, including Aunt Mel’s old clunker and Stiles’ Jeep, so that meant Scott hadn’t left yet. Good, as they would need his nose.

“They’re probably in the locker roms,” Jimmy offered and led the way, but Joe stopped him from going across the field. They would be easy targets and she directed him so their silhouettes would blend in with the bleachers. Better paranoid than killed. They stopped dead when a few guys in lacrosse-gear exited the building, talking animatedly and gesturing wildly.

“Dude, turn on your senses and warn me next time,” Joe hissed when she got her breath back. She put the shotgun down as she had come too close to gunning down a pair of Scott’s teammates. So much for Derek’s ‘high alert’-theory.

Terse indignance in his voice as Jimmy waved her on. “I will have you know, I have not been doing this for that long.”

“I thought you had taken _steps_ ,” Joe hissed back. “Take more steps.”

Unfortunately for her adrenaline-riddled brain, Jimmy did not rise to the bait as easily as Derek. They entered the school building and unlike the last time she and Jimmy made their way to the locker room, the lights were still on, making it almost bearable. At least until Jimmy froze behind her and she turned slowly, heart hammering in her ears. The tense atmosphere made it less funny when he _sniffed_ the air and the disturbed look on his face removed any kind of humor from the situation at all.

His voice was barely a whisper: “No...No, that’s impossible.”

Joe put her shotgun up and scanned the hallway, looking for anything to indicate movement or threat. Nothing. She glanced back at Jimmy who had visibly paled. “What?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure. It shouldn’t be possible.” She saw the faint glimmer of purple in his eyes as he gave her a hard look. “Keep your gun up.”

“Dude, remember what I said about that mysticism?”

Joe did as told though and pressed the stock tight against her shoulder, just like her dad taught her. She fell into a commando-walk, also just like her dad taught her. Knees slightly bent, rolling heel to toe, trying to keep both her eyeline and barrel steady. It also made the least noise, but if there were werewolves waiting on the other end they would hear her heavy thudding heartbeat.

The closer they got to the locker rooms, the more she could detect Derek. She doubted Jimmy would be that scared of Derek based on their altercation earlier, which meant there was something else, which meant Derek might be in danger. Just the thought made her flex her trigger finger outside the trigger guard, itching to shoot.

Jimmy did not let his guard down when they got closer, still sniffing the air with an increasingly worried expression. They reached the doors to the locker room and spread out on either side. Eyes locked, Joe waited for Jimmy to nod that he was ready and she counted under her breath. 3, 2, 1-

_“Holy shit!”_

Scott swore from inside and Joe forgot all about counting. She tore around the corner with Jimmy closeby, shotgun up and ready to take down whatever threat awaited. Everyone froze as they rushed through the door. Joe and Jimmy stared at the scene and four pairs of eyes stared back.

Including the ones belonging to Peter Hale.

“Shoot him!”

Joe reacted even before the order came through and fired.

It would have hit its mark — _Peter Hale’s_ head — if Derek’s hand hadn’t swept out to angle the barrel up as she pulled the trigger. The loud blast echoed and all the werewolves flinched while plaster rained from the ceiling tiles as opposed to _Peter Hale’s_ brain matter.

_Peter Hale(!)_ had ducked with his hands over his head, but looked to be unharmed, though slightly shocked as he stared at Joe. She stared right back.

Derek, for some reason only in a t-shirt, gave her a pointed look, still holding the shotgun barrel. “So _him_ you listen to?”

He referred to Jimmy, but Joe could not tear away from _Peter Hale!_ to look at either of them.

“You never gave me an order I _wanted_ to follow,” Joe said breathlessly, staring at _Peter Hale_ and not comprehending. It was definitely him, definitely looking a lot better than last time she saw him and definitely alive. “What in the Stephen King’s Pet Sematary hell is that?” Seeing as no one else was falling over themselves to fight the guy, even Scott stood frozen over by an open locker, Joe put the shotgun down. “Just, _what?_ ”

“Hello, Joe,” said Peter Hale with a slight smile when it became apparent she was not shooting him again. He gave Jimmy a slightly more puzzled look. “And you. How,” Peter did not look too pleased at the sight, “strange a coincidence to see you here when I am quite confident I killed you. You look,” he tilted his head, “different.”

Instead of answering, Jimmy looked to be holding himself back by the very edge of his calming meditation tapes. He let out a low rumbling growl.

“Oh, I see,” said Peter with palpable enjoyment. “Interesting.”

“So you’re trying to convince me you didn’t know?” Derek asked Peter, who in turn gave a shrug. Derek looked at Jimmy instead. “Either of you?”

Jimmy, near snarling, shook his head. His gaze was locked at Peter, more anger and fear than Joe had ever seen before. An act, maybe? She could not help her mind that raised the question. A good act in that case. Could anyone fake that amount of tension in their body?

“I’m more concerned with the fact that _you_ know and is currently doing absolutely nothing about it,” Joe demanded of Derek, stepping in front of Jimmy to shield him somewhat. She gestured with a strained arm to the previously dead werewolf mass-murderer. “I mean, _how_?”

“Worm moon.” Jimmy’s voice sounded guttural. He seemed to visibly fight to get himself back in control. “First full moon in March.” Another deep breath as something dawned on him and he looked disgusted, but it was hard to tell if it was because of Peter or himself. “The girl.”

“Girl? What girl? Do you mean Lydia?” Something dawned on Joe as well. “Wait, the full moon was more than a week ago.” Joe sent Derek a suspicious glare. “Did you know about this?”

“He had to,” Jimmy said before Derek could answer and ignored the exasperated look Derek gave him. “Needed his blood to go through with it.”

Feeling like she was in the midst of a tennis match, Joe turned back to Derek.

“So you’ve known for a week and a half?” His blank stare told her everything she needed to know. Joe strangled imaginary-Derek in the air in front of her with her free hand, seeing and not caring about his annoyed frown. “Oh my God, Derek!” She gestured harshly between them and sounded out the word with her hand: _“Com-mu-ni-ca-tion, goddamnit!”_

No response other than that annoyed look that she was even there. So this was what Doctor Deaton had talked about! Whooeee, that was so much worse than she could have imagined.

Joe threw her head back and let out a frustrated scoff. “So, we’re zero for three then. No one died that night! I’ve been going through all this post-traumatic stress for nothing!”

Peter leaned in, as if hard of hearing. “Excuse me?”

“Oh!” Joe turned to Peter with malicious glee. “Ho, ho, ho, you don’t know, do you?”

Joe practically danced, waving the shotgun so much that Derek snatched it out of her grip so she would not accidentally give someone an impromptu haircut. She let him take it and used the chance to skip closer to Peter Hale, who looked just as alive as when he came to pick up her aunt for a date, only now he had a beard and slicked back hair.

“Kate Argent’s back. Yeah. I know.” She took some pleasure in watching his content smirk fade. Gesturing to both him and Derek, she said: “So it turns out both of you need to work on your throat-slashing techniques.”

Peter did not look as shocked as he looked sick to his stomach.

“And how long have you known that, Derek?” Joe asked loudly over her shoulder. “Since the night of the full moon? What a coincidence!”

Derek gave her an unimpressed and disproving frown. “Are you done?”

“No! No, I’m not done! When your dead uncle who tried to kill us and was lit on fire and then got his throat cut open by _your_ claws is suddenly standing in the high school locker room like nothing happened _I am not done!”_ With harsh movements, she shook out her curls, trying to let off some steam. She wanted to yell more, wanted to scream, wanted to fight, but found nothing more to say. “Okay! Now I’m sort of done.”

“Great,” said Derek with a sardonic smile and his eyes flashed red. “Because I wanted to ask Scott what he and Gerard was talking about at the Sheriff’s station.”

They all turned to look at Scott and Isaac who had remained frozen by an open locker. Scott clutched a shirt, while Isaac held onto a shoe. Joe’s eyebrows rose, at both the sight and the thought of Scott conspiring with _Gerard Argent_.

“Okay, hold on,” Scott said and swallowed hard. “He- he threatened to kill my mom — and Joe. I had to get close to him.” He nearly stuttered. “What was I supposed to do?”

“I'm gonna go with Scott on this one.” Peter gave a wistful smile, apparently recovering from his alleged shock at the news about Kate and asked Isaac: “Have you seen his mom? She's gorgeous.”

Joe didn’t even think. Hearing that Gerard had threatened Aunt Mel had already made her adrenaline soar up. In one fluid motion, she pulled out the 9mm from her waistband, flipped off the safety and pulled the slider back to chamber a round — and shot once, hitting the floor between Peter’s feet. With her limited experience with handguns, it was a lucky shot he didn’t lose a toe.

The whole room jumped at the bang, but Peter most of all. He glanced both down at the broken tile and up at her manic face.

“You come near her again,” Joe had an hysteric lilt to her voice, “you as much as think about her, the next bullet _will_ go through your head! I’d like to see you heal your way out of that one, asshole.” She shrugged excessively as Peter gave her a disturbed look, like she was not acting according to his expectations. “Look, I’m gonna shoot someone tonight and it might as well be you, Hale!”

“Jesus Christ!” It was Scott who found his voice first after the incessant ringing of the shot died away. He removed his hands over his ears with some care. “Where do you keep getting all these guns?”

“I have a sort of subscription going,” Joe said and strolled closer to the pair of teens. “Every time Kate tries to kill me, I get one of her weapons.” She grinned. “Just need one more stamp before I got the whole collection!”

She heard Derek’s voice behind her muttering: _“How much morphine is she on?”_

_“A lot,”_ Jimmy answered weakly.

“Not enough!” barked Joe and put her hand with the gun down, but not away. “We’re losing daylight here.” She ignored Scott’s comment about it being nighttime and pointed at Isaac with her finger. “You! Where’s Erica?”

“Uh...” Isaac was not prepared to have the spotlight shifted onto him or being pointed at by strange women holding guns, even if it was turned away from him. “She and Boyd took off.”

“Yes, I know that,” Joe tried to keep her voice a bit more level and failed completely. “But do you know where? What direction?”

“What’s going on?” Derek asked from behind her, sounding more confused than concerned.

“I don’t know! Okay? I got a phone call and all I hear is running and Erica saying my name once and these sort of _shwish shwish_ -noises-”

Scott’s forehead smoothed out as realization hit him. “Like arrows.”

“Exactly, which brings me to my next question!” She gave Scott a big grin. “Where’s your girlfriend, _Scott?”_

“She-” He stopped himself and stepped away from the locker to glare at her. “Hang on a second. You are not shooting Allison!”

“I’m _probably_ not shooting Allison,” Joe corrected and he gave her a displeased frown equal of Derek Hale himself. “I’ll just shoot Allison a little bit?” At his twitching uneven jaw, she relented. “Okay, fine, as long as she doesn’t shoot me, I won’t shoot her, how’s that sound?”

“ _I thought morphine was supposed to be calming_ ,” Peter whispered conspiratorially somewhere behind her.

Derek sounded tired. “ _All evidence points to the contrary._ ” He sighed and stepped up to Joe, gently lowering her hand that still held the pistol, reminding her to keep the sights pointed downwards. Even though he looked angry, he still managed to keep his voice somewhat even. “If the Argents have Erica and Boyd, that means they’re after me. It’s a trap. They’ll expect me to come for them.”

“Won’t they just torture them to make them give you up?” Scott asked.

“Oh, no, they’ll torture them,” said Peter, sounding too happy about the fact. “Even if they know Erica and Boyd would never give up Derek.”

“Why not?” Joe asked now, furrowed brows. Derek looked to the ground, nearly ashamed.

“Bond’s too strong,” it was Jimmy who answered first. “Between an Alpha and their Beta.”

“Didn’t they leave?” Joe asked, genuinly confused. She turned to Derek. “Are you still their Alpha?”

“Bonds aren’t easily broken,” Derek said darkly, not looking at her. “Even if they found a new pack, it would take time and effort before they committed themselves to a new Alpha. The Argents know this. It’s a trap.”

“For you,” Joe said and pointed to herself. “They won’t expect me. With a shotgun.” He gave her a tired look and she shrugged. “And a 9mm.” She took a second to consider before adding: “And a...Jimmy.”

“Wait!” Scott nearly shouted, making her jump. “That’s Jimmy _Carter_?” He waved at the stoic figure still lingering in the doorway, as far away from Peter as he could get. “I thought you looked familiar. Why do you- when did you start looking like that?”

Isaac tried to discreetly ask Scott: “Uh, who is he?”

“Joe’s friend who helped her free Derek a while back, was working for Peter the whole time and tried to shoot her, but was bit by Peter first. Been missing since.”

“I did not bite Jimmy, I ripped his throat out,” Peter supplied helpfully. He sounded thoughtful. “With my teeth, so I suppose that counts as a bite.”

Isaac nodded slowly, as if this was way beyond his paygrade. “Okay. Good to know.” He looked at Jimmy. “How are you alive?”

“I planned ahead,” Jimmy snarled, but looked straight at Peter. Joe found herself stepping between them again, as if keeping Jimmy focused on her would avoid a werewolf-altercation in the boys’ locker room. Jimmy just nodded at Joe, as if he understood what she was doing.

“So if the Argents took Erica and Boyd, they might be the ones who took Stiles as well.” Scott’s hands tightened around the shirt he was holding and Joe realized it was Stiles’ jersey. “To get to me.”

Joe waited for someone to elaborate and when no one did, she barked: “Excuse me, what? Stiles is missing? How did you lose Stiles?”

“I didn’t lose him, he got kidnapped,” Scott defended weakly, brows pulled down softly.

“Oh God, so we are not one, not two, but three teenagers in deficit,” Joe said and pinched the bridge of her nose, resting her elbows on her waist, gun still in hand. “Okay, I got an idea, just hear me out here.” She moved to stand slightly to the side, increasing the distance to Derek for safety reasons. When she had everyone’s attention, she pitched: “GPS-collars! We can get a multi-pack at Wal-Mart and-”

Scott groaned. “Really, Joe? Dog jokes?”

“You’re the one standing with Stiles’ shirt in your hands, my little K-9 cousin,” Joe pointed out and shrugged at their disappointed looks. “Considering everything, yes, I think I’m entitled to a few dog jokes!” She blew air out of her mouth in a harsh noise. “Unfortunately that was the end of my repertoire for now unless I can figure out the one about a backyard. So, why are we still standing here looking pretty when we know Kate and Gerard probably have them strapped up to some electrical torture device?”

“In order to stop Gerard, we need to take out the kanima. The reason I’m standing here doing nothing,” Derek gave Joe a quick sarcastic smile and gestured to Peter, “about him is because he knows a way to stop Jackson, maybe even save him.”

Isaac raised his eyebrows. “Well, that's very helpful except Jackson's dead.”

“What?” said Joe and Derek at the same time, both staring down Isaac who tried to take a step back into the locker.

“Yeah, Jackson's dead,” Scott confirmed in a numb voice. “It just happened on the field.”

“Oh my God!” Joe did not even know where to begin. To Scott she could only shake her head and ask: “Why did you not lead with that?”

“Because you literally started shooting when you came in!”

“Well, hello!” Joe snapped and gestured at Peter Hale. “I thought he was a zombie! Go for the head!” She noticed that Derek and Peter were giving each other dark looks, ignoring their squabbling and Jimmy on the side were glaring at both of them. “Okay, what’s going on now?”

“Yeah, why is no one taking this as good news?” Isaac asked with a light twist to his brows.

Peter spoke slowly, looking mostly at Derek, probably communicating beyond words. If they both had been werewolves their entire lives, she wondered how much of their conversation happened unnoticable to her. “Because if Jackson is dead, it didn’t just happen. Gerard wanted it to happen.”

“But why?” Derek asked.

“Well, that’s exactly what we need to figure out. And something tells me the window of opportunity is closing. Quickly.”

“Okay, but if the kanima is out of the picture, what’s stopping us from breaking Erica and the guys out?” Joe asked, leaning on one hip.

Derek raised his eyebrows and let out a weary sigh, as if she was really making him question this whole mate-thing. “Apart from the hunters you mean?”

“Okay I count like four of you guys and one of me,” Joe said, gesturing to the room at large. “How are they supposed to take all of us?”

“We are not storming down the gates of the Argents, and even if we were, you would not be joining!” Derek snapped, clearly reaching the end of what little patience he usually had. “We don’t even know where they’re keeping them!”

“So we’re just gonna let them torture our friends in the meantime while we ‘figure stuff out’?” Joe could not believe this guy. Or any of these guys! “They have Erica and Boyd and Stiles,” she counted them out on her fingers, “who are all the ripe age of sixteen-years-old, literal children, locked up somewhere, okay?”

“I know that!”

“So why are you not doing anything?” Joe yelled and stuck the pistol back into the waistband of her jeans so she would not fall for the temptation to just shoot him a little. She realized the morphine or stress or combination was messing with her mind, she was not acting rational, but so be it! The situation did not call for much rationality.

Derek’s eyes flashed red and she saw his canines when he snarled. “They left the pack!”

“And you let them leave knowing what was out there!” Joe bit back undeterred. “That _Kate_ was out there!”

He let out a sarcastic laugh, so far from humor it ended up on the other side. “And you’re the one who saved Kate’s life in the first place!”

Aware of Peter’s newfound interest, Joe just shook her head, not taking the bait even if his words stung. “So she could get arrested and tried by a jury of her peers instead of being turned into some kind of _martyr at the hands of a psychopath!_ ”

She saw Peter roll his eyes a bit at the name-calling and Derek scoff at the sentence at large which only added more gasoline to her fire.

“If we’re gonna go there, who was the one who bit Jackson and turned him into some giant snake monster _in the first place_? Yeah, if we tally up mistakes here, Derek, I think we both know which side the scale is gonna tip!”

“The only reason I bit Jackson was because _your_ cousin couldn’t stay off the damn lacrosse field until he got himself under control!”

“He wouldn’t have needed to stay in control if _your_ psycho uncle hadn’t attacked him in the woods! And what about Erica and Boyd? Is that Scott’s fault too? Or are they being held somewhere and tortured because of _you_ and no one else?”

Half-tempted to just shoot him as he took a step forward with livid rage in his eyes, she never got the chance as Jimmy came to her side, purple eyes glowing and his teeth lengthening.

“No!” Joe put a finger into both Jimmy’s and Derek’s chests, keeping them at arm’s width. “Stop it, both of you, we are _not_ doing this again!”

It seemed to have some effect, at least they stopped coming towards each other, even if their eyes were still locked and nothing about their body-language translated into relaxation. Jimmy swallowed harshly and his eyes dimmed.

“Oh no, _that_ is just more than I had expected, Mr. Carter,” Peter said with a slow clap behind Derek. All turned to look at him, his expression locked between fascination and resentment. Apparently the purple eyes meant something to him, but it could not have been what Jimmy told her back at the house. Not unless Peter _was_ a total sociopath. “Well done. As worrisome as it is, I am impressed. Normally I would bequest Derek to include you in his pack, but I can tell even if you are in no need for an Alpha, you seem to have found one anyway.”

Jimmy retreated, face fully back to normal, but with a hard glint in his eyes. “Bite me.”

As she looked at Derek in confusion, he looked at her in return. Jimmy was not acting particularly bonded to Derek, as he implored betas to be. It was not until she realized everyone was looking at her before she let out a laugh. They could not be serious. Physically impossible. Besides, she had enough bonds going around to random guys to last her for a while.

“You know what he is?” Derek, at least somewhat back in control, demanded to know of Peter. He in turn shrugged and returned to his default state of smug-looking.

A cover, Joe thought, keeping himself useful when it was just revealed his proposed solution for Jackson was in vain, as the guy was dead. Joe glanced over at Scott, who did not seem particularly phased by that fact, but he must be so focused on Stiles’ disappearance.

At Peter’s lack of response, she saw Derek’s jaw flex, but he was restraining himself. She had gotten used enough to read him and he was definitely holding back what he was feeling and focusing on what was important. He scoffed at Peter. “Of course, since it’s weird, you’d be the expert.”

Derek turned to her, taking in a long breath as if her scent should be calming. “Rushing to the Argents is exactly what they want. We need to regroup and figure out a next move.”

“How about I shoot Kate Argent, how’s that for a next move?”

Her statement was met with utter silence until Derek crossed his arms and said: “You’re speaking Spanish again.”

“ _Vaya cosa_ ,” Joe said with an exaggerated shrug. Big deal. “Again, California, learn Spanish.”

“ _Ya lo hice, ese no es el punto._ ” I already did, that’s not the point. Derek’s accent actually sounded slightly Mexican, so he probably learned it on the streets and not in a classroom. He then decided to ignore her in favor of Peter. “What did you have in mind?”

Apparently, there was some kind of bestiary-thing in the Hale’s possession as well. It would still be at the house, by his estimate. Guess that gave them a temporary next move.

They sidled out from the locker rooms, all eyeing each other warily, not an ounce of trust between any of them apparently. Except Scott and Joe, of course, and probably Joe and Jimmy. She and Scott walked in the front while he filled her in on what she’d missed, on how Gerard had threatened to kill someone during the game if he didn’t hand over Derek and then tried to kill Isaac in the locker room with a broadsword.

Isaac seemed to follow on Scott’s heel and gave her weird glances until she eventually raised her eyebrows at him in question.

“So, uh, you’re not gonna start taking your clothes of again, are you?” Isaac asked, sounding equally intrigued and terrified at the prospect. Joe took her time to consider this.

“I mean, probably not. But the night’s still young, so who knows?” Joe walked a bit ahead, eager to get to the car and actually do something. The guys took their clothes off all the time, what about equality of the sexes? “Tell you what, if everyone else keeps their shirt on, I’ll keep mine on as well.”

Isaac faltered a bit, his brows twisting together again, somehow looking up at her even though he towered over her. “That’s...that’s not exactly a threat.” He flinched when Derek came from behind and grabbed his shoulder.

“Depends on your point of view, Isaac,” Derek said and smiled, or at least, showed his teeth.

Joe’s falsetto-tone echoed in the hallway: “ _Oh no, Joe, I’m not jealous.”_

Without turning around, she could hear Derek’s extended inhale. She could also hear Peter’s delighted tone as he seemed to pat Derek on the back: “ _Good luck with that one. I think you will need it.”_

_That one?_

Third time’s the charm, Joe thought, and span around with her weapon already drawn. Two thin probes shot out and hit Peter straight in his chest as 50,000 agonizing Volts took him down. He spasmed, hands coming into his chest like a cripple, and crashed to the floor.

Without too much hurry, Derek sighed, reached down and snapped the probes out of his previously dead mass-murdering uncle’s chest. No current keeping him rigid, Peter slumped forward, face down on the floor. Derek looked at her, like he was seriously questioning why he was bothering with this, and yanked once on the wires so the taser dropped from her hand and clattered on the floor.

“What? I told you. Don’t talk about me like I’m not here! Now let’s go, people to save and ass to be kicked! If you don’t get a move on, I’m leaving without you.”

_“What the hell happened to ‘keep her indoors’?”_

_“You are perfectly welcome to try and send her home, Hale.”_

_“Sh-should she be driving?”_

_“She isn’t, I still have the car keys. Thank God.”_

Derek, Jimmy and Isaac froze when Joe turned around, showing them she still had her handgun and was fully prepared to use it. Scott just kept walking, putting his arm out to turn her back around in the direction of the exit.

“This is the ice-rink all over again,” he mumbled and she stuck out her tongue at him.

In the parking lot, she tried to snag the car keys back from Jimmy, but he was infuriatingly calm in explaining exactly why she should not be driving. Derek fully ignored her except for wordlessly handing the shotgun back to Jimmy, which did not make her frustration go down in any way. In the end, she got in the passenger seat of her Ford while Jimmy at least put more pressure on the pedals when trying to keep up with Derek’s Camaro. Scott and Isaac followed in Aunt Mel’s car, as she had hitched a ride with the ambulance that picked up Jackson.

“Your cousin is planning something,” Jimmy said as they drove through the darkened roads into the Preserve, heading for the burnt-out Hale house.

Joe snorted. “Have you met Scott? I love him like he’s my own flesh and blood, which he is, but he is not exactly stealthy.”

“His heartbeat betrayed him several times. If he’s not actively plotting, he at least knows more than he would let on.” Jimmy’s bearded jaw moved, as if he was chewing the insides of his mouth.

“Takes one to know one, eh, Jimmy?” Joe said with a theatrical wink. She leaned back in the seat and put her arm on the door so she could look over at him. “So, as your Alpha-”

He let out a humorless grunt. “Please refrain from taking Peter Hale’s words too much into consideration. He is a master manipulator and by the looks of it, he already has his claws in Derek. No pun intended.”

At the mention of that, Joe fell silent. Every night for the last week and a half, Derek came to see her at the hospital. Their conversations were not always as eventful as the night she confronted him about clamming up, but they had at least talked somewhat. He had deliberately decided not to tell her about Peter, like Peter had not killed her friend — although he was now sitting next to her fully alive — and held her up in a chokehold until she was sure she had taken her final breath.

When she had seen Kate Argent up at the cavern, her first instinct had been to tell Derek somehow, in any way possible, wanting to scream out just in the odd chance he would hear it. And how he acted tonight...Tired. Annoyed. Angry. All emotions she was used to from him, but not directed so much at her.

Things had not been the same since the night of the full moon.

Doctor Deaton’s words about the pills, when she first requested them, came back to haunt her now. They were not intended for regular consumption. It dampened the bond, Derek said. One pill would last her one night. And she still felt as detached from him now as she had that night. Maybe Doctor Deaton got the dosages wrong or maybe the fact that it wasn’t an exact science kicked in. What if the bond had not been temporarily dampened, but completely broken?

“You okay?” she asked Jimmy after a while, glancing over at him who had stayed uncharacteristically quiet. With the bomb he dropped just before Erica had called, she got the feeling it was somehow related to Peter and he had seemed genuinly shocked at seeing him alive. “With Peter and...everything?”

“Just thinking,” Jimmy replied, but not harshly. “The one time I thought I outsmarted Peter Hale...and he had a Plan B too.” Clearing his throat, as if those words were not really meant for her, he straightened up in his seat. “I did not share my history with you to make you feel guilty, Delgado, it was only because you asked.”

“I’m not asking if you’re okay because I feel guilty, _Jimmy_ ,” Joe replied instantly, “it’s because I care about you. You don’t have to do this, you know? No one’s gonna blame you for sitting this one out. This isn’t your fight.”

“And it’s yours?”

Her face scrunched up in a grimace. “By proxy? Okay, the kanima’s probably not my problem either, but Erica definitely is.”

“Why? Who is she? The only thing I have gathered is her age and you don’t seem like the kind to prey on high schoolers.”

Joe rolled her eyes at Jimmy for the tactless attempt of a joke. Filled with some inexplainable rush of energy, Joe pulled her feet up in her seat and thumped them against the dashboard. She glared out of the window into the impenetrable darkness of the Preserve, wondering if Erica was out there somewhere. “One of Derek’s betas.”

“And?”

“And my friend,” Joe admitted slowly.

“Which is exactly why I’m not going to ‘sit this one out’,” Jimmy said matter-of-factly as they approached the Hale house. Behind them, Aunt Mel’s clunker was following the same path. Jimmy glanced over at her. “I consider _you_ my friend, Delgado, and if you don’t wipe that ridiculous grin off your face I’ll stop the car this second.”

Before she could even think of a reply, too busy smiling, Jimmy continued:

“Besides, I am a hundred percent positive you’re going to get yourself killed without me tonight and I just can’t have that on my conscience right now.”

They pulled up to the Hale house and Jimmy was already out of the car before she thought to ask: “Hey. What do you mean ‘right now’? Jimmy? Hey! What do you mean 'right now'?”

No answer. With a heavy sigh, Joe unbuckled and followed him. This was gonna be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, obviously Joe is not completely in her right mind in this chapter. Also, hope I managed to keep the scene non-confusing. It's always hard when there's so many people at once. 
> 
> But we are officially in the season 2-finale, guys! Which obviously won't fit in a single chapter...
> 
> Hope everyone is done (or nearly) done with their Christmas-preparations! We still have to decorate the house we're staying in over Christmas and it's an old house, so the decorations are also really old and some of it's downright terrifying. These tiny angel-figurines that look so cute until you see that the faces have faded away and stuff. Also trying to stop my dog from eating the Christmas presents.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading and please let me know what you think of this chapter! I live for feedback and it keeps me going in this weird pandemic <3


	48. The Father III

“So, uh, you used to like girls, right?”

Everything about Isaac’s stature indicated he was trying to make himself smaller. Not like Derek that first time she met him, where he tried to shrink so she would not be intimidated. Isaac tried to take up as little space as possible, as to avoid being noticed at all. Head ducked down, shoulders slumped, hands hugging himself.

They were on the porch of the Hale house, where Joe sat (impatiently) waiting for the pair of Hales to read through a large collection of records kept by their family. When Scott got a text about how Stiles was back, Joe could breathe a little easier. She hoped it meant that Erica and Boyd were safe too, but Joe’s phone remained silent and Erica’s phone remained disconnected.

Joe raised her eyebrows at Isaac, wondering where this was coming from. He’d sort of hung around when she got out of the house, too hot to be indoors, in the extent that the burnt ruins of a house qualified as indoors, and the cold night air was just barely helping. She had thought it was by order of Derek, to make sure she didn’t steal a car and try to barge into the Argents’ house by herself, but it looked like he was there by his own volition.

“I saw you at the rave,” Isaac explained slowly, gaze flickering between her and the door. “With the girl...” When Joe did not say anything, he cleared his throat a bit awkwardly. “She was your ex-girlfriend, right? So you used to like girls?”

“I still like girls,” Joe found herself saying.

That made Isaac bob his head in confusion. He almost turned his whole body to the door, indicating the direction of the others. “What about Derek?” Isaac must have realized why she hesistated to answer. “They, uh, probably won’t hear us. It’s hard to keep track of several conversations at a time. You’re constantly filtering out what you want to focus on.”

“Oh,” said Joe. That was actually kind of nice to know. In regards to his question, she decided to just shrug. “I like guys too.”

Isaac, standing on the steps, did not seem able to hold still. His brows pulled together, confused and above all, innocent. “How does that work?”

Oh boy. Joe made a humming sound as she exhaled. “How it works? Isaac, do I need to ask Derek to have The Talk with you?” His eyes widened and she felt bad for suggesting it when he shook his head vehemently. She had tried to make him embarrassed, not mortified. “Relax, just a joke.”

“Right,” he said and kept standing there on the steps where she sat. He swallowed and look out into the dark forest, obviously still antsy to ask her something. Joe sighed a bit, she was not cut out for this kind of conversation.

“Isaac, do you...” she trailed off, letting him fill in the blanks and he shook his head.

“No, I like girls,” he insisted and nodded, almost to himself. His fingertips tapped on his folded arms, not crossed in anger, but for self-protection. Joe shrugged, as if to say ‘cool’ and let it be at that. She did not have to wait long before Isaac swallowed and looked down at his feet. “But, uh...if I see an attractive guy, I kind of, uh, notice that he’s attractive.”

He let the night swallow up his voice and kept quiet. Aw man, how did she end up here when she had set out to rescue Erica from the claws of the Argents? How had she ended up here when all she had tried was to finish her stupid PhD so she could get a real job at the university and move out of Aunt Mel’s house?

“Okay,” Joe said slowly, trying to think of anything worthwhile to say. This was _not_ her forte. “Is that...confusing to you?”

Isaac shrugged, unable to look at her, obviously having half an ear on whatever was going on indoors. She doubted he wanted all of them to hear this. If he had been bold enough to bring it up to her, now of all times, it was probably something that weighed on his mind.

“Just...” Joe grimaced — she really wasn’t good at this!

“Look, everything is confusing in high school when it comes to stuff like this, okay? Just know that no matter what you’re feeling or thinking, it’s probably completely normal. It’s...” She struggled to find a phrase she liked. “I’m not a big fan of labels, but I guess I would call myself bisexual, if I had to. Or pan, but I never really got the difference. It means that I’m attracted to people regardless of their gender or even lack of a gender.” She grimaced again at her own explanation.

“I just like people,” Joe said in the end, knowing she was not making much sense. “And you might find that you do too, and that’s fine.” She rubbed her forehead, unable to not consider the strange situation. “Or you find that you like one gender more than the other, and that’s fine too. In the end I guess it’s more about the person you like rather than anything else? Listen, I’m _really_ not the best at this, but if you want to talk about it at some point, y’know, later when we’re not trying to save the day or whatever — I guess I can be there for you?”

Ending it on a high note, a question, as much to herself as to him. Isaac glanced up at her from beneath a curly fringe, again standing several feet over her, and he gave her an uncertain nod. Camden Lahey, she remembered, would have been around her age. And now all Isaac had was Derek, who was probably the only one worse at these kinds of things than her.

Joe nodded in return. “Don’t worry about labeling it or anything else. Just do what makes you happy and don’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable, whether it’s with girls, or boys or yourself.”

“Like how you’re uncomfortable right now?” He risked a half-grin and Joe laughed.

“Yes, are you kidding me?” She stiffled more laughter, knowing it could attract attention, and stretched out her legs. “Not the conversation I thought I was having tonight.”

“Sorry,” Isaac apologized almost too quickly. “You’re just the first person I’ve-”

“It’s okay, it really is,” Joe insisted to calm him a bit. “I just worry about saying something wrong. Your brains aren’t fully developed yet! I don’t wanna get a bill for all the therapy you’ll need if I start giving you life lectures that I barely figured out myself.”

He had looked insulted at the brain-comment, but now he looked up instead at the front door.

Isaac gestured at her to get up and follow him inside, where Scott was on the phone with Aunt Mel, judging by his side of the converation.

“Hey, Mom, I can't talk right now,” he said, pacing near the stairs where Derek, Peter and Jimmy were hunched over a Macbook. Totally ruining some of that old-school mysticism.

Joe gave Scott a quizzical look, but he was too focused on whatever Aunt Mel said. When he asked what was wrong, Joe demanded the phone, but he shook his head ‘no’. Seconds later, he hung up and announced to the room at large: “Mom says there’s something going on with Jackson’s body. I should go.”

She opened her mouth to announce she would go with him, but bit the words back. Jackson’s body seemed trivial compared to finding Erica and Boyd. “Did you call Stiles?”

“Yeah, like seventeen times,” Scott muttered and threw the hand with his phone in around. “Not picking up.”

“Then we can’t assume that Erica and Boyd are okay yet,” Joe said and messed up her curls, again, trying to think! She became aware of Derek’s eyes on her and turned around to face him. “How’s that ‘figuring out’ going?”

“There is a lot of material to go through,” Peter answered, as he was the one on the laptop. “Scott should go see the body. Might be yet another clue.”

“We don’t need clues, we need to find where they were keeping Erica and Boyd.” Joe could not stand still, constantly shifting or making sure her gun was in place. She had the shotgun on her back with the strap running diagonally over her torso. “Scott, can you try him again, please?”

He did, but it produced nothing. Isaac volunteered to go with him to the hospital to see Jackson’s body, but they promised they would update them immediately if there were any news.

“Scott,” Joe said when he was halfway out the door. She knew her eyes looked the same as his big brown ones, alert and ready. “Be careful, okay?”

He would, telling her the same.

Joe paced while the others worked on the Hale-version of the bestiary. Erica and Boyd had thought they found another pack in the Preserve. Presuming that is where they ran into the Argents, where would the Argents take them afterwards? She bit her lip in thought and hardly noticed Derek watching her with some confusion.

“Anyone got a map?”

Not everything was destroyed in the fire, apparently, as Derek produced a large town map that was dated, but still useful. He crossed his arms after spreading it on the part of the floor with the least amount of damage. Joe used her shotgun to hold the map down and then rocks to mark out spots.

“I checked the real-estate linked to the Argents, either directly or through their dummy-corps when I first suspected they’d faked Kate’s death,” Joe said and gestured to the map where each rock represented something in the Argents’ portfolio. If only she had focused on that instead of the kanima. “If we assume they were caught in the Preserve,” she indicated the large wooden area, “they would probably not bother dragging them through town to get to any of these locations.”

Just the feeling of doing something made her relax slightly.

“And their weapon of choice seems to be electricity,” she continued and marked out even more spots, “so they would need somewhere connected to the grid.”

“The right current keeps us from shifting,” Derek explained above her. “That’s why they use it. Higher amps, and we stop healing, even more, and we lose our strength.”

“That sounds like a fun experiment to figure out.” Joe shuddered at the thought, memory going back to the dungeon just beneath their feet, where Kate had Derek hooked up to the device. It explained why he had not been able to tear off the shackles right away, not until he had been disconnected and recovered long enough. “Okay, so — right side of town, secluded and connected to the grid.”

“Still five locations,” Jimmy pointed out, like Joe couldn’t count herself. “Too far apart to check out all of them, and either could be guarded and alert the next of our arrival.” Jimmy made a small contemplative sound. “The amount of electricity needed could affect the grid provision. We could check the utility log, if they had any complaints.”

Joe looked up at him, newfound hope in her voice. “If you can hack their service, my laptop’s in the car.”

“Give me fifteen minutes,” Jimmy said and disappeared out the door.

That left her and Derek alone, if you didn’t include the muttering Peter Hale who still tried to skim through all the texts looking for ‘clues’ about the kanima. He seemed helpful, like he wanted to help them, and she still could not bring herself to believe an inch of it. So focused on glaring at him, she missed that Derek had stepped closer when she got up from the floor and almost jumped when he brushed away a few sweaty locks of her hair.

“You’re burning up,” he murmured and she knew he was right. The black sweater Jimmy had her put on before they left the house clung to her skin like plastic wrap and she wished she had taken the time to tie her hair up as well. “You okay?”

“I don’t know if it’s the meds or going off them that’s the problem,” Joe muttered as she checked the time. As Scott had been so adamant that she should take her meds, she had brought the pill bottle along. “Only twenty minutes overdue.”

“Could be your healing that’s speeding through withdrawal.” This time she didn’t flinch when he put his palm against the side of her neck. Apart from how she usually tingled when touching him, nothing happened. “You’re not in any pain.”

There was something by his tone that indicated he wanted to say more, but didn’t.

Joe had taken the bottle out of her back pocket, but her stomach churned just by looking at it. Besides she was well aware of how she had acted so far tonight and maybe a clear head would make things a bit easier? Stuffing it back, she mumbled mostly to herself: “Done with pills now anyway.”

Again Derek gave off the impression that he wanted to say something — it was hard to tell if it was something in his eyes or just a general sense of words unspoken.

Apparently Peter agreed with her, as he called over his shoulder: “Please, don’t hold back on my account.”

They both turned to glare at his back, but he kept scrolling on the Macbook none the wiser.

“You’re masking your scent pretty well there, Derek, but I got a better nose than even you, remember?” Something seemed to occur to him and he turned slightly in his chair to fix Derek with a curious smile. “Unless, of course, you need help expressing yourself as well?”

If only looks could kill, Joe thought in fascination as Derek glowered at his uncle. Peter had turned back to the computer with just the remnants of a smirk visible.

Grinding his teeth together, Derek tilted his head to the side at Joe. “Come on.”

He led her out on the porch again, out in fresh air and away from Peter’s prying ears. She had to assume he could still hear them, but maybe Derek knew something she didn’t. Well, he definitely knew a lot she didn’t, but about why he seemed to relax slightly just from being out of sight from his werewolf-brethren. Could he ‘mask’ — whatever the hell that actually meant — sound as well? Or was he banking on some common werewolf-courtesy of not listening in on private conversations through walls?

Derek sighed as she sat on the bannister, leaning back and already knowing what he was going to say.

“I’m not going home,” she said first, to get ahead of him. “You would have to physically subdue me.”

“Don’t think I haven’t considered it,” Derek said darkly and stood in front of her with crossed arms. “I have tried absolutely everything I can think of to keep you safe, Joe. Keeping you in the dark, near stalking you, scaring you away, paralyzing you — nothing seems to work. The one time I thought I got you to stay home, you ended up going up into the Preserve at the night of the full moon to be captured by an already dead sociopathic bitch.”

“To be fair though, full moon didn’t really make a difference.”

“Joe, I...” Derek said, at loss for words as he put his hands on either side of her at the bannister and leaned a bit forwards. His scent, although dormant, came back into her system, little by little. His bright eyes were open and honest, less than ten inches from hers. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

“Don’t do anything,” Joe suggested. “Come with me, let’s rescue the rest of the pack, shoot an Argent or two.” She relented a bit at his rolling eyes. “Okay, last part’s maybe the drugs talking, but the point still stands.”

Derek shook his head, not to her words, but just to the world in general. “I have to stop Jackson. If Melissa’s right, if he’s not dead, I have to stop him.” Like the decision pained him, he put his eyes on her again, looking at her as if she would disintegrate in front of him. “Gerard is after me. If I’m taking out Jackson, Gerard will be coming here. You and Jimmy can use the distraction to get Erica and Boyd out.”

At least he was willing to let her help, but it did not feel right. “I don’t think we should split up.”

There was that same curious expression on his face from the backyard. Slowly, he leaned forward a bit more, and just when she thought her lungs would implode for the breath she held, he only put his nose into the crown of her head. A strangely intimate gesture nevertheless. After how they had ended both their last private conversations, it was more than she was prepared for and she froze completely even as she started breathing again.

Almost afraid of scaring him away, she whispered: “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you’re still there.” His words were muffled, but she could see his chest expand as he inhaled through his nose.

As he did not seem inclined to offer any other explanation, Joe stayed completely still. “Oh. Am I?”

“Yeah.”

She had no idea if this was a werewolf-thing, a Derek-under-stress-thing or any kind of thing, but it felt good to smell him again. A lot of things could go wrong tonight and this felt right, so why fight it?

“Separating us is more than physically, Joe.” When he talked, the words seemed to travel from the crown of her head into her brain instead of through the ears. She became uncomfortably aware of her own heartbeat as well as his. Strands of hair shifted under his mouth as he asked: “Do you trust me?”

“I want to,” she said, voice tight and thin. The defeat in his sigh made her squirm. “I really do, but you keep hiding things from me, Derek. Or we keep hiding things from each other and it’s exhausting.”

She inhaled deeply, wanting to fill her system with his scent.

“I don’t trust you because you don’t trust me. You don’t trust Scott, you don’t trust Jimmy and you certainly don’t trust Peter.” He huffed into her hair. “Face it, you got major trust issues and it’s no wonder you do, I mean...” He seemed to stiffen above her, even if she only saw straight into his chest. Not wanting to bring it up, but knowing she had to in case something happened to either of them tonight, she tried to keep her voice soft. “What Kate did to you, Derek, was horrible. Not just the physical aspect of it, she exploited you in such a way that I can’t even-”

She couldn’t even talk about it. No words, no metaphor, no description would do it justice.

Her hands worked on their own and she touched his where they gripped the bannister around her, claws digging into the old wood. Her body might be burning up, but he was always on fire, always hot to the touch. Keeping her brushes light, as if to counteract the heavy topic, she let her fingertips just flutter over the back of his defined hands.

“If you never want to talk about it, that’s fine,” she said, meaning every word and hoping he picked up on it. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’ll listen.” She closed her eyes, as if his anger translated through his skin into her fingers. Joe wanted to lean into him, embrace him, hug him, but was not sure if she could without scaring him off. He had remained completely still, only his breath revealing he was alive. “I would sincerely recommend seeing someone about it. Afterwards, when things are quiet.”

Finally he spoke, although his words were harsh. “I don’t need to get my head analyzed by some-”

“Derek, therapy is not someone trying to figure out what’s wrong with you. It’s someone without any agenda beyond trying to help you. It helped me. Probably saved my life.”

His hands flexed under her, veins protruding from his grip, and she drew his scent deep within her lungs. At this proximity at least, she felt the bond just like before. It was a strange comfort — it was strange it even _was_ a comfort — but she’d take it.

“When I moved to Beacon Hills,” Joe started and had to take another breath to become strong enough to continue, “my insomnia was so out of hand that Aunt Mel only let me move in on the condition I saw a therapist for it. And after maybe six months, I felt like I could breathe again for the first time in six years.”

As he said nothing, but kept his head on top of hers, she kept going. “It’s hard to tell sometimes, but I have an obsessive personality. When I get something in my head, it stays there like that until something massive is able to shift it.” That earned her a snort that pushed through the hair on her head. Her lips pulled in a slight smile, one that fell immediately. “And since I was maybe seven years old, I’ve been obsessed with finding my mom. It’s been defining my life ever since we did this project in second grade on making a family tree and I realized it wasn’t normal to have one half completely blank.”

Derek still remained quiet, but she felt his reassuring breath against her temples everytime he exhaled. She wanted to tell him the whole story, starting with how it had always been her and Dad and how he used to mention her mom almost every day. Little comments on how she reminded him of her, same expressions, same mouth and same temper. Then when she started asking why there were no pictures of her mom, no grandparents on that side, not even a name to attach to the title, everything had changed for the worse. It was not the time though and she found herself hoping they — she and Derek — would get the time, later.

“It landed me in juvie, messed up my relationship with my dad, ruined things with Alex,” Joe said, thinking on how it had _literally_ defined her whole life. “It was the real reason I took such a heavy courseload my first years, because I wanted to get into med school as fast as possible. Not because I wanted to become a doctor, because I wanted access to hospital records, equipment to analyse my own DNA, a lot of delusional stuff. I was still looking for her using the more conventional methods at the same time, working on the side and then I almost stopped sleeping completely to the point where I started, as you know, hallucinating. It was bad, believe me.”

He seemed to radiate heat in stark contrast to the cool air and she found herself comforted just by his presence alone.

“And my very lovely therapist made me realize a lot of things, starting with how I was never deprived anything in my childhood.” Joe blinked away tears, it had taken a few months of sessions to get to that point. “Dad was a kick-ass single parent, but when I found out he had been lying to me for so long about what happened to my mom, I developed this obsession, this idea of what things were supposed to be like if I only did this and found out that and so on.”

She laughed a bit. “This is turning into the longest explanation ever, but the point is, that I am still sort of obsessive and I know I got issues with insomnia, but you gotta believe me, it used to be so much worse.” Joe tilted her head, nudging him off hers so she could look up at him. “Therapy made me realize I didn’t need her, never had. I stopped looking for her a few years ago and, like I said, now I can breathe.”

Seeing his bright eyes focused on her made her let out a short embarrassed breath as she looked down again. “Sorry, that got a little heavier than I intended...”

“It’s okay,” Derek mumbled, lips just barely brushing against her forehead and she swallowed heavily from that sensation alone. “I’m glad you told me.”

“Yeah,” she said in lack of better things and looked down on their hands again, liking the contrast of skin colors, accentuated by the dark. “Timing sucks, but a secret for a secret. It’s only fair.”

“Yeah,” Derek said absentmindedly and she felt him push his nose further into her curls, inhaling, taking her in and she felt her own heartbeat flutter in response. “Joe, the last time I tried to talk to someone...”

She cringed, having momentarily forgotten that fun-fact. “I know. God, I know, I’m so sorry, Kate told me when she-” Joe broke off, feeling how his hands flexed under hers again and grimaced. “We can do a really extensive background check?”

A snort rippled through her curls again, but at least it was better than the self-deprecating silence. Joe sighed, knowing they did not have long now before things started happening again. Wouldn’t it be nice to have some time together just existing and not reacting to anything else than each other?

“Just, promise me you’ll at least think about it,” Joe said softly and tilted her head again, so she could look at him, with his bright eyes and dark stubble. The words remained unsaid, but she still thought them: _For me?_

Although his proximity had been evident this entire time, she became acutely aware of how close he was now. It felt so normal to have him close, to touch him like this, to have him lean onto her head. He was so tactile, at least compared to her, and she wondered if all werewolves were. Nothing felt more natural right now than to have Derek close to her while they talked.

“I’ll think about it,” Derek said and Joe claimed it as a tentative victory.

They would have to survive the night first, but that seemed irrelevant compared to how his skin felt under her fingertips and how his breath fanned across her face. If she leaned back a bit further like this, and if he leaned in a little more like that, they would be so close that their lips could touch and now they were almost that close and-

The only warning was a loud snap of cracking wood.

The bannister gave away from under her and she felt the rush in her stomach of sudden movement, like jumping off the swings at the park when she was younger, temporarily weightless. Instead of her back meeting the ground, it met Derek’s hands who moved faster than gravity to grab her. The broken pieces of construction fell to the grass beneath them in her place.

Feet and body tilted out from the porch, she relied solely on Derek to keep her up, hands gripping his strong arms for support. Like a pair of dancing partners, stuck in a low dip. Their eyes met and Joe burst out laughing.

“Rotten wood,” she said through a smile brought on from the near-accident. Anything to distract from her still hard-beating heart. A _lot_ of her body was pressed flush against him.

“Yeah,” Derek agreed with a slight smile of his own and swung her around so she could stand by herself on the porch. He let her go and ran a hand through his hair, causing the carefully arranged spikes to shift. “You okay?”

She nodded when she found her feet. Derek’s eyebrows were raised, even if he was not looking at her, as if his mind was still stuck someplace else. He took a deep breath, where she noted the expansion in his chest, how it made his broad shoulders broader.

“We should get back inside. Peter’s bound to start plotting if he’s left alone too long.”

“You really don’t like your uncle, huh?”

“No, not at all.”

* * *

Apparently, Jackson’s body had developed its own cocoon of kanima-venom and it had started to move. A lot of indicators he might not be dead after all.

Joe relayed the information to Jimmy after Scott texted her. They were enroute to the house that looked most promising based on what Jimmy could find — major spikes in the electrical current the last few hours. It also had another interesting aspect; the house was under construction, but some of the drawings indicated a larger subterranean space, like a basement.

Argents liked to tie up people underground and subject them to electrical torture.

Joe did not know whether she should be worried or proud that Derek actually let her go. Not that she was in the need of his permission to do anything, but it made her feel somewhat less guilty when he had told her to be careful and not get caught instead of arguing about locking her up somewhere nothing could find her. Either this was character growth on his side or he had so resolutely given up on her. It could help that Jimmy seemed dedicated to having her back and whatever signals he gave off to Derek, they were at least civil.

Shared trauma, Joe mused. She had been joking about the Kate Argent Victim Support Group, but maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea? They could set up regular meetings after that bitch was either put in cuffs or in the ground for good.

“You ready for this?” Jimmy asked when they parked the car a long way off from the house itself. Instead of answering, Joe brought out her nightvision-binoculars and did a perimeter sweep of the area. “Hey, G.I. Jane, are you ready?”

“No, not really,” Joe murmured and put the binoculars down as the area looked clear. “I just keep seeing her face, you know, everywhere I look. And I feel helpless, tied up, even though I’m not.”

Jimmy looked sullen, like something weighed on his mind. Considering their rocky past, that was not a comforting thought and Joe waited patiently for him to voice his concerns. “I...bit Kate Argent.”

“Yeah? I know, I was there.” She tried to breathe, even if the suspicion that her worst nightmares were coming true crept in. “But you’re not an Alpha. Right?”

“I’m not quite sure how she will react to the bite,” Jimmy continued, staring at the interior of her car while Joe gripped the binoculars so her knuckles turned white. “What Peter said earlier holds at least partially true. The pain and discipline I subjected myself through the last few months was with a specific goal in mind. To achieve independence and avoid relying on someone else for both power and survival.”

“What does that mean?”

“In short, I’m a werewolf, but not an Alpha, Beta or Omega.”

“Are you a Gamma? Sigma? Theta? There’s twenty-four letters in the Greek Alphabet, I can keep guessing.” Something dawned on her as she recalled the color-coding. “Your eyes were blue when you came to lurk in my backyard the first time. Now they’re purple, because that’s halfway between blue and red, right? You’re...part Alpha?” She scrunched up her nose. “A Delta?”

It was starting to sound like Jimmy was in a fraternity.

“Part Alpha is a correct, if inconclusive statement,” he said, sounding very much like his arch-nemesis Professor Kane. “The technical term, as far as the translations go, is Demi Alpha.”

“Not to be confused with adored singer and songwriter Demi Lovato,” Joe quipped and shrank under his tired gaze. “So you’re Half-Alpha?” Joe grimaced, because it made him sound like a kind of sprouts. “Like, not quite an Alpha, not quite a Beta?” She couldn’t help herself. “An Alpha-Beta? Sorry. I’ll stop.”

He had sent her a downright venomous look. “I am only telling you this so you don’t have to hear it from Peter Hale or have him hold it over your head at a later occasion. And also to prepare you for that Kate Argent might not be fully human when we face her again.”

“If she’s bit and suspecting she’ll turn, won’t she follow the Code?”

They both considered Joe’s question in silence. When had Kate Argent ever seemed dedicated to following the Code? And yet, the alternative would mean a shapeshifting Kate with enhanced strength and speed. Relatively insane, based on how she acted up in the woods.

“If the Bite took,” Jimmy said slowly, staring straight at the dashboard, “she would still be in a weakened state. Her age would mean a longer convalescence. Not physically, but mentally. Disoriented, dizzy, confused. ”

“Healing? Super strength?”

He took some time before admitting. “Yes.” At Joe’s groan, he elaborated a bit: “It’s not an exact science,” he ignored her second groan, “but say it is a fifty percent chance my Bite was received as an Alpha.” Jimmy had a knack of inserting capitalized words even in his speech. “Then another generous estimate gives a fifty percent chance she would turn and fifty it would kill her.”

“Still not liking those odds,” Joe murmured, even if it meant a quarter chance she was already dead. Most likely, just injured and a quarter chance she was now superwoman. “Do you...do you think we can take her down without killing her? And even if we get her arrested, do you think that’ll be enough?”

It had weighed on her mind since the day following her near-death at the Hale house. Joe’s father laid it out — interrogation, investigation, trial and conviction. Either way, it would take years for Kate Argent to face justice and half the people involved would not even testify against her. The werewolf-thing added so much uncertainty that some evidence would not make sense. Her death had been convenient. Maybe why the Argents chose to fake it, it was easier for them too.

“I think,” Jimmy said as he got ready to get out, “that if you get her in your sights, you should take the shot.”

“Yeah. I get that.” Joe made sure the pistol was loaded before exiting the car. “Remember, we’re here on a rescue-mission. Important thing is to get Erica and Boyd. No engagement unless necessary, not even if it’s Kate.” She noticed his lip twitch and barked out a: “What?”

“You sound like an 80s cop-show.”

He ignored her middle finger as they both exited the car, closing the doors softly. Moving quietly through a forest is harder than you’d think, but they were helped by the season and the mostly wet underbrush. No crunching leaves or frozen twigs. Despite Jimmy’s police-jab, Joe did as taught and rolled her feet, heel to toe, not making more noise than her tense breath. Following Jimmy’s lead, who probably could see perfectly clear in the dark, they reached the house under construction and ducked down to the sight of movement.

Two cars outside the house, and three figures standing there. One of the people, a man by the looks of it, gestured to the other two. Before long, one of the cars sped off, leaving just one man and a single vehicle.

_“Could be more inside,”_ Jimmy whispered under his breath next to her. “ _Thick walls. Can’t hear anything.”_

Joe nodded, not trusting her voice to speak. They watched the remaining man pace around and lean over his car — an SUV. Even from this distance, they could tell he was agitated. More pacing before he disappeared inside.

This could be their chance. Using tactical hand signals, she told Jimmy they would move in file formation, keep down and head for the side of the door to ambush the man. Jimmy only raised his eyebrows in response and she rolled her eyes before telling him the same thing in a low whisper.

Feeling way out of her depth here, she led the way in a low crouch to the house. Pistol in a double-grip, shotgun ready on her back, a dreadful pinch in her stomach that questioned if she would have the guts to pull the trigger if needed. Morphine wearing off.

They leaned against either side of the door where the man had gone through. She watched Jimmy intently as he obviously listened to something beyond her capabilities. Her heart was crawling out of her throat, overpowering anything else she could possibly hear. Jimmy’ face hardened and he gave her a slight nod — someone was coming.

It took everything she had to will herself to remain hidden until the man exited and had passed them with a few steps. Gripping the gun, she rose, and the noise was enough to make the man stop.

“Hands over your head!” she barked, struggling to keep the pistol steady. Chris Argent slowly reached his hands up and put them onto his head as he turned around.

“Of everyone I expected to see here,” he said without any apparent hurry in that low gravelly voice of his, “you weren’t on the top of my list, I have to admit.”

“Shut up!” Joe spat, finding it hard to even look at him. Trigger finger off the trigger — she had to repeat that thought over and over. Trigger finger off the trigger. “Where are they?”

Chris seemed defeated way beyond her holding him at gunpoint. He gave Jimmy’s lurking form a glance, but returned his eyes to Joe. “They just left out the back.”

Lying. He was lying, Joe thought, but had no way of confirming it. The adrenaline, the rush, the fear was clouding all her senses. Argents were good liars. Joe nodded her head towards Jimmy, to make him take a look inside.

“You let them go?” she asked, incredulousness seeping in, voice shaking as much as her gun did not. “Why?”

“Blurred lines,” Chris almost whispered to himself.

“You answer me straight or I swear to God I will put a bullet in you,” Joe spat, wanting to take a step forwards, feeling the same pull that Matt must have done, using the weapon for intimidation. She willed herself back, not gonna fall for the temptation and allow Chris to disarm her like she had done with Matt.

“No one else is here,” Jimmy said as he came back out. He looked sick though and she wondered what he had found. A moment of hesitation, as if he did not want to back up Chris’ words. “There is another exit, leading to the woods.”

“We have a Code-”

Chris never got any further as Joe pushed the gun up higher, aiming straight for his head. “You keep saying that and yet you keep threatening to kill children! No proof they spilled human blood, right?”

His eyes closed and she saw his fingers flex, but they remained on his head. “Did Derek tell you what he did?”

“Did Victoria tell you what she did?” Joe found herself replying in an instant. “Blurred lines, right? And I don’t know if your eyesight is giving into old age, but the two sixteen-year-olds you caught — the two sixteen-year-olds you _hunted_ and trapped — aren’t Derek!”

Her breath came ragged through her tight chest. Just seeing him, looking so much like _her_ made her want to throw up.

“Did you know?”

Chris looked up at her question, not confused, but resigned.

“ _Did you know?”_ she repeated, ignoring how Jimmy put a calming hand in the air. “Answer me!”

“Not for sure, not until Stilinski called a few hours ago,” Chris muttered with a curl in his lip. “They’re exhuming the grave.” His jaw flexed and he looked ready to kill someone, but it was not directed at her. “I did not know before.”

Joe glanced over at Jimmy, who gave her a confirming nod. Chris was telling the truth. At least about that. “And Gerard?”

Just the mention of his name made Chris’ face pull into a mask of contempt. His nostrils flared. “I can’t be sure...”

“But you suspect-”

“I suspect there is not a damn thing happening in this town that Gerard does not know about or is actively in control of.” Chris sighed as he looked at Joe. “Put the gun down, Joe.”

“Fat chance.”

His calm gravelly voice sent chills through her core. “Any second now, Joe, your arms are gonna start cramping. Most likely your right underarm, dominant hand clutching the grip too hard. You’ve locked out your elbows too, you see, and I just gotta wait for your grip to loosen.”

Joe swallowed, but could not get a bend in her elbows if she tried.

“Should’ve spent more time at the gun range,” Chris said slowly, but not unkindly. He glanced at Jimmy, who had squared up at Chris’ words. “I’m gonna advise your friend here that I have a semi-automatic pistol inside my jacket and that I know what he is, so I won’t waste time with a warning shot.”

Losing control. She was losing control of the situation.

“So when your arms give in, Joe, I’m gonna knock the gun out of your hands. You friend here is gonna try and intervene, but instinctually, he’s gonna want to protect you more than he wants to take me down. His first mistake. I’ll shoot him twice with your gun, which I do notice is Kate’s by the way, aiming for his head to blind him. Unfortunately, you’re a fighter too, Joe, so I will have to knock you out with my elbow, before getting my own gun out to finish the job on your friend.”

Joe trembled at his speech, his play-by-play of how it was going to go. She should just shoot him. She had to. Before her arms dropped on their own.

“Or,” Chris said and tried to give a nod to Jimmy, who looked ready to strike by now, “you’ll put the gun down, Joe, and let me help you stop Jackson and Gerard. That’s the best offer you’re gonna get tonight.”

She could feel the strain in her arms by now. “I won’t let you kill Derek.”

“Believe it or not, I’m not the one you have to worry about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's early, but I'm feeling festive and thought 'why not?'
> 
> Four different kinds of conversation; a little quiet before the storm that's coming next. (And don't come at me for Isaac's curiosity, the dance-scene with Jackson from the rave was a little too convincing and, y'know, I love Isaac and I want him and Joe to be friends too)
> 
> Thank you so much for the feedback on the last chapter, you guys are great <3 Please let me know what you think of this one too and thank you for reading as always!


	49. The Reborn III

“Are they seriously carrying a body bag into the parking lot?”

Jimmy leaned forwards between the front seats of the SUV. They had left the Ford behind, all climbing into Chris’ car at his insistence of it being faster and safer. Joe sat in the front seat while Chris of course was the one driving. They had parked outside the hospital and Joe was just about to call Scott when they spotted a pair of conspicuos idiots struggling with a heavy body bag. Conspicuous idiots being Scott and Isaac.

“Why not drive the car to the garage?” Joe wondered, indicating the double set of doors where ambulances would drop off DOAs and funeral homes would pick up bodies.

“Yeah, or at least take the stretcher?”

Joe watched as Scott dropped his half of the bag. “Don’t they know those bags have handles?”

She became aware of Chris giving them a side-eyed look. He raised his eyebrow. “Steal a lot of bodies from the morgue?”

“No,” Joe and Jimmy said at the same time. Joe continued: “Just saying that if we would, we’d be a lot better at it than those two. Oh, God, are they trying to fit him into Aunt Mel’s trunk? You could barely fit our groceries in there. Why not the backseat?”

“I think we’ve seen enough,” Chris said with a grumble and turned on the headlights, making Scott and Isaac dart up and stare in confusion. The simile ‘like deer caught in headlights’ was too easy, but it did come to mind. Chris got out of the car, leaving Joe and Jimmy to follow.

“You’re alone,” said Scott first and then his brows furrowed. “Except you’re not. Joe? And Jimmy? What’s going on?”

“We don't have much in common, Scott,” Chris said with his hands calmly by his side. Joe had her handgun back into her waistband, but secretly wishing for a holster because she kept worrying she would blow a chunk off her buttcheeks. “But at the moment, we have a common enemy.”

Scott gestured to the bodybag, which did look to be moving slightly. Something oozed out through the zippers. “That's why I'm trying to get him out of here.”

“I didn't mean Jackson.”

Scott’s eyes darted between Chris and Joe. Her brows furrowed. Why did he look so confused? He could not possibly think that Chris was talking about Derek?

“Gerard has twisted his way into Allison's head, the same way he’s done with Kate.” Chris’ voice was hard and he did not embroider on the subject of his not-dead sister. “And I'm losing her. And I know you're losing her too.”

Joe was brought back to their conversation in her car, in the hospital parking lot a few months back. How Kate’s fate was what he feared the most for his daughter. If she just lost her mom...

“You're right,” Scott said. “So can you trust me to fix this?” Chris did not look convinced, and Scott persisted. “Then can you let us go?

“No.” Chris opened the back door to his SUV, a much better fit for a bodybag. “My car is faster.”

Humans in the front, it made for a tight fit for three werewolves in the back. Jimmy’s broad shoulders sat squeezed between Scott and Isaac, both avid lacrosse-players with the physique to match. Scott had asked Joe if she trusted Chris before they got in the car and she had just shrugged. She trusted him to honor the Code, if nothing else. Did she trust him to take down Gerard and Kate if they made an appearance? Joe sighed internally. One problem at a time.

“Why do you smell kind of...sharp?” Isaac asked Jimmy, who just frowned and refused to answer. What he had seen back at the house had left him sullen.

“This was not how I saw this evening going,” Chris muttered from his seat.

As per Scott’s directions, Derek would meet them halfway with Lydia Martin. Apparently that had been Peter’s plan to ‘fix’ Jackson. Scott never mentioned Peter’s name explicitely, probably fearing Chris would just turn on his promise to help them right there and then if he knew the old Alpha was back in town, alive and scheming.

“So instead of three hundred hours of therapy, his issues are gonna be magically fixed through the power of love?” Joe asked incredulously, turning over in the seat to the boys who all gave of the impression it had not been _their_ idea. “Come on, guys.” She focused on Jimmy. “What do you think?”

He mulled it over. “Self-validation can come through other people, I suppose. I assume he and this Lydia Martin-girl was in love?”

“They dated,” Scott offered, but his brows twisted a bit. “I guess they must have been in love?”

Isaac looked doubtful too. They all jumped as the body thumped from the back.

“It’s worth a shot, I guess. The alternative is rounding up everyone and taking turns expressing what we like best about this Jackson,” Joe said, talking loud to overpower any noises from the not-dead Jackson in the back. “Like a confirmation circle. I don’t know the guy, so-”

“That’s not an alternative,” Isaac shot in. She raised her eyebrows.

Scott seemed to agree, although gentler in his expression. “Jackson’s not...an easy guy to like.”

“I thought he was the captain of the lacrosse team?”

“That’s because he’s a great lacrosse-player, not because he’s a great human being.”

“Oh, wow,” Joe said. If Scott couldn’t find a positive, it was hard to imagine anyone would. Still... “You really should cut him some slack, guy’s clearly got issues.”

Another loud thump. Chris sighed darkly. “Clearly.”

Not surprisingly, Derek wanted to meet them halfway in the warehouse district. Probably a part of town he knew well enough to consider it his turf. The fog rolled in from the forest and gave a cloak of cover to the dimly lit alleys. They all exited the car while Isaac checked on the body, proclaiming it to be moving even more.

“Hey,” Chris said and took Joe to the side. He had a tight frown on his lips. Joe noticed Jimmy looking at them, ready to interfere. “If Kate shows up, let me deal with her.”

“Deal with her how?” Joe demanded to know immediately, not sure which answer she was looking for.

His eyes were dark and hard. “Kate’s disregard of the Code makes her dangerous, out of control. I’ll deal with her the same way I’d deal with any rabid animal.”

“Except it’s not some rabid animal,” Joe bit out, almost scared of how he looked now. “It’s your sister.”

Another sigh before he told her slowly: “I’ve already buried Kate.”

Difficult to say what was more upsetting: the cool nonchalance in his words or the completely emotionless expression on his face. A week and a half ago he lost his wife, she reminded herself, and again, Joe could not tell what was more upsetting: that fact alone or the fact that she could not fully bring herself to feel sorry for them. Jimmy had confided in her what he found in the basement of the house — the same setup they had used on Derek. A device designed to keep werewolves hooked up to an electrical current, stripping them off their strength and abilities. Torture, for two sixteen-year-olds.

Just the memory of Erica’s terrified voice had Joe bring out her phone _again_ to see if there were any missed messages. None. Joe could only hope Erica and Boyd had made it to safety. A part of her felt she had made the wrong choice coming here with Chris, that she should have went after Erica and Boyd in the forest. Too many tracks leading in and out of the house according to Jimmy though, he hadn’t been able to get a clear mark of their scent.

Joe swallowed and sounded fiercer than she was when asking: “How can I trust that you’re gonna make the hard call?”

“Out of the two of us, Joe, which one has actually killed someone before?” Chris raised his eyebrows when she did not immediately respond. “That’s what I thought. You’re a good shot, Joe, and you’re tough as nails, I’ll give you that. But you haven’t been groomed your entire life, trained and shaped into somehing with a single purpose, a single function. Kate is Gerard’s weapon every bit as much as Jackson is, probably more dangerous.”

“Are you gonna try and save her with the power of love too?”

Chris snorted. “No, not really. If I can capture her alive, I will. If not...” He opened the driver side door and then a hidden compartment under the floorboard containing a small arsenal of weapons. To accompany his wods, he held up a handgun, a larger caliber than the 9mm she stole from Kate.

There was no reason to doubt him, but it still sent chills down her spine.

“She’s bit,” Joe said without thinking. “We’re not sure if it took. I’m- I’m sorry?”

Not sure why she was apologizing — in theory, it should make his job easier, right? Because that’s what it was to Chris — a job. He hunted werewolves. He hunted werewolves like Erica, like Boyd, Scott, Derek... People like Erica, Boyd, Scott and Derek. How was he different than his sister? Than his father? Their Code meant nothing to anyone but him apparently. And who were they to play judge, jury and executioner? They had come after Isaac too, she remembered, on a mere suspicion.

He had frozen at her revelation, still bent over the hidden compartment. Something hard settled over his face, like he was already coming to terms with another harsh reality and he nodded. “Let me deal with her.”

“It wasn’t Derek,” Joe whispered, but Chris just nodded again like he had already expected that. Or he expected her to say anything to save Derek. Again, she remembered Victoria testing her in the school parking lot. There was no way of telling what they knew or suspected. Kate knew — if she told Gerard, he could have let the news trickle down to the rest of their organization.

“Right.” He brandished the gun, like he was checking the alignment or something. She awaited a further reaction, some other comment to the Code, but it never came. Chris handed her two full clips of ammo for the 9mm, which she accepted without a word. “Remember to keep your elbow unlocked.”

“ _Why_ are you helping me?” Joe numbly held the two clips in one hand. On the other side of the car, she met Jimmy’s eyes — he was obviously listening to the whole conversation with a hard line to his mouth. Maybe the better question was, why was she trusting Chris?

At her question, Chris seemed unable to look her in the eyes, busying himself by checking something on his own gun. “Out of everyone that night,” he said and loaded the small hand cannon he used, “you and Scott were the only ones not trying to kill anyone.”

Was that even true? As he turned to the car, she stared at the back of his head. She’d had both Kate and Peter in her sights — both times too slow to pull the trigger. Not out of the goodness of her heart, but because of some misguided hesitation. She should have shot Kate. She should have shot Peter. She should she should she should...

On the other side of the car, Jimmy had turned away, facing the front.

For some reason, Chris looked up from floorboard of his car with a wry smile on his face. “I’m here for Jackson,” he said loudly, obviously talking to someone behind him and Joe leaned sideways to look around him.

Derek had appeared and was lit up by the headlights, a hard edge to his face. No jacket, sweatslick skin — he must have ran here. How fast _was_ this guy?

Chris walked up to the front of the car, putting the gun in its holster. “Not you.”

“Somehow I don’t find that very comforting,” Derek said tersely, giving Joe a short glance that she returned with a shrug. To Scott and Isaac, he ordered: “Get him inside.”

Jimmy watched them with his arms crossed, giving no indication to help Scott and Isaac with the body, but he trailed after them. Chris and Derek stared at each other until Chris finally relented and followed the others inside.

“Erica and Boyd?” Derek asked as he stalked up to her, giving her a once-over, obviously finding no cause for concern or maybe he just didn’t care.

“Chris let them go before we got there,” Joe mumbled and checked her phone again, as she’d done twenty times the last hour. That was the only reason she trusted him — he had let them go. “No word yet, her phone’s still off.” She put the clips of ammo in her pocket and scanned the otherwise empty alley with several twisting metal constructions for loading and unloading crates. “Where’s Uncle Creeper?”

He shrugged and glanced in no particular direction. “Probably not that far off.”

“And the girl?”

“What girl?”

He had brushed her off, too fast for her liking, and she stalked after him towards the derelict warehouse. “Scott said something about Lydia breaking the kanima’s hold on this kid.”

“You think that’s gonna work?” Derek scoffed and glanced at her over his shoulder. “Didn’t take you for a romantic, Joe.”

Ouch...

“It doesn’t sound like the most viable long-term solution, I’ll admit,” Joe said after the initial indignation died down. He was back at being an asshole, reminding her of boys at her high school who walked and talked tougher the second they were within earshot of each other. All business, no time for anything else, especially not her. She grabbed his arm to make him stop walking. “Derek, what’s your plan here? You gotta let me help. Should I go back for Erica and Boyd?”

Nostrils flared, eyes flickering — did not take a werewolf to tell that he was conflicted. He never answered her, but took a long look at her hand around his wrist before he tugged it loose. Joe rolled her eyes as she watched him stalk inside, muscles visibly flexing under his t-shirt.

Oh yeah, this trust-thing was going great!

Hands on her hips, she stopped to catch her breath for a second. The events leading her to be here tonight was (mostly) of her own making. She just had to deal with it the best she could, and hopefully persuade Derek not to kill teenagers tonight. Deal with the kanima, somehow, hopefully avoid Gerard and Kate, then get back to finding Erica and Boyd before anyone else did. It was not as much a plan as a loose set of goals, but it was the best she could come up with and she followed Derek inside with a shake of her head.

Or she would have followed if her foot would listen. Stuck. Joe peered down at her military-style boots, but they were not the issue.

The issue was probably that dart sticking out of her calf. It kind of looked like a tranquilizer dart.

“Shiiii-”

Joe tried to swear, but her mouth was not functioning. Yelling for help turned into a short gasp. Her whole body felt like jello, she slumped down, not really feeling it when she met the wet asphalt. Different from the kanima-venom, then she did not feel anything, now she just felt heavy, both body and mind. Like moving in slow motion. She wanted to shout, but again only a light groan came out. The asphalt came closer, until her vision went black.

No telling how much time had passed. Hands on her back, stripping her of weapons, all her protection.

Now the world moved under her. Arms scraping against the ground, her vision swam, blurred, shifted in and out of focus. Thoughts scrambled. This was strange. New. Oh no, it was not, she was being kidnapped yet again. She must be very kidnappable. Was that a word? She could make it so. Stupid damsel in distress shit. Screw this. It sucked balls.

Well, if she was being kidnapped, at least there was a short list of suspects.

Derek? No, probably not, he would do something stupid like carry her. Hmm hm, Jimmy? He too would carry her, she realized, although not as intimately as Derek. Sexist assholes the pair of them. Who else, who else, who could it be? Matt? He was dead, right, unless he decided to do like everyone else in town and come back to the world of the living. Implausible. Peter? He was a wildcard for sure. He had plenty of motive, but would a werewolf use any kind of gun? No. And that left?

“Kate,” she murmured, barely aware of how her skin tore after being dragged on the rough ground. Trying to lift her head, both to stop scraping her skin and to see if it really was Kate, she failed and slumped back. “What’re you doin’?”

“What does it look like?” Kate’s voice came like a bullet, clear and precise, even with how ragged it sounded, like she had a permanent chest cold. A rifle strapped over her shoulder. “Separating the mates, sweetie.”

“Oh wow,” Joe said and her eyes rolled back in her head without her control. A giggle forced itself between her lips. “It’s really real, ain’t it? I thought it was all bullshit. He was like smell this and feel that and I was like nah-ah, not gonna do that, _papi_...”

Kate. Kate Kate Kate. Again. What a load of bullshit. Where was...anyone? Derek. Jimmy. Scott. Anyone.

“Listen to that city girl coming through,” Kate commented. She had a solid grip around Joe’s ankle and was dragging her down the street based on the moving scenery. “Getting me all hot and bothered with that accent, babe.”

Every word came with a harder and harder fight to get out. Mouth felt too small for her lips. “Why you doin’ this? Wha’s your motive? You jus’ obsessed wi’ me?”

“Saw you talking to my brother.” It was not an answer. Her tone was conversational, but kept fading in and out of focus. Might be Joe fading in and out of consciousness. “Carrying my guns. Stealing my style. And you’re obviously hitting my floppy seconds, so, who’s obsessed with who, Berkeley?”

This bitch.

“What’d your dad do to mess you up like this?” Joe’s hands were over her head, grabbing weakly at air. “Short version, fifty words or less, goooo...” Her voice trailed off into nothing.

They stopped as Kate let go off her ankle, only to kneel next to Joe’s face. With her vision blurred, it was hard to make out, but Kate did not look too hot. Heavy circles under her eyes and dark shadows around her nose. Sallow skin. Pupiles small as pinpricks as she leaned closer, almost whispering in that rough voice of hers.

“I don’t think you should be talking too much about daddy issues, babe.” Her hand came to sweep Joe’s curls off her face. “I’ve been listening to your convos, remember? You’re more messed up than me, sweetie.” She leaned in closer, unfocused eyes meeting Joe’s. “How does it feel to be all helpless and alone, again? Short version. Fifty words or less.”

It took forever, but Joe managed to lift her one hand to count. Thumb up. “Fuck,” she put her middle finger up too, “you.”

Kate let out a short laugh and got up. “Cute.” She drew back her foot and kicked Joe in the stomach.

The impact had Joe wheeze and try to curl together, which her body was too heavy to actually do. So she just flailed like a fish. No actual pain, her muscles were too drugged down for that, more a sensation and loss of breath. _Did Derek feel that?_ Kate made a tutting-sound and grabbed Joe’s ankle again, dragging her further down, away from the warehouse.

Going cross-eyed, Joe found herself focusing on her scratched hands. How small rocks and pebbles dug into her skin, making it bleed. Like what Derek did with Erica, like what he did to himself — triggering the healing process. Pushing the venom out of the body.

Was it placebo or did she feel like it was working?

Separate the mates. Always separate the mates. Trap, Joe thought. Chris Argent trapped her. How else would Kate know where they would be? Tears slipped over her face, running to her forehead as her head got dragged further backwards. Stupid. She kept walking into these things, leaping headfirst into danger.

Never trust an Argent. Was she ever gonna learn?

“Why are you-” Joe swallowed and tried again. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I,” Kate said happily, even in her hoarse voice, “obviously know more about mates than you.” She winked at Joe over her shoulder as she kept walking. “You’re Plan B.”

Motive. Means. Opportunity. Something looked wrong with Kate, but Joe’s eyes were too heavy to focus. Motive: Joe as Plan B. What was Plan A?

She realized Kate was still talking as she kept dragging Joe down to a familiar SUV. Joe did not want to listen. Tried not to. Psycho bitch would say anything she thought would cut into Joe. Not lying, not really, the truth was bad enough when presented by the lips of a serpent. Snake. Kanima.

Joe heard a screech from far off and Kate must have too, as she paused momentarily.

“Sounds like showtime,” Kate commented without any expression on her face. She looked down at Joe. “You didn’t wonder why Derek’s not rushing in to save you? He’s busy, baby.”

Anything. Bitch would say anything she thought would get a response. And besides, Derek did not need to save her. Another minute and she could move. Probably. Joe breathed heavily. “I should have let you bleed out.”

The only response was a careless: “You probably should have.” World spun when Kate propped her up against the car. Some rummaging over Joe’s head before Kate crouched down again. “Speaking of blood...”

A slight throb in Joe’s forearm and she looked down to see Kate insert a needle into the already bleeding flesh. Before Joe could even think to pull away, Kate gripped her elbow to hold her still. For a second Joe suspected another dose of sedatives, but instead the empty syringe filled with blood. Even through the haze of whatever drugs was still in her system, Joe felt the twinge of the needle prodding into her arm — Kate did not have the makings of a good nurse.

“What the hell?” she whispered at the sight of Kate pulling out the needle and getting up again.

“I told you,” Kate said from somewhere above her, “you’re Plan B.”

More blood welled up from the small needlemark where Kate had yanked out the metal tip. Head swimming, Joe put her palms on the ground next to the wheels of the car. Whatever Kate was doing with her blood, it had her distracted.

Get up. Get up get up get up!

With everything she had, Joe kicked her foot into the side of Kate’s knee.

“ _Argh_!”

Kate’s leg buckled to the side with a harsh crack.

She dropped to the side and Joe took the opportunity to flail onto her stomach, willing her limbs to support her and get up. Get up get up get up!

Two fumbling steps before Kate threw herself ontop of Joe. A tall muscular woman, she smothered Joe’s body with her own and got Joe in a chokehold, keeping her in place.

“I hit you with enough ketamine to take down a horse,” Kate hissed in her ear as they both struggled, but Joe most of all. “Got a little wolf in ya, Joe?” Blond hair flopped over Joe’s face as Kate leaned towards her ear. “Bet ya want some!”

Joe smashed her head back, hitting Kate in the face. As long as Kate was more concerned with throwing punchlines instead of punches, she could win. The grip around her throat loosened enough for Joe to twist around and slam her elbow into Kate’s head.

No good. Elbow hit its mark and judging by the enraged sound, it hurt too. But Kate was still on top of her and Joe did not move fast enough to cover her own face when Kate’s first punch landed. Second hit Joe’s closed arms, third came to the side, knocking into Joe’s temple. Guard up, Dad used to say, keep your guard up. Joe squeezed her arms together over her face, elbows tucked in, knuckles to her forehead. Protect the eyes and throat.

Something had snapped. Kate punched like a madwoman, screaming with each jab, even those landing ontop of Joe’s guard sending shockwaves to her spine. No technique, no strategy, just wild and pure rage.

Punch after punch, Kate pulling back hard with each, letting out harsh grunts of efforts. Joe felt herself want to curl up, protect vital organs, play dead — it didn’t work in juvie, wouldn’t work now. A bear might lose interest if you stayed still, but a bear did not have the mental capacity for cruelty such as humans. It did not have a will to inflict pain just for the sake of pain. Kate was worse than any wild animal.

Ske kept punching, not even bothering breaking Joe’s guard, too filled with rage to fight properly. Derailing.

Joe’s arms throbbed, going numb from the incessant strikes — get up. Get up get up get up!

What had Dad said? For some reason the memory came clear as day: Any action, when in a fight for your life, should be with full commitment and maximum violence. You gonna punch someone, do it proper. Kate pulled back for another hit, leaving her throat exposed.

Joe screamed as she jabbed her fist into Kate’s trachea.

A wet gurgling sound and Kate instinctively brought both hands to her throat, as if to dislodge something. Joe bucked under her, pushing her off. Get up get up get up!

This bitch would not stay down!

Joe got halfway to her feet before Kate recovered enough to tackle her down again around her waist. By now, Joe’s instincts had taken over, and she would do anything to not get pinned down again. Wrestling hard, jabbing and kicking where they could, they rolled on the ground, screaming and grunting unintelligibly.

“You know, babe,” Kate said as Joe was on top, fighting to get her arms loose from Kate’s grip, “if we took off our clothes,” Joe let out a short cry when Kate jabbed her in the side, “set up a camera,” now Kate grunted as Joe struck her fist into her chest, “we could get rich.”

Kate, the experienced fighter, hooked her legs around Joe’s torso and flipped them over. Joe, expecting it, grabbed hold of whatever she could to keep Kate from getting a full hold of her. She felt the fabric of Kate’s shirt rip under her hands.

“See,” Kate breathed hard somewhere next to Joe’s ear, “now you got the right idea.” With one hand between them, Kate used it to bore into Joe’s stomach. “Come on, what do you say?” Joe screamed when Kate dug her thumb under her ribcage. “It’ll be hot.”

By chance, by some dumb stroke of luck, Joe’s hand locked on the dart gun on Kate’s back. An air rifle, it weighed almost half of a regular one, and she got it yanked loose from the strap. First she used it as a club, striking Kate in the chin to buy time. One hit not enough, Joe grunted and struck once, twice more right in Kate’s face until she slumped back, covered in blood and dirt.

Joe scrambled backwards from underneath Kate, getting distance, reloading the dart gun with inexperienced fingers. Joe was never a good shot with precision weapons, but at six feet range, even she would hit.

The dart shot out with a soft _fwop_ and hit Kate in the throat.

“Ah!” Kate said and yanked out the dart. Too late, though. These things worked fast. Her slack gaze met Joe’s, going cross-eyed. “Bitch.”

Get up. Get up get up get up!

Still clutching the dart gun, she pushed herself off the ground as Kate twitched where she laid. The car door open, but with no other weapons in sight she grabbed the syringe laying in the front seat ready to crush it. Except it was empty. Where-

Screeches echoed through the warehouses and Joe’s movements turned frantic as she looked for where the hell her blood was. Whatever Kate was planning, it could not be good, but there was no vial, no bottle, no container anywhere, the blood was...gone. What - the - hell?

She felt like crying. Had she hallucinated? Ketamine could cause hallucinations, right? No, still a puncture wound on her arm. Shit. What? What was happening? Joe’s chest heaved, brain heavily contaminated by both adrenaline and every other chemical injected into her body.

On the ground, Kate moaned.

No coherent thoughts coming through, Joe took off running. Back to the warehouse, back to the sound of kanima-screeches, back to Derek and Scott and Jimmy and Isaac. Pack mentality, stronger in numbers. Warn them, she had to warn them — if Kate was here, Gerard could not be far.

Joe did not even pause to listen when she heard loud roars, the tell-tale of werewolves fighting — Derek fighting, Scott fighting, Isaac fighting. Only weapon she had was a non-lethal one. Didn’t matter. She did not have any choice but to reload it as she ran. One dart left, basically a ballistic syringe loaded with ketamine and a hypodermic needle, ready to be propelled from the gun by means of compressed gas. Would it even slow down the kanima?

She should have shot Kate again before she ran. Too late. Too late to shoot again.

Joe burst through the entrance to the warehouse, eyes going to all sides trying to take stock of the situation. Jimmy curled up in the corner, large slashes on his chest. Isaac on the floor, dripping blood and Scott to the side, looking rough. Her gaze got stuck on Derek though, half-incapacitated on the ground. He was not even looking at her.

_Allison —_ not the kanima, not Gerard _—_ was descending upon Derek with knives in her hands and murder in her eyes.

“Stop!” Joe shouted, not thinking, just reacting, putting the rifle to her shoulder. Blood ran down her face, she knew she looked a mess, and probably her appearance alone was enough to make the girl pause. “Allison, _stop!”_

The girl was fighting back tears, lip curled in an angry snarl, only without fangs. _“_ He killed my mom.”

“Did he? Are you sure?” Joe tried to stay calm, fighting both the urge to pull the trigger and to throw up. The sound of arrows over the phone, of Erica’s frightened cry. “Allison, please don’t make me do this.”

“If you’re gonna shoot me,” Allison said and her shaky voice betrayed just how far off the edge she was at the moment, how little anything but revenge mattered to her. “Shoot.”

Wet eyes, locked jaw — Joe could not even see Allison, she only saw Kate. KateKateKate.

“Shoot!”

Kate, in the claws of Peter, begging Joe to take the shot. One she never took. How much would have been different? Would it even have killed Peter? Would it have killed Kate?

Allison screamed: “ _Shoot!”_

Another soft _fwop_ and Allison clutched her neck in shock.

“Allison!”

Scott yelled and rushed forward to catch the now sedated girl, but he never reached her. A screech echoed in the warehouse and the kanima appeared from behind Allison, holding her up by her neck with long clawed fingers. Although sedated, Allison’s eyes were wide with fear and Joe felt herself turn numb.

She did that. Just now. Her fault. Her fault the kanima lifted Allison off the ground, hissing at her through rows and rows of sharp pointed teeth.

Joe did not even realize she’d dropped the empty gun until it clattered on the floor next to Derek. Her eyes went to him in his morphed state, his hand clutching heavy scratches on his chest. Kanima claws, he must be half-paralyzed, fighting the venom to get up. His eyes were wide, staring at her with some unreadable expression — this face revealed even less than his normal one — but she saw the fear when his focus shifted to something behind her.

_“What are you doing?”_

The hoarse shout made Joe spin around, but Kate was not even looking at her. Automatically, Joe reached for any weapon — shotgun, pistol or taser — but she had none. Nothing. No claws, no fangs, no guns. Kate did, however.

Shotgun up — Joe’s shotgun! — she was aiming at the kanima. Circling it, not giving anyone else a moment of consideration. Joe healed fast, but Kate was even faster if she was already up from the ketamine-shot. Though judging by the slightly deranged look in Kate’s eyes, she was not fully out off the woods yet.

Just then, Joe realized what was wrong with Kate. The scar over her throat had disappeared. The bite marks on Kate’s long torso had healed too. Kate had barely been human before, but now she was definitely not. Something was wrong though, she looked sick, almost strung out, like a junkie.

“It’s gonna be okay, sweetie,” Kate choked out, wild eyes locked at Allison. “It’s okay.”

Judging by the soft gasp and now stream of tears from Allison’s eyes, she had not been expecting to see her aunt here. She hadn’t known. Joe was frozen, half of her wanting to shield Derek, half of her wanting to fight Kate, all of her just struggling to stay up. For some reason, she tried to find Jimmy, but he was no longer in the corner she’d just seen him? Where-

“Let her go, Gerard! This was not part of the deal!”

Gerard stood by the side, Joe realized, and looked on the spectacle with the calm of a circus ringmaster. “The deal changes as I see fit.”

“Gerard!” Chris’ warning went unheeded, except for a tightening around Allison’s throat. Chris fell back, mouth twisted in a furious scowl.

“Are you insane?” Kate yelled out, the flicker in her gaze revealing that she considered aiming at Gerard instead. “Call off your shapeshifter, let her go!”

“Not yet, sweetheart,” Gerard said calmly. “I need the leverage I can get.”

Kate looked livid, deranged, frazzled. Not fully up to speed. Eyes going back and forth between the kanima and Gerard; back and forth, back and forth. “What are you doing? Dad! _Let her go!”_

For some reason, Joe noticed that one arm of Kate’s sweater was pulled up. Bloodstains on her forearm.

“ _Let her go!”_ Kate screamed at Gerard. Her eyes were wide and constantly moving. Joe realized she had never seen fear in Kate’s face before. Anger, frustration, rage, happiness — never fear. Not like this, not like now. “We already have the Alphas! Let her go!”

There was something freezing cold in Gerard’s tone when he said: “Fall back, Katherine.”

For a second it looked like Kate would do just that, but Chris cut in:

“Kate! This is Allison!” His voice cracked and Joe’s heart shattered because she had been the one to shoot Allison, to render her this helpless. “I don’t know what deal you have, but it can’t be more important than _her_ , your own niece!”

“We had a deal...” The shivery voice betrayed how much Kate was skirting the edge between sanity and insanity.

“He’s using you!”

Kate brandished the shotgun further, tucking her elbow into her side. “I need the Alpha blood.” 

Joe glanced down at her arm, at the already disappearing needlemark. Alpha blood?

At her words, Chris’ eyes widened with understanding. “The bite.” Nothing but cold resignation in his eyes. “It took. Kate, the Alpha blood, it’s a myth! He’s lying to you!

“I need-” Kate’s voice trembled and she looked as sick as Joe felt. Had she _injected_ Joe’s blood into herself? Why why why? “I need the-”

“Because you just could not follow orders,” Gerard nearly spat at Kate. “No, you jumped the gun, deciding to go after the big game early for something as petty as _revenge_. I gave you a clear order and you _disobeyed_ and now, you’re paying the consequences _._ ”

The shotgun lost its steady aim towards the kanima holding Allison, circled to Joe, then back to the kanima. “What do you mean?” She gave Gerard a desperate look, nostrils flared, mouth in a harsh bite. “It’s always been about revenge!”

“Hrm,” Gerard’s let out a sharp noise of contempt. “You always were a good soldier, Kate, but you never fully grasped the concept of _strategy._ ”

At least Kate caught on to the same thing as Joe. The shotgun wavered a fraction, eyes darting to Gerard. “ _Was_ a good soldier?”

Something was wrong. Joe knew it, Kate knew it, but they were locked in an impasse. Gerard had all the cards and he knew _that_.

“You think the strength to slice a beast in half comes for free? It’s taken its toll on my body. I have dedicated my entire life to the hunt, I think it’s time I got something in return.” Gerard’s voice went from thundering to silky smooth. “Scott knows, don’t you?”

Scott, tearing his eyes away from Allison for a second, nodded and Gerard almost smiled, nearly serene. “It was the night outside the hospital, wasn’t it? When I threatened your mother.” Joe’s eyes widened, pure fire kindled by even the mention of Aunt Mel and she hardly heard the rest of his words. “Knew I saw something in your eyes. You could smell it, couldn’t you?”

Isaac’s voice rang out from where he, like Derek, laid on the floor clutching bleeding wounds. Isaac, age sixteen, bleeding on the floor. “He’s dying.”

“I am.” Gerard smiled that dead smile of his that never reached his eyes. “Have been for a while now. Unfortunately, science doesn’t have a cure for cancer yet. But the supernatural does.” He turned to the quivering Kate. “So yes, sweetheart, we do need an Alpha, but not for you.”

“No,” Kate said, again her eyes going haywire trying to find a focus. “I’m trying to find a cure! You said- you want- _no!_ ”

“If you had half the grit I thought you had,” Gerard’s voice echoed, “you would have killed yourself before the teeth could sink in!” He took a step forward and even though Kate had a clear shot, she never took it. She stumbled back, shotgun wavering, eyes shining from unshed tears. “And here I thought I had raised you to be a true Hunter!”

Even Joe could see how the words affected Kate. She swallowed heavily, staring out into the air.

“You’re right.”

Finally her eyes stilled in cold determination as she focused on Gerard.

“I am a hunter.”

Her voice came stronger. “And we hunt those who hunt us.”

“KATE!” 

The shout came from Chris who must have figured out what Kate meant; the next thing Joe knew the shotgun swung towards her and Derek. Several things happened at once:

However Gerard controlled the kanima, he did not need to use words. It dropped Allison who fell to the floor like a bag of stones. Faced with an open barrel, Joe threw herself across Derek without thinking. The kanima launched itself at Kate. 

A harsh grunt from Derek as Joe landed on top of him was lost when a shotgun blast smashed into the concrete next to his head. The kanima’s attack must have knocked off her aim. Waiting for the inevitable next shot that would rip her torso apart, it never came as Kate fired at the kanima, choosing survival over revenge. Then three more loud bangs that caused the kanima to screech.

Chris pulled his gun up the second Allison was free, firing over and over; shots that all hit true, lodging into the kanima’s torso, but apart from the slight blood spatter, it never even paused in its struggle with Kate.

The bite definitely took, Joe thought, as Kate kicked the kanima straight into Chris’ car. That strength was not natural. How the hell had she fought off Kate just now? Pure unbridled adrenaline?

“You need to get up!” Joe hissed at Derek and she scrambled off him, but with the bloodloss and the venom, he was too wounded to stand. With the beating and ketamine, she could hardly stand herself. He growled at the effort, to get his legs to work. “Come on, pleas-”

Something slammed into Joe’s throat and for a second she thought she was shot. Instead Kate had used the shotgun to strike Joe away, swinging it across her throat. Joe flailed back at the impact, windpipe closed off from air, seeing stars and she fell backwards on the floor. Helpless to only watch Kate stand over a frozen Derek, taking aim with a vicious smile.

“Sorry, handsome, I only need one of you!”

_“Katherine!”_

Gerard’s shout was probably the only thing that could hinder Kate from pulling the trigger. The struggle played out over Kate’s face. Even Joe could see her finger twitching, wanting to just shoot, to kill.

“We had a deal!” she screamed at Gerard, gun not moving from Derek who was growling in effort to get up. “You said you would help me!”

“I did help you,” Gerard nearly trembled with anger and Joe did not have time to think why, why he would not want Derek dead, “but there is a limit to how many mistakes that can be tolerated! You just made your last one.” His mouth twisted in an ugly sneer. “You should have stayed dead the first time _._ ”

Kate froze as the kanima bounded off the car and attacked.

For a second, it seemed like Kate would just submit to her fate. A true Hunter, despite Gerard’s words, she only used that second to bring out something from her pocket. She threw it at the kanima, aiming for its face and whatever it was, it sailed through the air like a clay pigeon.

Like she had done probably a thousand times, Kate took aim and fired.

Joe squeezed her eyes shut when Kate’s shot resulted in a large flash explosion. The kanima howled, blinded, and Kate dropped the shotgun in favor of the pistol, emptying all sixteen shots to pierce through the thick hide.

The blast had left even Joe half-blind, left all of them blinking and Joe tried to find either Kate or the kanima, not sure which was the biggest threat. She only saw blurry shapes.

Through the haze, she heard running footsteps.

“Oh no the fuck you don’t!” Joe spat and threw herself forward, snatching up the shotgun and sprinting hard towards the exit after Kate.

She made it five, maybe six steps.

“No!” Joe cried when something wrapped itself around her neck and jerked her back. Shotgun clattered to the ground. Her hands tried to break it loose, this thick scaled appendix that lifted her off the ground with no apparent effort at all. Joe barely got her fingers between the tail and her throat, giving a fraction of an inch leeway for her to take a breath, but the strength of this thing would crush her fingers if needed.

Even through the rush in her ears, she heard Derek snarl, but he fell back in fury when the kanima tightened its hold. Leverage. Always leverage. Always in need for a damn rescue, goddamnit!

“Sorry, dear, but you’re needed here,” Gerard said and Joe did not even have enough air in her lungs to tell him to go screw himself.

The kanima, although injured, judging by the long streams of blood running down its side held Joe with no apparent effort. Gerard’s whole face trembled as he took a last look towards the warehouse exit where there was no sign of Kate and he looked tempted to spit on the ground. “Coward.”

Like a snake, movement attracted his attention and he tore around to where Scott was making his way to Allison to help her off the floor. He smiled. “Mhrm.”

The world blurred as the kanima moved in a fluid swipe to grab Allison as well, holding her in its hands. Not killing her, not yet, even though only her eyes moved, desperate, her body still sedated with the ketamine. Joe’s doing. Joe’s fault.

It had the desired effect. Scott stopped moving, face wolfed out, glaring at Gerard. Derek was still mostly paralyzed and Joe was glad she could not make out the expression on his face. 

“What are you doing?” Chris spat, livid and out of bullets, out of options.

“He’s doing what he came here to do,” Scott said way too calmly, not taking his eyes off Allison. Joe kicked her feet, but it held her too high off the ground.

“You monster.” Chris trembled with rage. “You just tried to kill your own daughter for what you-”

“She was weak!” Spit flew from Gerard’s lips as he shouted. “Beaten! Forced against her will! Here, I will be the one to take it!”

“And Allison? You’d kill her too?”

“When it comes to survival,” Gerard said in a voice reminiscent of a wailing ghoul. “I’d kill my own son!” He gave Scott a knowing look. “Scott!”

Only now did the cold realization hit Joe. Only now did she realize why Gerard wanted an Alpha.

Her throat cut off, she could not even scream, could not do anything, as Scott’s face morphed back to normal, better equipped to show his resignation. He looked at Chris, close to crying, but the Hunter only took a single step after him, helpless just as Joe. She heard Allison whimper too as Scott walked to Derek, still half-paralyzed on the floor, moving to get away.

“No!” Joe managed to choke out and she squirmed harder against the bind, digging her human fingernails into the thick scaly hide, hoping it would feel pain, grow tired of her, cast her to the side. Her breath hitched as Scott plunged his own clawed hand into Derek’s neck. Scott forced him up to a stand and Joe cried out, anticipating the pain...that never came.

She saw Scott’s claws dig into Derek’s skin, holding him in place, and she should have felt that. She should have felt it in her own neck, as if Scott was violating her body, but nothing. Derek’s torso was littered with large scratches and bruises, but she felt nothing. Why was she not feeling it?

Derek let out guttural grunts, hands weakly over his stomach, unable to fight it. “Scott, don’t.” Helpless. Tears clouded her eyes and the tail tightened around her throat when she tried to scream again. “You know he’s gonna kill me right after.” His red eyes were dark as he looked at Gerard. “He’ll be an Alpha.”

“That’s true,” Gerard said with malicious glee. The bastard stood with his hands behind his back, watching contedly as Scott did the dirty work, still with his claws plunged into Derek’s neck _that she could not feel!_ Derek obviously did, as evident by his pained grunts, so she should too! “But I think he already knows that, don’t you, Scott?”

Scott looked at Allison automatically, not at Joe, no matter how much she tried to tell him with her eyes that he had to stop!

“He knows that the ultimate prize is Allison,” Gerard continued. “Do this small task for me, and they can be together. You are the only piece that doesn’t fit, Derek.” He spat out the name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “And in case you haven’t learned yet, there is just no competing with young love.” He finished his speech by wrenching off his coat.

Jimmy! Where was Jimmy? Joe tried to look around, but only her eyes could move, and she was forced to watch Scott ignore Derek’s panicked bursts of: “Scott, don’t! Don’t!”

It was as if she was speaking through Derek, because it was all she wanted to say. He had to stop! He couldn’t do this! _Scott, stop!_

“I’m sorry. But I have to.”

Unable to move, unable to scream, she could only watch Scott push his claws back, forcing Derek to bend backwards, mouth open, fangs extended. His prone body, claws out, but not fighting — helpless. Violated. Exploited. Joe kicked, not caring about her own body, not caring if she choked, not caring about anything other than stopping Scott from whatever he thought he was doing. Did he not realize? How could he not realize-

Allison whimpered too, somewhere to her side, as helpless as any of them. As helpless as all of them, except Scott, who could stop this if he wanted to, who could let Derek go!

While rolling up his sleeve, seemingly in no hurry, Gerard came over to Scott and Derek. It seemed to take forever, as if he was making a show of it, but Gerard slowly placed his forearm into Derek’s jaws. He did not bite as much as Scott’s claws forced his teeth together, the pain obvious in Derek’s eyes and she was not feeling it!

At least Gerard screamed, at least he got some pain, but it would be short-lived. He would heal. He would become stronger. He would kill Derek to become the Alpha. He would be the Alpha. And what would happen to her if Derek died? Did Scott even care?

Derek slumped to the floor, spent, used, empty, and Scott let him go. Dropping him like Peter had dropped Jimmy at the Hale house. Not useful anymore, disposed of like garbage. Her lungs ached with the effort of just breathing, every breath she pulled in trying to be released like a scream. Trembling, delusional, wanting to die now or she’d kill Gerard herself if she had to. _Where was Jimmy?_

Gerard let out some pained groans, but obviously pleased with the result as he looked at the ring of teeth marks around his arm. He laughed in victory, and held his arm up high as a display, as a trophy.

The red intrusions in his skin turned black almost right away. It seeped out of the wounds, running down his arm, but he had not noticed yet. He noticed their expressions, all horrified, stepping away from him like he was contaminated. He was...infected. Poisoned. Rotten.

“What?” Gerard growled, even though he obviously was not turning. The blood did not stop running as he looked down, glaring at the obvious sick marks. “What is this?” His mad eyes landed on Scott. “What did you do?”

Scott looked at Derek when he answered, Derek who was on the floor, crawling to get away, crawling to escape. “Everyone said Gerard always had a plan.” Scott finally looked up at Gerard. “I had a plan too.”

For some reason, Gerard brought out a small pill box. He opened it, hands shaking, and Joe recognized the pills. They were the ones in her pill bottle. The one supposed to hold morphine.

Gerard trembled as he shook out all the pills into his hand, not caring most of them landed on the floor. “No. No.” Like he couldn’t believe it at first, but then his hand crushed down, a small plume of ash rising from his closed fist. “Mountain ash!”

Joe could not breathe. Not from the kanima’s tail, not from the sight of Gerard falling to his knees with black blood running from every orifice, but from the apologetic look Scott gave her.

Mountain ash. Her coffee tasting funny. Her medication in Scott’s hands. The sudden withdrawal. The detachment from Derek. No pain. She was not feeling Derek’s pain and she was supposed to!

Gerard fell to his knees, obviously choking, head rolling back. Gurgling sounds, pained gasps and a tall fountain of black blood erupted from his mouth. The black rotten infected liquid — blood — rained down around him. The smell was reminiscent of death and spoiled meat. Too much came out, splattering the floor, emptying him completely and he slumped to the side when it stopped.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Derek’s voice, back to normal, weak, vulnerable, looking up at Scott and eyes flickering over to Joe as if she had known about it and it killed her because she had not!

“Because you might be an Alpha,” Scott said calmly, as if he had no idea what he just did. “But you’re not mine.”

Like Kate, Gerard was not going down without a fight. He was not dead yet and they all turned to watch as he crawled on the floor. Spluttering and coughing up blood. “Kill them!” His order rang out and the kanima’s tail tightened around Joe’s throat. “Kill them aaaaall!”

A roar overtook his voice.

Joe found Jimmy.

Fully transformed, shifted into a larger than life wolf, Jimmy issued a challenging roar towards the kanima. He seemed stronger than before, not wounded by wolfsbane, and drool clung to his large teeth, his bellow shaking the walls.

Joe slumped as the kanima was forced to drop them to fight off the newcomer. Landing on the floor, she felt the ground tremble as Jimmy charged past on large feet. His long arms swept up to trap the kanima between them, tackling the creature and running them into the far wall, the force knocking creating a large dent in the concrete.

She lost sight of them in the dust explosion and crawled over to Allison instead. Eyes wide, pulse steady, still unable to move too much.

“I’m sorry.” Joe’s voice sounded foreign and guttural and she helped Allison sit up. The apologies kept coming, not sure what for, for all of it maybe. For being shot. For losing her mom. For having such a shitty family. For being used as leverage. “I’m so sorry.”

The kanima’s screeches were indistinguishable from Jimmy’s roars. Joe looked up — the kanima and Jimmy circled each other, two fully shapeshifted figures. Despite the reptilian appearance, it was easy to see the similarities. Walking upright on two legs, claws extended on either side of them, leaping forwards to tear into each other.

Then, for some reason, both turned to face the wood-covered wall of the warehouse.

A large crash had Joe falling over to cover Allison without thinking.

A car — was that Stiles’ Jeep? — came blaring straight _through_ the wooden wall and slammed into the kanima. Jimmy had just enough time to toss himself away and landed in a heap not far from Joe. The kanima screamed as the impact knocked it over.

Not for long though. Down, but not defeated.

Just as Scott let out a relieved sigh, the kanima was back up and clambered onto the Jeep’s hood. It hissed through the windows and even Joe could hear Stiles’ panicked screams.

While Stiles clambered out of the car, dashing straight for Scott, Lydia Martin got out to confront the kanima. Like a defenseless dainty angelic creature, she faced the demon.

“Jackson!” she shrieked and held up a flimsy shield in the form of something small and shiny. It caught the kanima’s attention, whose head twisted like a magpie’s, at least temporarily distracted from clawing her face off. Her voice came a little more steadfast. “Jackson.”

Joe let go off Allison, just waiting for the inevitable, for the kanima to strike.

It never happened. Instead, a ripple passed through it and the scales subsided. Not a smooth transformation like with the werewolves, more patchy, bit by bit of Jackson’s body reclaimed by himself. She could see flecks of skin peek through the scales, most of Jackson Whittemore’s face revealed.

A hand closed around Joe’s ankle, the heat and touch alone telling her it was Derek. She did not move, too scared of what she would say and do when she was forced to, and let Derek hold onto her for whatever reason he had. If he was using her to absorb some of his pain, she did not feel it. It did not hurt. Scott made sure of that.

The thing that was more Jackson now than kanima, although not completely this or that, took the shiny object. It almost looked like a key, a regular house key, but it was hard to tell. Apparently it meant something. He stared at it, then at Lydia, stumbling back. More and more of Jackson now, less of the kanima.

Beside her, Derek let her go and got up. Still in his wolf-state, still with red glowing eyes, watching Jackson. For some reason now healed.

The boy, because it was no longer a kanima, seemed to expect something as he looked at Derek. Threw his arms out wide, as if to open himself up.

A short-term solution, Joe realized. Kanima only temporarily subdued, letting its guard down. Leaving Jackson free to make the hard choice.

It was the only way to explain why Derek sprang up from the ground.

From the other side, Peter somersaulted through some steelwork. Joe could not even gasp — too spent, too numb — when Derek pierced the teenage boy on his claws, digging them into his chest. On the other side, so did Peter. Jackson, because it was not the kanima, coughed and croaked, letting out a death-rattle.

“Pack bond,” someone whispered from her other side. Jimmy, back in his human form, panting and shirtless. Not wounded. He watched the only remaining Hale-werewolves drag their claws out of Jackson and let him slump down into Lydia’s trembling arms. Jimmy’s eyes were dark and narrowed, focused on Peter. “Pack kill.”

As a shivering and whimpering Lydia caught Jackson’s slumping form, Derek and Peter stepped back. Derek looked human now, head down, ashamed. He glanced at Joe on the floor, but looked away at the sight of her. Her face was not a good liar. It would betray how she felt.

No one could do anything but watch as Jackson, whose lungs must have been pierced, spluttered and gurgled, dying fast. Isaac backed away at the sight, lost in the world, until Derek clamped his hand on the boy’s shoulder, both to steady him and keep him still.

Joe looked away from the scene, squeezing her eyes shut. She was glad she did not have a werewolf’s ears, the loud crying from Lydia bad enough without hearing what they were saying to each other. Jimmy was still watching though, hearing it all, his mouth drawn in a firm line.

“Where’s Gerard?” Allison whispered and Joe looked over to see that Scott had gotten her up to her feet, holding her upright, clutching at her. Joe followed Allison’s gaze, to the empty spot in the pool of black blood.

Chris watched Scott and Allison, but only said: “He can’t be far.” His eyes met Joe’s. “Either of them.”

Just like Kate, Joe thought. Can’t be far. Like that was a comfort. So much for letting Chris handle anything. As if he could read her mind — but it was probably just her face — Chris turned his head down.

Joe found it easier to watch Jimmy than anything else. It was easier to watch his neutral expression than to see Isaac’s fear, Derek’s shame, Scott’s relief, Allison’s sadness, Stiles’ worry or Chris’ resignation. What did she look like? Scared, angry, helpless?

As Jimmy tilted his head in confusion, she turned back to the Jeep. Turned back to watch the girl who had left the body of her boyfriend on the floor, but stopped at the sound of a long inhale accompanied by the scraping of claws on the floor.

It seemed to take forever, but was probably just a few seconds, before Jackson — fully naked and without a single scale — rose to stand. Claws out, head back, eyes glowing blue and roaring like a-

“Werewolf,” whispered Joe, knowing it to hold true.

Aware of Derek’s eyes on her, she looked up briefly, before they both stared at Jackson. His face went back to normal, to human, and Lydia jumped in his arms. Clutching at each other as if their lives depended on it — and who knew, maybe that was true? Nothing stronger than young, stupid love. Ask Scott.

Joe saw the expression in Derek’s eyes. He had not known this would happen. He thought he had killed Jackson — and he had still done it. Made the hard choice, like he had done when he broke Erica’s arm to force the venom out. Like he had done when he killed his uncle.

Was it over?

No. Kate was out there, Gerard was out there, and who knew what else? Jackson and Lydia held onto each other, unaware of anything else, while Joe slowly got up from the floor. Scratched. Aching. Her forearms looked like a shuffling board of bruises from Kate’s assault earlier. Joe glanced at the dart gun on the floor — she had been hoping for the rifle — but it would have to do.

She swayed a bit, adrenaline stooping down leaving her dizzy. Derek held out a hand in case she needed, it but she did not. Did not need anyone. Not right now.

Teeth gritted as she headed for the exit, picking up Kate’s shotgun too where she had left it when fleeing.

Scott also reached out a hand to her as she passed. “Joe, are you-”

“Don’t touch me.” She recoiled harder than expected from his hand, trembling from pent-up rage, saw his confused eyes. Not trusting herself at the moment, she only bit out: “You switched out my meds.”

“I- I had to,” Scott tried to explain, letting go off Allison so Chris held her up instead. “It was the only way.”

“Was it?” Voice shrill, eyes flooding over. “Are you sure, Scott? Lying to me, it was the only way?” Her whole body shivered, her eyes flickering, unable to look at him. She glanced briefly at Derek, but could not look at him either. “Using-”

No. Not here, not now, not like this. Not her trauma, that was Derek’s. Maybe one day, when she was numbed down, she could tell Scott what he just did. Violating Derek like that, using him, like Kate, like Peter, like everyone else in Derek’s life. Not her place to bring it up now, not her pain.

“You’d get hurt,” Scott tried again, still reaching out for her, not even realizing what he had done.

“So let me!” Joe yelled and noticed everyone else turning away, uncomfortable by the intimate argument. “That’s my choice and you took it away from me!”

He looked confused, eyebrows pulled together and mouth hanging open. “You never had a choice!” Scott gestured to Derek. “If he gets hurt, you get hurt-”

“How long did you plan this?” Joe cried now, cold tears running down, mixing with blood and sweat. “How long did you know? How long did you lie to me? Jesus Christ, Scott, just forcing me to crash off the pain meds is bad enough and then feeding me this crap? Without knowing the consequences? _What the hell were you thinking?_ ”

Baring her teeth, Joe wrenched out the pill bottle from her back pocket, dropped it to the ground and stomped heavily. A large plume of ash smoke rose around her foot as the bottle crushed. They were not even the same as the ones Derek brought her, they were larger and she’d taken far too many of them to feel anything but betrayed by Scott.

“Joe, I didn’t-” Scott faltered.

“Scott,” Stiles tried from the side where he stood looking like a walking skeleton in an oversized t-shirt and bruises all over his face. “Come on, buddy, don’t-”

Unfortunately Scott did not have enough sense to listen. “I didn’t have a choice! He was going to kill you and Mom, what was I supposed to do?”

“Oh my God,” Joe mumbled, unable to fathom and she yelled: “ _Trust me!_ ”

As Scott’s eyes flickered to Derek, she gritted her teeth together. “That is not the same, Scott! You are not the same! _He_ is not my cousin. _He_ hasn’t known me for his whole life!” She tried to breathe, but it was hard, forced off from rage and disappointment. “He _knows_ I don’t trust him and-” _he had never tried to take advantage of it._

Her hands came up to her face, tried to wipe away tears, knowing it futile. She splayed her hands out to Scott instead. “But you’re family, Scott. We’ve always been there for each other and I _thought_ ,” her voice broke off, but she persisted, “I thought you trusted me as much as I trusted you.”

Joe turned around, walking desolately out of the warehouse, not responding to Scott yelling her name. Derek knew better — he never tried.

Outside, there was no trace of Kate or her car. No trace of Gerard either. Joe bit in a scream that threatened to erupt and slammed the tranquilizer gun into the ground so hard it broke.

This was not over. Would it ever be over?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for this behemoth of a chapter. It should probably have been split into at least two chapters, if not three. There's so much happening and I *know* the pacing is hard because there's no chance to catch your breath. At all. It's been rewritten too many times to count and I just want to post it and move on. Wish I could give you a better Christmas gift than this. I swear I'll make it up to you later on :)
> 
> And I am sorry for Kate getting away - again. I swear there's a plan to this and I hope you're in it for the long haul like me. I know Gerard is the biggest hypocrite to live, but he was like that on the show too, remember? (Also, did no one catch Scott acting shady the last chapters? Is this Jimmy all over again?)
> 
> PSA: Gonna take a few days off and post the next chapter on the 27/28th and then a new on the 31st :)  
> Please let me know what you think of this chapter, even though I know it's a tough one. Thank you for reading as always and Merry Christmas, guys! Or Happy Holidays if you don't celebrate Christmas <3 See you in a few days, so take care of yourself!


	50. The Bridge

Everywhere she looked, she saw Kate’s face. Not because of her own paranoia for once, but because one of the largest manhunts in history was afoot, searching for the mass murderer who faked her own death to escape custody. Newspapers, internet, TV-reports and radio circled her description over and over.

Call this number if you see her. Considered armed and dangerous. Do not approach. Driving a silver SUV, last seen crossing state borders and heading south. Apparently, whoever or whatever Sheriff Stilinski found in Kate’s grave convinced him that she was still out there and he had sounded the alarm. Fraud was investigated at the coroner’s office, how something like this could happen. Even Joe, with her limited funds, would bet a hundred bucks it could never be traced back to the Argents.

The manhunt would make it harder for Kate to come back to Beacon Hills, but Joe had no doubts she would eventually. Manic need for revenge and retribution, probably not quelled by the fact she was (probably) turning into a werewolf. And, Joe thought, she wanted Alpha blood — for something yet to be determined.

“Knock knock,” said Aunt Melissa and tapped the open door to Joe’s room. She leaned against it, watching Joe shove stacks of paper into boxes, not bothering to sort through her research. Aunt Mel took a deep breath. “You’re really doing this, huh?”

“Yeah,” Joe mumbled and continued packing. Her whole room, her whole life basically, was spread neatly into cardboard boxes and waiting to be carried out into her car. Not a big room, not too much to carry. The furniture was all Aunt Mel’s except from the computer chair, so Joe would not be bringing a lot with her.

“Ever gonna tell me what happened?” Aunt Mel asked softly and went to sit on Joe’s bed, now stripped of its covers. “I mean, apart from the life-or-death fight with the creepy principal who was mind-controlling the scary reptillian thing Jackson turned into.”

Joe’s reasoning for moving out had been vague, but how was she gonna tell her aunt that she did not trust Scott anymore? That she could not live in the same house as him right now?

“I’m not stupid, I know something happened with you and Scott,” Aunt Mel continued when Joe only kept shoving her notes into wherever they could fit. “If you tell me, I can ground him for what he did. Take away his TV or-”

“It’s not him, it’s me.” It was not a lie, not technically. He still did not realize what he did had been wrong based on how he had made absolutely zero attempt to apologize. Maybe it was just Joe’s hang-ups, but so be it. She had been unable to even look at him after that night, no resolution forthcoming just yet. Maybe one day... “It’s just me and my issues.”

“You know, if you keep cutting people out of your life, you might end up alone.”

“I’m not cutting Scott out of my life,” Joe said, involuntarily confirming that he was the problem, at least for her. I’ll still be in Beacon Hills, Aunt Mel, I’m not moving cross-country. I just need some space right now. I need to get out of this house.”

“And you think moving in with some guy you’ve only known for a few months is the right solution?”

“Hey, he offered and he has the space, so...”

Not to mention, when Kate came after her again, she would not be risking Aunt Mel’s life.

Done with her desk, Joe moved on to stuff all her clothes into large trash bags for transport. Her fingers touched the fabric of the floral monstrosity she’d worn to the reunion dinner and she smiled briefly. She still thought it was so ugly it looked cool. Aunt Mel told her to hold on for a second and disappeared from Joe’s room only to return with the boots from Target.

“I never wear them anyway,” Aunt Mel said and handed the high-heeled boots to Joe. “Come on, take ‘em, they go well with the dress.”

Joe kept smiling. “Thanks.”

Aunt Mel helped her stack the boxes in her Ford Fiesta and quickly declared Joe would need to go several trips. Joe didn’t mind. The sun was out, Scott was in school and she was not going far anyway.

A large delivery van stood outside the laundromat when Joe got there, the drivers discussing how they had emptied out the place just a few months ago and was now there putting it all back. Jimmy, in a multi-colored shirt that would actually match Joe’s dress pretty well, stood with his hands behind his back surveying the movers, probably afraid they would scratch any of the furniture.

“Oh good, you’re here,” he said as she carried the first cardboard box past him. “We need to agree on the general layout of the apartment. I suppose you will need your own desk and I suggest we use the common area in the living room instead of our rooms. You’ll see why, they already brought in your bed.”

He did not offer to help her carry the boxes upstairs, but Joe did not mind. She did not have much and most of it was just lecture or research notes that had accumulated over the years. As Aunt Mel predicted, it took Joe three trips with her car back and forth between the McCall house and Jimmy’s apartment and four times that up and down the stairs in the apartment building.

After that night with the kanima, Jimmy had offered her his guest room. Okay, so it was after she had nagged about how betrayed and scared she felt for several hours he had offered her to move in. It might have been just to shut her up, but the more they discussed it, the more they realized it could be a viable solution. Safety in numbers and all. He hid it well, but his encounter with Kate had left him just as scared as she was.

These talks had happened when they trailed the Preserve looking for any trace of where Erica and Boyd had went. Not sure why he was still helping her, but she welcomed it anyway. Perhaps he did not want to be alone or his loyalty to the few he deemed as his friends ran deeper than she had anticipated. If he was planning something, he seemed to be in it for the long game at least. For some reason, she felt she could trust him.

In the end, they had found nothing more than a trace. Jimmy had triangulated the last known location of Erica’s cell phone and they found it covered in mud with an arrow straight through it. Her last call had been to Joe. The trail ended there.

The Argents had a lot to answer for.

As Joe expected by now, her bruises and scratches were healed in just a few days. It added up to all the other times she had been wounded lately, healed at twice or thrice the speed as normal, even without Derek there as a pain-relief mechanism. She had not seen him since that night, not that she had made any particular efforts to do so. Neither had he. Postponing the inevitable truth where she was genuinly unsure which outcome she was hoping for.

Balancing the final cardboard box on her hip, Joe shut the trunk of her Ford and locked it. It was nearing sunset and the whole street was lit up in a deep orange hue. As she turned around, she was face to face with Chris Argent who stood a good ten feet away.

Arms down by his side, a neutral expression on his face — he gave her a nod in greeting, one she did not return. Out of everything, another Argent was the last thing she needed right now.

“Gerard has been taken care of.”

She noticed the deep circles under his eyes. It had probably not been an easy week for him either. There had been a small obituary about Victoria Argent. No funeral, just a small private service for the family — what was left of it.

He did a half-shrugging motion. “Thought you should know.”

“Taken care of _how_?” Joe asked when she found her voice.

“He won’t be a threat.”

Immediately, Joe scoffed. “If he’s alive, he should still be considered a threat.”

“Probably,” Chris agreed slowly. “I won’t tell you where he is. Don’t take it personally.” Even though he smiled, it came out looking more sad than anything else. “It’s on what’s known as a need-to-know basis. Primarily to avoid Kate from finding out.” He cleared his throat. “He’s isolated and cut off from our funds. Physically weak. I’ll be notified if anything changes about his condition.”

There was something about Chris’ tone that left no room for discussion. In lack of anything else, Joe shrugged and said: “Okay?”

A heavy battle-worn sigh passed through Chris. “We’re leaving Beacon Hills.”

“For good?”

“For now,” Chris corrected, but seemed mildly amused by her eagerness. “Not sure how long.”

Joe scuffed her sneaker into the pavement and shifted around the box still on her hip. “You’re going after Kate?”

“No.” The answer seemed to pain him and his voice turned gruffer as he explained. “You gotta believe me, Joe, it’s going against my every instinct to _not_ go after her. I know firsthand how dangerous she is and what I saw that night-” He shook his head. “She’s too dangerous to roam loose. Unhinged, out of control. I got some of my best guys looking for her, but if she goes south of the border it’s out of my hands.”

No elaboration, but he looked genuinly sorry. Joe realized what she had taken for a neutral expression was Chris Argent masking his pain as best he could.

“I’m taking Allison to some of our family in Lyon. Joe, I’m sorry, but right now Allison’s all I have left and I’m,” he swallowed hard, “I’m all she has left too. I can’t abandon her, not even for Kate, I’m sorry.”

In a few short months, Chris had lost his wife, father and sister — the last one twice. Joe recalled the look in Allison’s eyes before she shot her with the tranquilizer dart, a memory that still made some of her internal organs squirm — he had come too close to losing Allison as well. It was hard to argue with his logic, but Joe still felt she wanted to. Kate might be a monster, but his family were her makers.

“You think she’s going south?” she asked instead and clutched the box closer to her to conceal the nerves brought up by just thinking of Kate.

“Makes most sense. Even if she’s caught, Mexico won’t extradite unless the death penalty’s off the table.”

“You think a lethal injection would be enough?” Joe asked, harsher than intended. Her fingers dug into the cardboard of the box. “Did the bite take or not? Something was wrong with her, right? She talked about a cure, Alpha blood...”

Chris sighed, already sounding weary. “Alpha blood is a myth. It’s almost an urban legend among hunters. It’s not a cure, if it was, we would know about it.”

They would probably not resort to ritual suicide in that case, Joe thought.

“But there’s some who say that ingesting Alpha blood can hold off the turn, postpone it basically. It might have been how Gerard convinced her to keep helping him, to capture Derek instead of just killing him, because I never knew Kate to be marginally interested in the less _tangible_ aspects of hunting. She never saw what we hunted as anything more than sophisticated animals.”

If nothing else, his words shattered the uncomfortable thought on how Kate had taken some of Joe’s blood already, not Derek’s. Now it was her turn to swallow hard. _Sophisticated animals?_

“Erica is the same age as Allison,” Joe said, her voice almost trembling in anger. “A girl. A person. She doesn’t even have her driver’s license yet. What gave you the _right_ to go after her? And don’t give me any bullshit about how potentially dangerous she can be — so far the heaviest bodycount in this town lies with the humans, a lot of them with your family.”

“I’m aware,” Chris said evenly with another slow nod. “Even though you might understand better if if you saw a werewolf lose control during the full moon. My point was that Kate never shared Gerard’s fascination with the supernatural. Where he obviously has no problems exploiting it to his advantage,” Chris’ face twisted in an angry grimace, “Kate steered clear. If she’s chasing Alpha blood now, she’s desperate. There _is_ no cure, Joe, none that’s ever been confirmed. It’s all rumors, myths and legends and Kate knows this.”

Something still bothered her about this narrative — there was something Kate had said that night, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think she’ll be back here for a while. She’s too smart for that. The number one thing you need as a hunter is patience. Eventually the heat will die down and-”

“She’ll come back to finish the job?”

He took a while to answer. “As I said, some of the best hunters I know are on her case.”

“You think they’ll catch her?”

“No.” The answer came resolutely and fast, but at least he was honest. “I’ll keep doing what I can from overseas, but my number one priority right now is Allison. It has to be. I can’t-” He shook his head. “I can’t lose her too.”

It was too hard to argue with a single father desperate to protect his daughter so Joe kept quiet. She had already asked him before if Gerard or Kate could have re-captured Erica and Boyd and he said not even they could be two places at once.

“I’ll stay in touch if I hear anything,” Chris said when Joe never responded at all. “I have to go. Take care of yourself, Joe.” He sighed and looked over his shoulder at the still empty street. “You too, Mister Carter.”

Eyebrows raised, Joe watched Chris Argent walk away from the laundromat as Jimmy skulked out of the shadows.

“What is it with you guys and lurking?” Joe asked, wondering how long Jimmy had been listening in. Not that it really mattered, she was just glad to not be left alone with the impending paranoia hanging over her head. Shifting the box around on her hip, she followed Jimmy to the front entrance of the apartment building.

“Thought you might be interested to hear he was tellling the truth,” Jimmy replied and at least held the door open for her to go upstairs. “At least as far as he knows. Alpha blood is said to have some powerful qualities, but I’ve never heard about using it like that. Might be more to the story than he knows — in every myth, there’s a grain of truth, right? I’ll keep looking into it.”

They had discussed this as well the last few days. At least most of it. Joe had not told anyone about how Kate actually took her blood and did _something_ with it — it was so weird she was still not sure she had not hallucinated the whole thing. Could Kate have drunk it? Very on point with a lot of lore, but why would she have bothered with a needle? Why not just cut open a vein and taken it Dracula-style? Ingesting and injecting were two similar words, but very different approaches.

Joe sighed as she watched Jimmy unlock the front door to the apartment — _their_ apartment now, she supposed. Getting to the bottom of this was like fighting a Hydra. Every answer she got just raised ten more questions.

Kate on the loose. Erica and Boyd missing. Mate-bond status unknown. Cousin still being stupid. Gerard ‘taken care of’ was just one thing checked off on a long list of problems. Would it _ever_ be over?

* * *

Feeling a sense of deja vu, Joe tropped up at the vet clinic almost before it was opened the day after Chris paid her a visit. Doctor Deaton was in his white coat, filling out some paperwork and looked up as the bell jingled, signalling her entrance. He gave her a smile, but she noticed it was strained.

“Joe,” he said and straightened up. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Joe remained in front of the counter, not wanting to go behind it. This was not a social call. “Did you know?”

“I’m afraid you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific than that,” Doctor Deaton said with an open and friendly expression. At least that was true — there were several instances she could accuse him of holding back information.

“Peter Hale.”

No denying it and he gave a quiet nod.

“What _is_ an Emissary exactly?”

At that he smiled. “I think the word speaks for itself.”

“Yeah, I know. It means someone on a mission.” Her arms crossed as she tried to keep her cool. “Interestingly it’s used for both peace negotiators and spies.”

“And who,” Doctor Deaton tilted his head to the side, “am I spying for?” He leaned against the counter, arms to either side of his body. “Bridget Kane is not a woman to be trifled with, I’m sure you know, and I’m sure she had nothing flattering to say about me. And yet, who is the one who lied to you for all these years?”

Joe made a face. “Both of you?”

“Technically-”

“I don’t give a damn about technicalities, okay? Everyone’s lying to me all the time and I’m sick of it.”

His eyebrows raised, giving her an innocent look. “Derek too?”

“Derek keeps things from me,” she said, almost wincing at the name, “which might not be lying, but I’m filing it under the same category.” Drawing a deep breath, she could not help but ask: “You know about,” the word made her feel strange, especially now because of her doubts, “us?”

“It is easy to tell,” Doctor Deaton admitted, “when you know what to look for. I knew Derek’s great-grandparents.” He said that as if it explained everything.

“Did you know about Scott’s plan?” Third point on her agenda. “You helped him, right? You made the pills at the same time.” Joe walked over to put the small orange pill bottle on the counter, the one she got from Derek. He barely glanced at it, keeping his attention fixed to her. “Those pills you gave to Gerard, the ones Scott had me take, they were twice the size as these. What happened to ‘not meant for regular consumption’?”

At least he looked mildly ashamed at that. “How many did you take?”

“Six.”

He appeared to do some mental head calculation. “Did you experience any irregular side-effects?”

She scoffed loudly. “How am I supposed to know? I don’t even know what it’s supposed to be like in the first place. Taking these instead of the morphine made me act like an idiot, but I’m not sure if that was the mountain ash or the sudden withdrawal symptoms.”

Deaton picked up the pill bottle and weighed it in his hands. “Unlike wolfsbane, which is a poison, mountain ash works as a barrier for the supernatural.” For some reason, he glanced at the gate separating the front part of the room from the rest of the clinic. “Which is why Gerard survived, but is unable to turn as the mountain ash sealed off the receptive gene from the Alpha bite.” He raised an eyebrow at Joe. “And with you it sealed off the physical part of you that holds the direct link to Derek’s pain.”

“Only that part?” she asked, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “Are you sure?”

“What other symptoms were there?”

“Just this general feel of detachment. We were angry with each other. Annoyed.” Something about Doctor Deaton’s expression made Joe blink a few times. “That’s got nothing to do with the mountain ash, huh?”

He gave her a disarming smile. “There are few certainties to these kind of things, but I should not think so, no. I’m sorry to say that if you were fighting, it was probably more spurred on by your individual personalities than any outside interference.” Something seemed to occur to him and he asked: “Are you still feeling this detachment from Derek?”

Not missing out on the slight jab about their personalities, Joe shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I don’t know.” At his raised eyebrows, she huffed. “I haven’t actually seen him since that night.”

“It’s been a week. Why not?”

Glaring at her worn sneakers, she mumbled: “I dunno. I’m just, y’know, worried it might be,” Joe averted her gaze to the side now, “permanent or something.”

A small smile came upon Doctor Deaton’s lips. “I know six pills seem like a lot, but it should be out of your system by now. Gerard took a heavier dose of these pills for a much longer period of time and it was the stress from the bite that set off a chain reaction in his body where the body is continually fighting it.” He shook the pill bottle, making the remainder of the pills rattle around. “I’m not aware of any other long-term effects unless another catalyst was introduced.” Another innocent look. “Bonds like this aren’t easily broken.”

There was no rational reason she should feel so relieved. Then again, was it because of the bond itself or because of the person it was connected to? It did raise another question: why had Derek been avoiding her ever since that night? Maybe he blamed her for Scott’s actions? Or maybe it was because they had been fighting earlier, but then again they had definitely not been fighting on the porch, but then he’d brushed her off at the warehouse and she had probably looked angry about him killing Jackson even if the kid came back to life somehow and-

“So, if it’s out of my system, I should be able to feel his pain now, right?” Joe asked without thinking. It had just occured to her that something might have happened to him.

“I should think so,” he said and Joe’s shoulders sank back down. There was this strange comfort of knowing if he was hurt or not. The look he gave her was pointed. “Though you won’t know for sure until you talk to him.”

“Yeah, no, sure.” Now she cleared her throat. “So, uh, is there a rulebook or something I can look at first?”

“A what?”

“A rulebook. Something that can tell me how this works.” She huffed and paced around the front room of the clinic. Kate had said she knew more than Joe about mates, but that was almost a given because Joe knew _nothing_. “Okay, so, we can smell each other and we’re feeling each other’s pain and-”

“Sharing.”

She stopped. “What?”

“You’re sharing each other’s pain. It’s divided, not duplicated.” Doctor Deaton gave a small shrug, his expression telling her nothing of his intentions. “From what I’ve heard.”

That meant a lot of things. First that the electrocution Derek suffered at the hands of Kate Argent, the mind-numbing pain that had her bedridden and near throwing up, hadn’t even been all of it. It also meant that the injection she got, made Derek feel all of it.

“Werewolves have a very high pain threshold,” Doctor Deaton said as if he knew what she was thinking and by this rate, she wouldn’t be remotely surprised if he turned out to be a mindreader.

She blinked and tears fell, tears she wiped away hastily with the heel of her hand. “Okay. What else do you know?”

“Not much, I’ll admit. It is very-”

“Rare, I know, even among werewolves,” she said quickly, trying to distract from her stupid crying. “Once every hundred years or so, blah blah blah. It’s not an exact science.”

If Doctor Deaton took offense to her weariness, he did not let it show. He did some stuff on the register, multi-tasking as he spoke. “Surprisingly, Derek might be the one to know the most. He was very close with his great-grandfather.”

Joe raised her eyebrows at the thought. It was hard to picture Derek being close to anyone. That had been before, though, right? Before the fire, before Kate, maybe even before Paige? Could she picture a young Derek Hale, who grew up in a house with ten or eleven people, sitting on his great-grandfather’s knee — the one he called Pop? Maybe. If she tried.

“Did Derek tell you what ‘mate’ means?”

The suddden eruption of heat in Joe’s cheeks evaporated every imaginary memory of Derek with his family. Stuttering like a school-girl, she mumbled: “I, uh, already know what it, uh, means.”

“Really?” Doctor Deaton raised one single unimpressed eyebrow. “You want my advice? Talk to Derek. If you find the bond less intact, come back to see me. As I said, I’m not aware of any long-term effects.” He seemed to regard her a second too long. “Then again, there has never been a mate-pair with one human before.”

“Okay,” she said, suddenly anxious to just get out of there unless he started on the specifics of mating.

Joe was an academic at heart, she had done some searches on the topic and what she found, mostly in the form of some very specific literature designed for a specific kind of woman, had her more than a little worried. Words like marking, breeding and kno- Nope, she was definitely not gonna have that talk with Doctor Deaton. Especially not if he was a mindreader.

“Have you talked to Scott at all?” Deaton asked before she could make it out the door.

One hand on the door handle, she paused and snorted in disgust. “No.”

“Do you think, perhaps, you should offer him some leeway? We all make mistakes at that age.”

Doctor Deaton gave her a knowing look that she firmly ignored. He was well aware of her past, as she was required to give him the history when she applied for summer jobs here. Summers she usually had at least two jobs, working herself to death to afford the document fees in her search for her mom.

“I am sure his intentions were well-meant, if poorly executed.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like to be lumped together with the likes of Gerard Argent.” Joe sighed and rubbed her face tiredly. “I don’t like being lied to and I don’t like someone else making my decisions for me. Scott pulled a hat trick and did all three. I had to learn the hard way that there’s still gonna be long-term consequences despite your intentions being nothing but good. It’s time he figured that out too.”

Somehow Scott’s claws in Derek’s neck and the absence of pain in hers felt a thousand times worse than Kate beating the crap out of her. The absence of a choice, basically, which was a paradox in itself.

The door jingled as she left Deaton behind in his clinic.

* * *

One thing was certain, Joe thought as she picked up her order of an oatmilk cappucino from the barista and headed back for Jimmy’s apartment, she did _not_ have any sixth sense at finding Derek Hale.

It did not help that she knew of exactly two places he frequented. Both the depot and the Hale house had been a bust. Wandering around the warehouse district hoping to spot his car also was a no-go and she felt stupid doing it. Could she have gotten hold of his number somehow? Yes. Did she have absolutely no real reason for not doing that? Also yes. It would feel weird calling him now. Besides, what was she going to say?

‘Hey, can we meet up so I can check if our supernatural mate-bond is intact?’ sounded bad over phone and even worse via text.

Joe sipped her coffee as she trudged down the nearly deserted streets of downtown Beacon Hills. Not even the lucious oatmilk frothed to perfection or the enticing storefronts could distract Joe from her thoughts wandering. The depot had not only been empty, it had been completely cleared out. No sign of anyone ever being there and it had smelled sterile, much like Jimmy’s apartment when she and Scott went there after Jimmy’s disappearance. Covering their tracks most likely. Joe hadn’t even bothered to get out of her car at the Hale house — if any werewolves were there, they would have heard her approach from a mile away.

Stuck in her musings, she rummaged through her backpack after the keys to the front door of the apartment building. As she passed the corner of the building, she caught a whiff of something familiar and froze in her steps.

Spicy, earthy, woody — masculine and strong. After being around him so much lately, she had almost gotten used to his scent. Now it was like she smelled him properly for the first time all over again.

Just smelling him at all from this distance made her want to cry, as it confirmed Deaton’s words — the mountain ash had probably not done any permanent damage. Instead of crying, she rolled her eyes.

“Back to lurking?”

Derek Hale, in all his tall, dark and handsome glory emerged from the shadows where he had been leaning against the wall.

“Not a good yodeler.”

He looked good. Beard back to its usual stubble, black hair casually spiked and his bright eyes staring straight into her soul so she thought her heart would stop. Dressed in his regular ensemble of a gray henley shirt and dark jeans. The way he looked at her, she was glad she was wearing normal clothes — jeans and a black t-shirt instead of her sweats.

Whatever quip she wanted to make to distract from her nerves died at her lips. Derek’s eyes were hard, jaw flexed — he was here on business.

“We found where the hunters ambushed Boyd and Erica. I know you did too, I could detect your scent.” A slight pause as if he wanted to say something, but changed his mind. “Did you find anything?”

“Yeah.” She cleared her throat because of how rough she sounded. _Nice to see you too, Derek._ “Hang on.”

Crushing the myriad of weird emotions that had erupted in her from his scent alone, she put her coffee on the ground next to her backpack and sorted through all the junk to find Erica’s broken phone. At least that gave her an excuse to stop looking at him. It turned up underneath her latest revision of the paper, another thing she had been ignoring the last week.

She’d placed the phone, arrow and all, in a plastic bag for safe storing. As she got up, she handed it over to him and tried to breathe normally instead of filling her lungs with his scent.

“Explains why she never called,” Joe mumbled and took a sip of her coffee. “Jimmy wasn’t able to get a sense of direction where they went after Chris let them go, too many tracks leading in and out of the house.”

He nodded. “Same here. We checked the remaining Argent-owned locations. Nothing. Everything’s cleared out.”

Even without saying it, she knew what he meant. No sign of Kate either.

Derek’s eyes were locked on the arrow stuck through the cell phone in his hands. He twirled it over, felt the missile, probably recalling how it felt to have one of those piercing his heart. Joe could at least remember it and it hadn’t even been her heart.

_Here goes nothing._

Licking her lips, she pinched her own arm and Derek’s eyes immediately snapped up to hers in confusion.

“You felt that?” she asked, trying to at least keep the hope out of her voice. The last remains of the sun cast a deep glow over his face as he nodded slowly. She followed suit and cleared her throat in an attempt to sound casual. “Just, uh, checking.”

A long uncomfortable silence stretched out and Joe regretted all attempts to be stealthy about it. She should have just asked. Of course he had been busy looking for Erica and Boyd — it was stupid to think she and Jimmy were the only ones trying to find them. Of course he had been worried about something actually important than whether or not the mate-bond had been affected by Scott’s stunt.

“You stopped taking the pills?”

In the midst of taking a sip of her coffee as she thought of a way to apologize, Joe spluttered it back into her cup. Staring at him, she realized he was focused on the phone in a way that told her he was working hard to keep that focus. Even though his head was turned downwards, she could detect a slight furrow between his brows. The question had probably been genuine.

“Yeah,” she said breathlessly, a bit perplexed. It had never occured to her that he would think that, but of course he did. Her own damn fault he did. Without thinking, she addded: “To be honest, I never want to take another pill in my life.”

It was not just the mountain ash she meant. The day after the kanima had been like the worst hangover she had ever experienced. In less than a day, she had quit morphine cold turkey, started on a heavy dosage of mountain ash and been injected with enough ketamine ‘to take down a horse’. Add an adrenaline crash, a large helping of paranoia and general fatigue to the mix and it resulted in shivering under the covers for twelve hours straight. If Aunt Mel hadn’t insisted on Joe to get some fluids and salt into her system, she would still have been a useless wreck a week after.

Realizing he was still not looking up, which meant he was still not convinced, she sighed heavily. “Derek, I didn’t even want to take the pill when _you_ asked me to. I had no idea I was taking them that whole day — I could strangle Scott for what he did.”

“Scott only did what he thought was right.” Still with the phone in his hands, he glanced up and shrugged when she gave him an incredulous look. “I can’t blame him for trying to keep you safe.” Now his gaze averted down, studying the arrow again. “Which is more than I did.”

“Derek-”

His nostrils flared as he made a sharp movement with his head, glaring towards the sign of the laundromat. “I practically let you get taken by Kate. Again.”

Joe sighed and ran a hand through her hair. She should have known he would try to take the fall for that. As if she hadn’t let her guard down. As if there weren’t three other werewolves and a hunter in the same vicinity who also let their guards down, too focused on the weapon instead of the wielder.

“Okay, first of all, Scott’s an idiot and I don’t endorse his methods at all. Going behind everyone’s back, including yours, like that is bound to end in disaster. Second of all,” she raised her voice to prevent Derek from responding, “you didn’t _let_ me be taken by Kate.”

Already shaking his head as she talked, he flipped the phone over in his hands. “If I’d stopped for just a few more seconds-”

“She would have found another way,” Joe interjected. “Derek, I’m not blaming you for anything. I get it.”

His only response was glancing at her for a second before looking away _again_ and she took a deep breath.

“Look, I don’t have that many credits in psychology and I’m not nearly as good at this as Alex, but I’m guessing you’re pretty good at compartmentalizing.” It was a fair guess, guy had to be to even function as well as he did after everything he had been through. “You were preparing yourself for making a tough decision,” _killing Jackson_ , “and there was no room for me in that same compartment, right?”

His eyes flickered to her, a bit unsure, but he nodded eventually.

“Which, you know, sucks for other reasons, but again, I get it,” Joe said with another shrug and shook her coffee cup, finding it empty. At his still doubtful expression, she elaborated: “I don’t mind you having my back, but you gotta let me return the favor. Share the burden occasionally.”

Now she got the full intensity of his glare. “Have you talked to Deaton?”

“Yeah?” she said slowly and felt her brows furrow. “How’d you-” Blinking, she shook her head because it didn’t really matter how he knew that. “He, uh, said the mountain ash should be out of my system by now.” She blew air out of her mouth and tried to find a non-awkward phrasing. “I don’t know if you can tell. If you felt my pain just now, I guess that’s a good sign and I could sort of smell you when I walked by, so... we good?”

Of course Derek only raised his eyebrows at that incredibly vague question, but his eyes did look less hard now. Maybe in twenty years or so, she would be able to interpret whatever the hell his facial expressions meant.

“Are things back to normal?” she found herself asking instead and then cringed for several reasons. “Not normal, I mean, our normal- not _our_ normal, just normal for us, uh, which was not what I meant either, I mean-” Joe took a deep breath and ran a hand through her hair again, knowing it messed up her curl pattern. Her gaze got stuck on the phone in his hands instead of his face. “I have no idea what I mean.”

Luckily for her, Derek had a knack for reading her mind. He tapped the phone in his hands and there was something downright indescribable on his face as he said: “Bonds aren’t easily broken.”

Another strange sense of relief and she let out a small breath. A smile seemed to tug on Derek’s lips, even as he bent his head to look at the phone, and that made her stomach do strange somersaults inside of her. Before her blush could work itself up, he cleared his throat and handed the cell phone back.

“Thanks,” she mumbled and dumped it into her backpack again. She was keeping it for evidence for now, just in case. In case of...something. She wasn’t sure. As the sun crept below the horizon it started to get chilly and Joe hefted the backpack up again.

“I stopped by your aunt’s house,” Derek said before she could take a step towards the doors. “She told me you’d be here. Are you moving in with Jimmy?”

“Yeah, I kind of already did.” A large part of her wanted to ask why he had waited a week before contacting he, but if he thought she had continued taking the pills it explained some of it. Deciding to shift the attention, she gave Derek a lopsided half-smile. “Why, jealous?”

He did not even warrant that with a response, but he shrugged as he folded his arms over his incredily muscular chest. “You’ve moving out because of Scott?”

“Not just Scott,” Joe said, thinking of Kate. A second of hesitation, before she asked: “I stopped by the depot earlier. Looks like you cleared out?”

Derek’s turn to hesitate. Anyone overhearing their conversation must think they were experiencing lag with all the awkward pauses.

“It’s compromised,” Derek said eventually as he watched her unlock the front doors. Joe had the keys now, even though her knee-jerk reaction was always to ring all the door bells. “I’m moving us — Isaac and me — to a new location.”

“Better not be that house of yours, that place is a safety hazard,” Joe said and paused with the door open. Of course, remembering the broken bannister did not help on her awkwardness at all. She cleared her throat, trying to disguise any rising heat in her chest, and nodded to the staircase inside. “I got your jackets upstairs if you want them.” For good measure, she added: “Jimmy’s not home.”

Derek had already nodded at her first lame attempt at an invitation.

“I’m working on something a little more long-term,” Derek said as he followed her upstairs. They reached Jimmy’s apartment and Derek stopped. “How many locks do you really need? Your roommate is a werewolf with the ability to fully shapeshift.”

“Jealous?” she asked again as she finished the unlocking-combination and pushed the door open. She never caught his response, if there was any. “Locks are for me, anyway. I’m not letting her get the jump on me again. Come on, I’m in here.”

Jimmy had let her know earlier he would be out most of the day and the apartment was as predicted totally empty. Making some vague comment to ignore the mess — they had just moved in yesterday after all — she had Derek follow her inside the guest room, which she guessed was her room now. It was the same size as the room she had at Aunt Mel’s house, but the bed was twice as wide, leaving no space for a desk or any other furniture than a dresser and closet for her clothes.

Several stacks of unpacked boxes covered the available floor space in the room and Derek remained by the door with his arms crossed.

“Hang on.” Joe dumped her backpack on her bed and dove down underneath the window. She knew she had seen them here somewhere, between her suitcase and the wall, ah, there. Straightening up, she handed the two familiar plastic bags to Derek. “You never took them with you last time.”

His jackets, stored for safe-keeping and scent-prevention. A seal Derek tore apart easily.

“You want to keep this one?” he asked and held out the one of leather, the first one she acquired that night of the full moon. There was nothing in his expression to tell of his intentions.

Frozen in place, she managed to stutter: “I’m more of a jean jacket kind of gal.”

His bright eyes glittered in the dim light, eyebrow slightly raised. Challenging her for some reason. “It looked better on you than me.”

That was a downright lie, but she could not find the words to say so. Unable to help the blush rising, she swallowed heavily as if that would push her heart back down to where it belonged. Joe mumbled a thanks and accepted the jacket, putting it on the top of her suitcase. He immediately shrugged the other jacket on, a good fit over the loose shirt he wore underneath. A good fit she tried to ignore by staring out the window instead — she had a lovely view of a brick wall on the other side of the narrow alley.

It felt like hours dragged on while neither said anything. The spacious room felt cramped with all the boxes and the large bed — and both of them in here. The flimsy excuse for inviting him up here had been fulfilled and she waited for or expected him to leave. He didn’t.

Still staring out the window — lovely running bond pattern of bricks, very neat — she only heard him sigh and shift around to lean against the wall next to the door.

“You okay, Joe?” Another slight pause, like so many times before this afternoon. “I’m not talking about this thing with Scott.”

“Do you mean to ask if I’m fully traumatized by Kate now?” Joe said with a bitter laugh, not turning around yet. She sucked in a breath and crossed her arms. “Don’t worry, I got room for one more.”

Because she would be back, Joe thought. Even Chris thought so. Kate would be back eventually and that time, one of them would die.

Derek did not say anything and she could not bring herself to look at his expression. Joe despised Kate, loathed her, wanted her very existence erased, but Derek must feel he was stuck in a neverending nightmare with that woman.

“What’d she tell you this time?”

The question surprised her, but it probably shouldn’t. Most people would have asked what Kate did to Joe, but not him. Derek, of all people, knew that Kate’s most dangerous weapon was her words.

“Not much,” Joe admitted, for once glad she was so out of it she had missed most of Kate’s venom. “Generic name-calling and threats.” Her brows furrowed at the memory. “Called me Plan B...” She finally glanced over at Derek, who she guessed was Plan A. “You ever heard about using Alpha blood to postpone,” vague hand waving in his direction, “the turn?”

With a heavy exhale, Derek crossed his arms and shrugged. “No, but Alpha blood’s said to have a lot of strange qualities.”

“How does that work?”

“Magic?” Derek suggested with a raised eyebrow and a hint of a smile on his lips. “It’s not meant to be explainable.”

“Doesn’t stop being magic just because you can explain it,” Joe mumbled and pushed off from the windowsill to sit on the edge of her bed. “Derek, she,” her brows pulled down further in concentration to avoid freezing up at the memory, “she took my blood.”

He shoved himself off the wall in a hard movement. A physical reaction, she guessed, body responding to a perceived threat. With no one to fight and nowhere to go, he peered down at her and crossed his arms again. “What do you mean she _took_ your blood?”

“She used a needle,” Joe explained slowly, staring at the dresser in front of her, “and extracted probably a good ounce, if not more.” Her mouth moved quietly, trying to form the impossible words. It sounded weird in her head, even weirder out loud. “And then I couldn’t find it afterwards and I’m kinda sure she injected it into her own arm, because her sleeve was pulled really far up and,” she looked up at Derek, “I kinda need you to tell me if this is a thing or if she’s gone completely insane. I mean, both of those are really worrisome, but...”

As she trailed off, Derek’s eyebrows did not look like they were coming down anytime soon. “It’s not a thing I’ve ever heard about.”

“But it could be a thing?”

They stared at each other with equally weirded out expressions.

“And considering I was pumped full of mountain ash at the time, what does that mean? We all saw what happened to Gerard, but Kate was bit more than a week earlier.” No reaction from Derek, so she guessed Peter must have finally told him what Jimmy was. “And I’m not sure how much of her abilities had manifested, because I was able to fight her off first and then after doing _something_ with my blood, she drop-kicked the kanima into a car and,” Joe shook her head and gestured to her suitcase, “I could barely get this up the stairs so I know I’ve not accidentally gained superstrength. I’ve heard of hysterical strength, but... Derek, I got so many questions I don’t know where to begin.”

At his continued silence — not because he was ignoring her, but probably because he was trying to wrap his own head around what she had just said — she bounced up from the bed again and paced around the four steps she could in front of it.

“What’s the timeline when you’re bit? I mean, she looked bad from the start, but her wounds had healed — had something gone wrong? Could she be stuck in this weird limbo now like Gerard? I didn’t see any Exorcist-vomiting of black goo from her, but I was half-drugged on ketamine at the time so I guess I could have missed it. Why would she be after _my_ blood in the first place? You said that Alpha blood’s got some weird supernatural qualities, does mate-blood got other weird supernatural qualities?”

“Not that I know of,” Derek said slowly, only responding to her last question and she was about to call him out on it, but he shook his head. “I don’t know the rest. Timeline varies, it goes faster the younger you are, but a week seems long. Last time something went wrong without killing them,” he rubbed the back of his neck and Joe winced at the thought of Paige, “was with Jackson.”

His words left another uncomfortable silence.

“Oh my God,” Joe had no chance to keep her voice down, “could she turn into a kanima? Does she have identity issues? I mean, she was definitely not adopted,” her voice turned dark at the thought of Geard, “but I would have said she had more of an antisocial disorder than a disassociative one.”

“Sometimes the shape you take reflects the person you are.”

Joe stared at him — it sounded like a quote and was way too poetic for their situation. “Okay, considering what kind of person Kate is, that is terrifying. And, you know, the funny thing is I can’t think of a single more scary thing than her as a human, so,” Joe stared out into the air, “I need more locks on the door. And a bigger gun.”

“If she comes back, we’ll deal with it,” Derek said slowly, sounding way too calm, but that might be to prevent her from freaking out too much. “Peter’s tapping into his network to keep track of her movements. She’s on the run from more than us, remember? She’ll be forced to lay low and if she surfaces, we’ll know.”

With a huff, she sat back down on the bed. “You’re like the most pragmatic person I’ve ever met.” Her fingertips danced on the opposite arm where she still had them crossed over her chest. “Peter’s not going after her either?”

_Another_ unnatural pause in the conversation. “No,” he eventually admitted and took a deep breath. “There’s something else I have to tell you.”

A smile tugged on her lips despite the situation. “Are you trying to communicate?”

“Not if you don’t shut up and listen,” Derek said evenly. He waited for her to shrug in response, indicating silence from her side. “There’s another pack coming. A rival pack.” Derek stared into the room. “An Alpha Pack.”

The way he said it, it probably meant something. At least to him. He sighed at her confused expression.

“It’s not good,” he clarified.

“Oh.”

“Peter says they’re already here, but we’ve trawled the entire Preserve by now. Looking for them or Erica and Boyd. Haven’t found anything.” He shook his head, a mild cleft between his brows. “Not sure what they want yet.”

“How do you know they’re here?”

“Their sign. They left it on the door of my house,” Derek said, still deep in thought. _My_ house, Joe noted. He still felt the Hale house was home. “A warning or a challenge, I’m not sure yet.”

“There’s always going to be something, huh?” Joe mumbled, thinking back to their talk the same night before everything that went down at the warehouse. It felt like two different lives, even though they were just hours apart. All she had wanted then was time with Derek, alone, no imminent danger approaching. Now, what did she want? Time? Space? Derek?

“One more thing,” Derek said, but it was not in response to her question, it was a follow-up to his own. The bed dipped as he sat down next to her on the bed. Still some distance between them, but closer than they’d been since she physically threw herself on top of him to shield him from a gunshot. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?” Joe asked automatically, even as she reached for it and Derek’s rolling eyes was all the answer she needed. “Fine.”

He unlocked it and she hovered over his shoulder, watching him enter a number and saving it as a contact with the conservative designation of-

“Derek Hale?” she asked and laughed at his confused look. “Of all the monikers in the world, of all the puns available, and you go for just your name? Wait, what am I saved as in your phone?”

“Joe Delgado,” he said very sincerely and she laughed again. Grabbing her phone back, she changed his nickname and he sighed. “No.”

“Technically it means-”

“I know what it technically means,” he grumbled and snatched the phone. “There.”

“You just added the wolf-emoji,” Joe whined and vowed to change it back to ‘Lobito’ the first chance she got. “So, why do I have the honor of getting your phone number, Derek Hale wolf-emoji?”

“So that the next time you find yourself in imminent danger, you can call me,” he said with absolutely no trace of humor. “Or at least text me before you decide to walk into a trap again.”

“Ha-ha,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I’ll have you know, I’ve gone almost twenty-three years without even being kidnapped once. Last few months really messed up my statistics.” Another question presented itself and she asked it without overthinking it for once: “Why not before?”

The answer to that came slower. “Paper trail. Argents already knew about Scott, I guess I hoped they wouldn’t figure out my connection to you.” Neither said anything as they both knew that had been in vain. He fiddled with her phone, tapping it in his hand. “This isn’t just in case of emergencies, Joe, it’s also so you can-”

What she could remained unsaid as the phone rang in his hands. He flipped it the right way up — the number was not saved to her contacts. Derek offered her the phone.

“Just let it go to voicemail,” she said, as it was a number she did not need to save. Memorized to perfection several years ago. His eyebrows raised, but he did as told and they waited for the ring tone to die.

“Your dad?” Derek guessed, back to twirling the phone in his hands.

“Mm,” she made a noise of confirmation. “Probably just want to yell at me for moving out from Aunt Mel’s or somehow make it my fault that I couldn’t manage to convince him about Kate. I’ll talk to him later.”

The phone lit up with a notification of a new voicemail. She pocketed the phone when Derek handed it to her. At his raised eyebrow, she shrugged. “Much later.”

Something obviously weighed on his mind. Even without the phone in hand, he still seemed to fidget and she found her eyes drawn to how he tapped his fingers together.

“I talked to Peter,” he said slowly, “about your healing.”

“And?”

“He has no idea. A mate-bond between a human and a werewolf has never happened before, at any point in time as far as our records show.”

More finger-tapping and she wondered what could have Derek Hale, someone who never wasted any movement at all, unable to keep still.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want,” he spoke slowly, choosing his words to reassure her, “but did you ever find out anything about your mother?”

“A name and a date of birth,” her brows pulled together in thought, “both probably fake as it led nowhere. Why?” When he didn’t answer, still stared out in the air and obviously thinking, Joe tilted her head to the side. “You’re thinking she might have been like-” She broke off, corrected herself. “A werewolf?”

“It would explain a few things,” Derek admitted and finally glanced at her. “But you don’t smell like a wolf. And no,” he smiled gently, obviously seeing the question line up behind her eyes, “there’s no such thing as a half-werewolf. You either have the gene or you don’t.”

“I don’t think I do.” Joe leaned forwards on her knees. Despite the healing, she had nothing else. “What do I smell like?” For some reason, the question made him turn his head sharply towards her and she raised her brows. “I mean, do I smell human or like I’m something else?”

A flicker of relief over his face, for unknown reasons. “Human. Through and through.”

The expected answer and Joe definitely felt relieved. Who knew what other things were out there? Joe shrugged, posing her most likely theory. “Could it be that I’m just tapping into some of your powers?”

“Hard to tell.” His eyes glittered when he looked at her. “It’s not an exact science.”

A phrase she was starting to hate. Rolling her eyes, she kept quiet for a while.

“Do you think this new pack has something to do with Erica and Boyd?” she asked eventually, as she hadn’t thought to do it before.

He sighed, tapped his fingers together. “Not sure. I know Erica used to live in San Francisco, might be they’ve gone there. But even with the Argents out of the picture, they’ll be too vulnerable on their own as Omegas.” Considering they were both minors without too much life experience, Joe had to agree there. “Let me handle this, Joe. They’re my responsibility.”

No point in answering. He knew she would not be able to leave it alone.

That was his cue for leaving apparently and the bed dipped again as he got up. Before he reached the door, she blurted out: “Is it a stupid question if I ask if _you’re_ okay?”

To her surprise, he paused in the doorway and did a half-shrug as he gave it some thought. “Not that stupid now. We’ve made it a week without anyone getting killed. Gotta count for something, right?”

His shirt tightened over his chest as he pulled in a deep breath, blinking a bit as if the answer surprised him too. He actually gave her a close-lipped smile. “See you around, Joe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Hopefully with a few more answers, but as Joe said, a lot more questions too. 
> 
> I'm going off my own schedule already. Chapter 50 today, 51 on the 29th and then chapter 52 on the 31st. Otherwise this chapter would have been 15k words long and it just did not flow nicely. Hope you don't mind! (It's poetic to have chapter 52 posted on New Years Eve, right? Even if I started this story in August...)
> 
> Thank you for reading and I can't wait to hear what you think. Not too much action in this chapter, but I think we can do without it after SO MUCH action in the previous one.
> 
> Also hope all of you had a nice Christmas/holiday! It's different this year, that's for sure, and this is the first year I'm celebrating without my family. If you celebrate, did you get any nice presents? I got an air fryer that I am genuinly so excited to test as well as some really cool books. My niece got a bunch of Lego that I'm in charge of helping her build, so it's a double-win for both of us (I'm an engineer and I love Lego) ^^


	51. The Triskelion

Derek shouldn’t have bothered to ask her to leave anything alone. The trail after Erica and Boyd had turned freezing cold.

For some reason, Joe did not worry about Kate. It was probably the unwavering knowledge that at some point, Kate would find _her_ and she did want to waste time in case Kate did not have anything to do with the missing teenagers.

So, she and Jimmy pinned up a large map of the county with its surrounding areas in the same spot on the wall where he used to have all the links to the Hale house fire. They marked where they dropped the phone, where they had been held captured, and what direction they would have taken. They still didn’t know if anything had happened to Erica and Boyd or if they had left Beacon Hills on their own.

Joe kept checking her own phone, waiting for something, anything. Hoping for Erica to text her, send a picture of her and Boyd on a beach somewhere down south or taking the streetcars in San Francisco. It was a nice fantasy, one that made it bearable to keep going.

Still not in the mood for an argument with her dad, she left the voicemail unopened.

In the meantime, Jimmy started his blog back up and Joe finished her paper. After Sheriff Stilinski put out the warrant for Kate Argent’s arrest, he had also granted her that interview, obviously feeling bad for disbelieving her. Police protection was available if she needed it, but she dismissed it. After all, her roommate was a fully shapeshifting werewolf.

‘ _Criminal Pattern Recognition in Rural Police Forces - a case study of the Beacon Hills Murders’_ was the official title, and even though Jimmy made some snide comments, he proof-read it and claimed it to be ready. It was not her best work by far, but Professor Walker scheduled a review in a few days from now where they could pinpoint what she needed to improve in order to get it published. She would have to check if it even was publishable, because the killer was now at large, leaving the cases open again. Joe did not really care, just glad to get it done.

After everything, she could not fully bring herself to care so much about the doctorate at all.

Somehow, she ended up driving around after returning from Berkeley where she had tried to get a word with Professor Kane. Apparently she was attending some kind of seminar in Europe and wouldn’t be back until later this week. All of Joe’s questions would have to wait just a bit more. Muscle-memory had her pull up in front of the McCall house instead of the laundromat and for several minutes, she sat in the car not knowing if she should get out or not. Aunt Mel’s car was missing, but not Scott’s bike, so he might be home.

He should have known better. He really, really should have known better than set her up like that. As if he didn’t know the full story with her and her dad. As if he didn’t know she couldn’t even bring herself to call her dad before she thought Kate might actually kill Derek. As if Scott hadn’t lamented time and again how much he hated losing both his choice and control after Peter Hale gave him the bite.

With a weird tightness in her stomach, she backed out of the driveway and headed out to the Preserve instead. It was still daylight and with how quiet things had been since the kanima, she felt bold enough to venture out on her own. Not that she was going to traipse around the forest blindly, she had a destination in mind: the Hale house.

No one seemed to be here and bright sunshine at least made it appear friendlier than the haunted house-look it usually had. Still, she got out the shotgun and held it by her side as she exited the car.

Derek said they left their sign on the door.

Either it happened after she stopped by the other day — a small shiver in her spine at the thought of how she could have happened upon them _as_ they were here — or she had just missed it because she hadn’t been looking for it.

_It_ being a black triskelion someone had painted on the front door of the house. Not like the one Derek had tattooed on his back — a few seconds passed where she could not get that image out of her head. This one was pointed, angular, with three feet, not spirals. She tilted her head — a strange sign, but it might mean something else to werewolves. Joe got the notion that this was the werewolf equivalent of pissing in another dog’s bed to mark territory.

A noise behind her.

Joe tore around with the shotgun already up and a surprised Derek Hale in her sights. He held his hands up in surrender with raised eyebrows.

“Did you shuffle your feet?” she demanded, as he usually had the knack of just appearing without a sound. Thank God for trigger discipline. “Dude, you can _not_ sneak up on me like that when I’m carrying a gun!”

“I think I miss the days where you’d just throw stuff at me,” Derek replied and waited until she dropped the gun barrel down, facing away from him. He put his hands back in his pockets and walked up to stand next to her. “How come your first instinct when I said there’s a new danger in town is running right to it? Are you _trying_ to get kidnapped?”

They stared at each other, Derek with a raised eyebrow and Joe with wide innocent eyes.

“I brought the shotgun.” She held it up as proof and he scoffed. “Dude, if not even you can get the drop on me, I think I’m safe.”

“Luckily for you, I’m not a fan of guns. I’ve had you in my sights since you first pulled up.”

“Okay, do you hear how weird that is? Why not just say hello like a normal person?”

He tilted his head and gave her a sarcastic smile. “Hello, Joe.”

Joe’s turn to scoff. “What are you doing here anyway? Are you following me? Thought your stalking days were over.”

“No, this time I think you were the one following me. I came to pick something up,” he said and went up to the house. Based on his slightly relaxed body language — she had a feeling he was never fully relaxed — there wasn’t any immediate threat nearby and it made some tension leave her body. He stopped on the steps and looked back at her. “Are you coming?”

“Super vague invitation, but sure,” Joe said and put the shotgun back in her car. The whole house looked different in the daytime, like when she and Scott was here trying to find Jimmy. The dust looked like glittering gold that kicked up with every step.

“I found this when looking for any clues about the kanima,” Derek said as he went straight for a stack of books obviously gathered lately on a table in the living room. He flipped through one of them and produced a small square that he held out to her.

A black and white photograph, faded with age, showed a couple that had to be in their fifties maybe. Both looked to have dark hair — it was hard to tell from the low contrast — but they both looked happy at least. Smiling in front of a Christmas tree standing in a corner that looked familiar right down to the intricate carvings on the windowsill. So apparently werewolves celebrated Christmas. Nice to know.

Joe held the photo up so it aligned with where she assumed the tree had stood in this very house. The joy on the couple’s faces was in stark contrast with the bleakness of the house today.

“My great-grandparents,” Derek said, even though she had already guessed it.

“It’s a nice picture. You should get it framed,” she said and handed it back to him. He could not have many pictures left of his family at all. “Conserve it.”

He nodded, but said nothing as he leaned on the table and studied the photo himself.

“You look a lot like him.”

There was a definite resemblance between the man in the picture and Derek, despite the many generations separating them. Her heart fluttered when her comment made Derek smile gently, still looking at the picture. Oh boy.

Racking her brain for something worthwhile to say, hoping to distract him from her heartbeat, she ended up with: “Why did you show it to me? Not that I minded, of course, I’m glad you did, I just don’t really get the motive-”

“I wanted to,” Derek said simply and that did nothing for her inner turmoil in shape of butterflies. He put the picture away into his pocket and leaned back further on the table, supporting himself on his very muscular, very strong arms showcased by the short sleeves of his t-shirt. “You talk to your dad yet?”

She shook her head, trying to tear her eyes away from his body. His face was no better, so she ended up studying her own shoes. “No, not yet.”

“You don’t think you should let him know you’re okay?”

“My dad’s pragmatic too,” she said, giving Derek a sharp glance. “If he’s not here, there’s bigger fish to fry somewhere.”

With his head tilted somewhat, Derek had this slightly unfocused expression Joe had come to recognize as when he was using more than his human senses to listen to her. Eventually he nodded — Jesus, even his neck was so defined you could use him as an anatomy illustration. — and seemed to drop the matter.

“How’s your paper going?” he asked instead, looking at her with what at least appared to be genuine interest. “Finished?”

“Mhm,” Joe said and averted her gaze to literally anywhere else than how ridiculously perfect he was. That only made her look out the window, at the porch and the broken bannister. She shook her head to think somewhat straight. “Submitted it today, but it probably needs a few rounds of revision.”

“Does that mean you’re done with the PhD?”

Joe snorted, unable to help herself. “No, I need at least one more paper and a conference attendance before I can even begin on the main thesis. Walker wants me to get the last paper out before the fall-deadline, so that means work all summer if I can even find a topic. And she wants help with her own research, obviously, this paper was just her criteria for taking me on in the first place and-”

Derek kept quiet while she ranted, only offering small follow-up questions as he continued leaning on the table. If she managed to get her head in the game, she had at least one more year before she could get her doctorate. Her head was definitely not in the game now.

He had to know, right? How the sun shining through the dirty window panes made his hair glow and eyes practically sparkle? He had to know how it highlighted the contours of his arms, how his t-shirt laid over his flat stomach, but stretched over his chest, how the slight parting of his lips only accentuated his razor-sharp jawline, right?

“...with the conference being in Toronto, it’s still- oh my God, can you _stop_ doing that?” she finally demanded and waved her hands at him.

Cue his eyebrow raise. “Doing what?”

“You’re doing it on purpose!” Joe said and gestured at him again, how he was sitting there, fully aware of his Greek God-like stature. “It’s really distracting.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek said with a slight smile and he shifted to crossing his arms instead, as if that did not fully emphasize his large biceps. “I can’t help it. I just like hearing you talk about your work.”

Her face twisted into a frown. This was about him looking too hot to handle, not about her pacing around lamenting about how much work she had left.

“Why?” she asked suspiciously. “Because I’m not asking questions?” He did a half-shrug, as if to say ‘maybe’, still smiling. Something nudged Joe’s mind and she asked: “What do you mean you can’t help it? Help what? How you look?”

Shaking his head, Derek tried to explain, recognizing her confusion. “It’s a form of...pheromones, I guess.” His brows furrowed, as if this was not something he had put into words before. “It’s just a signal saying I like you. It’s not something I can control and it’d be easier to explain to a werewolf, but-”

Joe had stopped listening halfway. Feeling around twelve years old, like she should be handing him a note with answer checkboxes, she asked: “You like me?”

She had worried he would laugh at her for presuming something so stupid, but when she dared to glance up he looked completely humorless. Eyes so dark she nearly squirmed under his scrutiny.

“You’re not serious.”

“I’m,” she shifted and cleared her throat, fully aware of the blush rising in her cheeks, “a little serious.”

“After everything, _that_ is a question you had to ask?”

Things were easier in middle school where you checked off ‘Yes, ‘No’ or ‘Maybe’. What kind of answer was that? Did he or didn’t he? Now Joe had the urge to ask if he liked-liked her.

“Well, yeah.” She did a weird half-shrug as the heat rose steadily up her spine. “Okay, so, I know that you-” _want me_ “-feel like you have to protect me or that I’m your responsibility.”

Unfortunately, he didn’t take the bait, leaving her fumbling to continue.

“And I guess we’re kind of becoming friends, because I really care about you, but that’s not the same as you,” she pulled in a sharp breath, “liking me.”

He did not look any happier, so she stuttered a bit, trying to explain.

“You don’t really act like you like me,” she protested at his continuing dark eyes. “Half the time it’s like you tolerate me at best. Other half I frustrate you. An infinitesimally small amount of the time you, I, uh...” _apparently want to mate with me?_ which was a sentence she would never say out loud.

Derek got up from where he had lounged against the table. She froze, worried what would happen if he came up to her, but instead he stalked out to the other side of the room. His turn to pace around now.

“I don’t know what you want, Joe,” he said in the end, seemingly at his wit’s end. “I’ve tried everything. First I come on too hard, then I give you space, then it’s apparently too much space? Of course you frustrate me, you are without a doubt the most frustrating person I have ever met. Do _you_ know what you want?” He ended his statement with a shake of his head. “Because I have no idea.”

“I told you, I want you to do what _you_ want to do,” she said, fumbling over the confusing sentence. “Not what you think I want you to do or whatever your inner wolf wants you to do.”

“Joe, I-” Derek still shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. He seemed tempted to grab her shoulders to shake some sense into her, but kept his arms crossed and spoke slowly. “Joe, I am a werewolf.”

“Yeah, duh?”

“No, you don’t get it, you obviously don’t,” he said, stilling her protests. “I don’t _have_ an inner wolf, not like you think I do. It’s not a separate entity. It’s all me. I’m not part wolf, part human, I’m a werewolf. A hundred percent, through and through.”

He took a few steps around with no particular direction in mind, just pacing like she usually did.

“I’m not possessed by some wolf spirit,” he went on, gesturing at himself. “It’s not something I hang by the door when I get home to put on every full moon. I am a werewolf _all the time_. From the way I was raised to the way I think to the way I act. Do you think I lack the capability of autonomous thought? That everything I do is either fighting my wolf-side or mindlessly enabling it?”

For once, he was the one who did not let her get the chance to answer.

“Joe, I’m more aware of my instincts, but I’m not usually overpowered by them. Maybe it gets harder during the full moon, but I’ve spent almost twenty minutes in a car with you during the full moon without losing control, so it’s not like I’m insentient or some wild animal. Which I thought was kind of obvious considering how attracted I am to you and I still hav-”

Joe swore she did not make a sound, but his eyes flew to her face.

“You’re serious?” he asked slowly while she just tried to breathe normally. “You didn’t know that either?”

“Well, I, uh, no,” she stuttered, trying to find something else to focus on besides him. “Not...exactly. Which I guess is kind of stupid considering the mate-thing and all, you don’t really have a choice-”

“You think it’s just the mate-bond?” he asked, his flat voice telling of his frustration. “You don’t think I’d be attracted to you if it hadn’t been for that?” Before she could even begin to consider how she was going to answer, he continued: “Would you have been attracted to me if it hadn’t been for the bond?”

Heart hammering, she just said: “I don’t know.”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

“But that’s the thing!” Joe snapped and threw her hands up. “I don’t know! Maybe? How can I tell? You’re _hot as hell_ and I’d notice that, obviously, it seems I can’t stop noticing it at times, but attraction is more, right? I’ve met people and become attracted to them over time, even when I didn’t think they were hot at the beginning. But with you it’s like- I don’t know! I have no way of knowing! There is no hypothetical ‘what if the bond was not there’, because it is.”

“If you wanted it gone, why did you stop-”

“I don’t want it gone, Derek, I just...” Another round of hand-waving at nothing. “It’s just, I dunno, complicated? I just wish we could have gotten to know each other without it. Does that make sense? I wish I didn’t have to think back to every single conversation we’ve ever had and wonder if that was you or the bond talking.”

She weaved her fingers into her curls to lift them from her head.

“I’m not even gonna ask if you would have thought twice about me if it hadn’t been for the bond, because I know you wouldn’t. Don’t even try and deny it,” she held her hand up because he had looked on the verge of protesting, “you did everything you could to push me away in the beginning even with the bond and again, I get that! Compartmentalizing, people dying everywhere, rogue Alpha, you were literally wanted for murder — not the best time for any kind of,” loose gesture at nothing, “distraction.”

She was rambling again, but she could not have stopped if she tried.

Joe shrugged and tried to stuff her hands into the opposite elbow to stop them from waving around so much. “Besides, the mountain ash only dampened the pain-thing, not the rest. I thought it was responsible for how we were fighting too, but according to Deaton, that was just us. And that’s the problem, right? I can’t tell where my feelings end and the bond begins — in either direction!”

Joe had no idea what she was trying to say, pieces of fleeting thoughts spilling out.

“It’s like, we didn’t get to have that time in the beginning where everything’s new and exciting and you don’t know if it’s gonna work out or if you feel the same as the other,” Joe explained while gesturing wildly, completely missing Derek’s deadpan expression. “Everything’s pre-determined. No first dates, no shy glances, no spending all day analyzing a single text, no will-they-won’t-they Hallmark romantic special.”

With a heavy sigh, Derek leaned back against the table. A half-hearted shrug as he suggested: “If you want a first date, let’s go out.”

“I told you, don’t do that,” Joe snapped. “Don’t ask me out just because you think that’s what I want.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

For a second she stared at him. He looked more tired than smug, but the sentence was hard to misinterpret. “Okay, that makes it worse, Derek. What, you’re so entitled to me that you don’t need to ask now?”

“Since asking you last time didn’t work, I thought I’d try something different.”

“You didn’t ask me last time either,” she shot back immediately. “You asked if I wanted you to take me out. Not the same.” Ignoring the way his eyebrows rose up in an unimpressed manner, she continued: “Intent matters, Derek, not just in the courtroom. If you’re going to ask me out, do it because you think I’m worth getting to know better, not because you’re humoring me until you can groom me to be your personal breeding mare-”

Realizing what she just said, she snapped her mouth shut. Derek’s eyebrows were as high as they had ever been, his eyes widened uncharacteristically large.

“A what?” he asked, in a tone of someone who had lost grips of this conversation. “I’ve nev- why would- _Where_ did you get that from?”

Joe bit her teeth together, tempted to kick up dust with her foot. Her and her big mouth. “The stupid bestiary that I had Lydia translate, it said that true mates symbolizes a new powerful pack or whatever.” She cleared her throat harshly. “And some, uh, stories I found when I tried to research it elsewhere and those were really disturbing, by the way, and if you ever bite me to ‘mark’ me I will shoot your balls off and don’t think I’m exaggerating here, I _will-”_

“Joe,” Derek said to cut her off. “I’m not- that’s not- we’re not- you thought-” He never finished any of his statements, as her whole body demeanor betrayed very well that she thought. “That is not how packs work, that is not how mates work, it’s not what I want at all, it’s-”

“Well, how should I know? Literally everything I know about mates is in the name.” She tried to cover up her blush by turning around, gesturing to the empty space. “The verb. To mate. Kinda self-explanatory.”

“The word mate, in this context, is a noun. It comes from the Old English word _ġemetta_ ,” Derek’s voice was unusually soft as he explained, “which means to share food. It evolved to mean someone you share everything with, a companion or an _equal_. It’s got nothing to do with...” He trailed off. “You thought- is _that_ why you’ve been fighting this so hard? Is that why you asked me about kids?”

She finally turned around, looking at him only marginally better than not looking at him. “I don’t know what I thought, okay? This is all very confusing to me and you’re doing the seriously bare minimum to help! I’m sorry I’m not a werewolf with stupid werewolf senses that can just read someone’s feelings like an open book! I need you to tell me things — with words! Explicitly!”

Joe gestured at him. “ _You’re_ very confusing to me. You’re hot and you’re cold all over the place and that I can sort of handle, but it’s worst when you’re this sort of lukewarm, like you’re all touchy feely one day and the next you’re giving me the cold shoulder, but then you’re stuck in-”

“Joe, I am trying to let you take the lead,” Derek said in a low voice, exasperation written all over his face as his shoulders slumped. “I am trying to use these stupid werewolf senses and listen to whatever signs you give me,” he ran a hand through his hair, spiking it up further, “which I now realize is completely useless because _you_ are not even in agreement with yourself half the time.”

Her face flushed, she could only shrug excessively. “Well, that’s on you then.”

Derek didn’t even answer. He threw his head back with another deep inhale, pinching the bridge of his nose. The breath came out in a long huff and he spoke mostly to the floor. “Please, will you go out with me?”

“I tol-”

“Joe, I like you and I find you attractive,” he said slowly, still facing the floor more than her. “I’m not sure how much more explicit I can make this. I _want_ to take you on a date _because_ I like you and think you’re attractive.”

“But it’s not about that!” Joe insisted, frustrated how he would always cling onto specifics and lose the bigger picture. Like she had not gone on a whole rant and he picked up a single item to answer as if that solved everything. It was the kids-question all over again.

“Then what is it about?” His shoulders were tense, she could see how they moved as he rubbed a hand over his stubble. “You’re worried I’m only interested in you because of my ‘inner wolf’ that I just told you doesn’t exist? That I’m only trying to keep you safe because we share pain, not because I care about you? That I’m only asking you out to shut you up, not because I like spending time with you?”

This was the closest thing she had ever heard him coming to a rant, but it was a lot more coherent than hers. As usual, his interpretation hit the nail right on its head.

“Yes,” she said eventually and cleared her throat, “all of the above.” The aggravated expression on his face made her automatically try and defend herself. “But to be fair, you’ve only come close to asking me out after I mention it first.”

“How do you know I wasn’t leading up to that?” he asked with an eyebrow raised in challenge. Before she could call his bluff, he shrugged. “Do you know why I like hearing you talk about your work? It’s not just because I find it interesting, which I do, it’s also because you’re _comfortable_. Confident. You relax.” He shook his head in thought. “I didn’t even realize it at first, but when we woke up that morning in the Preserve, after you took the wrong pills and I lost control-”

“Yeah, I vaguely remember,” she mumbled, too flushed to say much else.

“-and you were freaking out because of this meeting,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard her, “because it was important to you and all I could think about was how you were more worried about that over the fact that I had essentially abducted you and I just knew I had to do everything I could to get you to Berkeley in time and after the meeting, on the benches when you told me about it, you were calm again, comfortable and,” Derek looked at her with his clear green eyes, “your scent was-”

He cut himself off with a small shake of his head. “That’s what I want, Joe. I want you to be comfortable and talking to me, not because you have to, but because you want to.”

Now _that_ was a ramble. By the time he had finished, she could barely hear his words over her pulse rising in her ears. That was- that was what? Sweet? Thoughtful? Honest?

“Joe, the bond doesn’t control either of us. It connects us.” He gave her a small shrug. “That’s it.”

And like all the other times, that answered some questions, but also produced a lot more.

“Can I just ask you something?” She tried to smile to cover for the loud heartbeat. “It can be counted as one of the three questions you still owe me.”

“You don’t have to bargain questions, Joe, I don’t mind you asking me three hundred if it helps you.” At her silence, Derek tilted his head at her, waiting for her to work up the nerve. “Yes, Joe, you can ask me anything.”

“Why-” She cleared her throat. She only knew the general gist of what she wanted to know, hadn’t thought far enough ahead to put it into words. It was too hard to look at him, so she focused on his elbow instead from where he had crossed his arms over his chest. “At the dinner,” she started slowly, “in the bathroom and,” her arms kept folding and unfolding across her own chest, “uh, out here that night-”

Now she wondered if he would be able to hear her voice over her heart going a mile a minute. As much as she stuttered, it was a wonder if he even managed to understand her.

“What was different,” she risked a glance to his face that had definitely softened a bit, “those times? I mean, if you like me and you know I like you and-”

Why had they almost kissed then and not all the other times they had the chance? Why had he not tried to kiss her before or after or inbetween? If he liked her and he knew she liked him, why?

To her horror, her words made him step away from the table and come towards her. Stalking her way, where her feet moved on their own, shuffling her backwards, until her back hit the wall and there was nowhere else to go.

Derek stopped in front of her and put one hand next to her head, leaning down towards her. She swallowed, too aware of both her own and his body now. Like a long time ago, in the hospital storage room, his scent saturated the air around her, wrapping her in a cocoon of only _him_.

His eyes were dark as he asked: “You sure you want to know?”

Lips dry, she licked them and saw how his gaze homed in on that immediately. Predatorial, she thought. On the hunt. Out loud, she admitted: “Having second thoughts.”

Derek nodded, as if he had expected that and his eyes cleared a fraction. “That’s it.”

“What?” She sounded breathless even to her own ears. “That’s what?”

“Your smell,” he explained, but did not pull away from where he hovered over her. “Your signals. I wasn’t joking when I said they’re all over the place. Even now you’re more nervous than anything else. I need to know that you want this, Joe, without any doubts. I don’t want you to regret anything.” He lost more of his suave tone, almost sounding unsure of himself. “I can’t.”

Which was admittedly the sexiest thing anyone had ever said to her. Apparently her body must have revealed how she felt about his words, because his eyes closed and she saw his bicep flex as he clenched his fist. Affected, by her, by her scent, by her signals.

Sure, she thought and mentally rolled her eyes, the bond didn’t control them at all, huh?

“Are you going to answer me?”

Mind too clouded with the sight and scent of him, but still longing for the taste and touch, she could not even remember what they had been talking about anymore. “What?”

Derek’s bright eyes burned with something indescribable when he opened them again. “Joe Delgado, will you _please_ go out with me?”

They stared at each other and she became aware of her own deep breaths, and more importantly, how Derek’s gaze flickered to her chest every time she inhaled. It was not even like she wore a deep-cut top, it was a regular t-shirt. It was probably her heart, hammering loudly, but it was hard to tell if it was nerves or excitement. How many other signs did she have? Flushed cheeks, slightly swollen lips, dilated pupiles — his eyes seemed to roam her face, darting to each new tell of what her body was waiting for.

Was she still nervous? Maybe. Could he be teasing her now? Not sure. He seemed to be restraining himself as much as she was preparing herself. She wanted this, but maybe he didn’t right now? What chemosignal was he waiting for? How could she get her body to emit the right one without knowing what the right one was?

“Okay.” She had almost forgotten the sound of her own voice.

He inhaled deeply, now she became aware of his expanding chest, how his hand up by her head had caused his t-shirt to ride up slightly, showing a hint of a V-line, where his hips met his...uh, pelvis.

“Why-” She sounded like she had just ran a marathon, but she had to know. “Why not- why not now?”

Her breathing stopped completely when he leaned in, but only to the side of her head. Warm breath fanned over her ear as he whispered: _“Because I want to take you on a date.”_

Somehow she found more air in her lungs to choke out: “Now?”

“No.” It helped marginally that Derek sounded out of breath too. “I told Isaac I’d be back before dark.”

She saw his neck muscles tighten as he swallowed. They weren’t touching anywhere, but he radiated warmth and if he bent the arm he had against the wall, he could practically cover her with his body. Another heatwave passed through her and her breath shuddered.

“I’ll text you.”

It was hard to fathom that this was supposedly not the bond. She did not know she, alone, was capable of this kind of intense - in lack of better words - longing.

It took some time for her to find her voice. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Derek repeated and pushed himself off the wall, like it took some effort. He glanced around the darkening room, and she wondered if he saw it how it was or how it used to be. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Unable to speak, let alone think, she went out the front door after him. The slight chill in the air washed over her, making it a bit easier to breathe. Joe paused briefly to glance at the triskelion and her hand trailed the sharp lines.

“Do you think they used a stencil or something? It’s very neat.”

“Joe, just get in your car and go, please.”

For once, she did what he asked. He’d text her after all. Presumably about a date. Oh boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's happening, guys. It's happening! This is not a drill. They're going on a date! I repeat, they're going on - a - date! 
> 
> We have time for some more fluff before season 3, right? Next chapter is date-chapter. Most of it's already written, but if you have any particular topics you want them to discuss, please suggest them and I'll see if I can make it fit in. Some things are still secret for plot purposes, of course.
> 
> Just one more chapter before we wrap up 2020! Crazy! 
> 
> Hope you're still enjoying your holiday! (If you have time off, not sure if that's as normal everywhere as it is in Norway. Otherwise, hope you're still enjoying yourself)
> 
> Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think :) Again, not much action, but another long Halegado-conversation.


	52. The First Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Long-ass chapter ahead. It's frustrating at first, but it gets better :)

The arrangement with Jimmy worked better than expected. They were both borderline insomniacs and the apartment was never fully quiet, either of them always up at any point in the day. It helped. Things felt marginally normal.

After Jimmy returned from a shopping trip, they had installed a heavy wooden plank that ran across both sets of windows in the living room. It rested on some square white cabinets and served as a crazy long desk where they could each have their personal mess several feet apart. Jimmy never brought in the dining room table — the one she had tried to save Derek’s life on — but they never cooked anything, so eating all meals in the kitchen or in front of the TV was fine.

At Joe’s insistence, and her expense, they got a coffee machine for the kitchen. Second-hand, so it did not bankrupt her immediately. Jimmy stuck to his tea kettle, but as long as Joe got her caffeine, it was fine. Living downtown meant she was within walking distance from the coffee shop, but her wallet would not survive that long-term. Not that Jimmy wanted her to pay rent, as he didn’t either, but they split utilities and groceries.

“We should just buy these in bulk,” Joe commented as she looked over their weekly budget and how much Jimmy spent on this non-caffeinated organic soda that he called kombucha. It was some kind of fermented tea, apparently, and crazy expensive. “Same with the frozen enchilada pockets.” She squinted at the receipt from the grocery store. “What is cauliflower rice?”

“Rice,” Jimmy said as he came up, “made,” he went down, “of cauli-”, up again, “flower.”

Joe raised her eyebrow at the push-uping Jimmy on the floor. That had been another reason not to bring in the dining table. He wanted the room to exercise. Apparently, this new physique did not come for free. She sat on top of the kitchen island, cross-legged, and watched him work out. So strange. Jimmy was not wearing anything else than gray sweatpants, so she could see every gleaming muscle that contracted and flexed as he did his moves. Technically, they were the same muscles she saw on Derek. And yet...nothing. No reaction. She could recognize that he looked good, but that was it.

If her mind replaced Jimmy with Derek however...

“You’re thinking about him again.”

That happened.

“Stop smelling me, asshole.”

“Stop smelling then.”

It made her wonder if Derek worked out. He probably did. Anything to stay strong, stay fast, stay powerful. Lifting weights? Probably, but she could picture him doing these bodyweight-exercises like Jimmy was doing. Push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups, any other kind of ups. The tattoo on his back glistening with sweat as he worked his body-

“And you’re thinking about him again.”

“Shut up,” Joe murmured and returned her attention to the receipts and budget plan. With how easily Jimmy could tell, she had to wonder how much Scott had picked up the few times she and Derek had been in the vicinity of each other with Scott around. The first few times it was probably okay because she was more skeptical than attracted, but lately? Hmm.

“You should try to exercise as well,” said Jimmy after he was done doing something he called pistol squats that looked utterly ridiculous. He grabbed a water bottle and finished it in almost one go, his powerful throat working as he swallowed. Again, Joe could see the similarities, but it just wasn’t the same. “Will take your mind off things.”

Joe made a dismissive sound. “Like you taking your mind off that contract with your parents and your still unfinished book?”

“I will admit that this writer’s block is proving to be demanding.” Jimmy glanced at his computer in the furthermost corner. Joe’s was closer to the kitchen, so she could put on the coffee machine without getting out of her chair. “But a sound mind requires a sound body.”

“Whatever, just don’t be making any body sounds and we’re good,” Joe said absentmindedly. Still a few months left of the semester and the TA-work was picking up after Spring Break. She needed a second income if she was going to keep up this lavish lifestyle of eating more than once a day. Could go back to tutoring, if she resisted the urge to stab herself with an ice-pick at the thought alone.

Erica and Boyd were reported missing to the local police now, but even though Sheriff Stilinski took the case seriously, statistics showed that missing youth were rarely prioritized by the law enforcement agencies. The surrounding state police and jurisdictions were informed of the missing kids and that meant they’d alert Beacon County if the kids showed up in the arrest, hospital, or morgue. And that was it. No search party, no investigation. Kids ran away all the time, usually they came home when their money ran out.

Nothing usual about this.

Jimmy’s computer made a _ding_ and Joe frowned. “Another e-mail? Dude, you need to turn off that notification-sound, they are going of twenty-four seven.”

“I have many correspondents overseas. They are in a different time-zone,” Jimmy said as he went over to check the computer. He made a dismissive sound. “Another fan wanting me to update.”

“Yeah, how’s that going for ya? Writer’s block there as well?”

Jimmy had reopened his blog — sorry, news site — to the general euphoria of his readers. She had proofread his first article about the kanima-murders, trying to find the line between exposing them as actual supernatural murders without exposing himself, so to speak. That was the only article he had published in the week of being back from hiatus and his followers were used to a more frequent updating schedule.

“For now,” Jimmy said and shut off his computer. “I will take a shower. My keen sense of smell tells me I am perspiring heavily.”

“Don’t need a keen sense of smell to tell that.”

Her phone buzzed and now it was Joe’s turn to frown. She kept expecting the worst — bodies found in the Preserve, Kate escaping to Mexico, Gerard reinstated as the principal. The text-message was not about either.

Oh. In the privacy of Jimmy’s — and hers now — kitchen, she blushed deeply.

Lobito: _Pick you up at 7 PM.  
_

“Jimmy!” she called, hopping down from the counter. “I need the shower!”

Only one bathroom in the apartment, luckily not connected to either bedroom, and she practically sprinted down the hall to it. His muffled voice came from inside. “ _I am already nude.”_

“Don’t care! Derek’s picking me up at seven,” she said and banged her flat palm on the door. It yanked open from the inside, Jimmy clutching a skimpy towel around his waist and frowning. She barged her way inside and shoved him out of the bathroom, giving him her phone. The co-ed dorms from her first year at Berkeley had made her mostly immune to social hang-ups about gender. “What do I say?”

“ _This might sound radical_ ,” Jimmy’s voice came from outside the door. “ _But I would suggest a simple ‘OK’ to suffice. Perhaps a smiley-face if you are feeling convivial._ ”

“Doesn’t that seem a bit stand-offish?” Joe wrenched her sweatshirt off while turning on the shower at the same time to get the heat running. “I need to find out what to wear. Like, does he want to go hiking or is it a dinner and a movie or-”

“ _That is too long for a text, I will just call-_ ”

Joe tore the door open and stuck her head outside, already naked except for an equally skimpy towel trying to cover more of her than Jimmy tried to cover on himself. To his credit, his gaze never flickered once. “No! Are you insane? You can’t call him!”

“Delgado,” Jimmy said patiently, as he did when he was sick of her bullshit. “As a member of both his subspecies and gender, I can assure you that a simple phone call is to be appreciated more than a dozen texts back and forth. Why are you overcomplicating things?”

“I’m not!” Joe went inside the bathroom because she was running out of time. She hopped in the shower, raising her voice, not thinking that Jimmy could hear her anyway. “But you can’t call because then he’ll know I showed you the text-message, he’ll know I’m overthinking it.”

“ _But you are overthinking it._ ”

“Not the point! Okay, hang on, brainstorm with me here,” she shouted and thought she heard Jimmy groan. “We’re in April, right? And he said seven pm so that probably means it’s indoors because the weather’s still cold.”

_“This is California, Delgado, not New York and it’s almost May. It’s closer to sixty degrees out.”_

“Shit. That doesn’t narrow it down. Um, okay, how about I ask him what kind of shoes to wear? That’s cute, right?”

The utter silence on the other side indicated that it was not, in fact, that cute.

“God! What kind of guy just sends that text with no further info. ‘Pick you up at 7 PM’, not even a question mark.” Joe shampooed so hard she got it in her eyes and swore under her breath. “Does he think I’ve been sitting around just waiting for him to call me about that date?”

_“You have been sitting-”_

Joe continued pretending she had not heard Jimmy. “What if I had plans tonight? I could have plans, right? I have friends,” _like two of them, “_ I live with you, I could have a girls’ night with Aunt Mel planned, he has no way of knowing if I’m free or not.” Huffing, Joe stomped out of the shower, shampoo still in her hair, and stuck her head out the door again. “The audacity of this guy. Screw it. I’m canceling. Text him that I’m busy.”

He was leaning on the other side of the hallway, her phone still in hand. “Are you sure about that, Joe?”

“Yes!” She slammed the door and went back to the shower, not wasting the hot water now that she had begun anyway.

_“What if he asks what your plans were?”_

“Make something up.”

Rinsing her hair, she tried to picture what he could possibly have planned for tonight. She had a hard time imagining him at a minigolf-course for example. No, Derek Hale was either a hike-and-see-the-sunset or a dinner-and-a-movie kind of guy. There wasn’t that much to do in Beacon Hills anyway. As she applied the conditioner, she called out to Jimmy: “What time does the sun set in Beacon Hills?”

_“Around eight pm.”_

Hah, called it. “Did you cancel?”

_“No, the phone shows that he’s typing.”_

“What’s he saying?”

_“I don’t know, I said he was typing, he hasn’t sent anything.”_

Maybe he was getting second thoughts. Maybe he realized that was not a way to ask a girl out. Okay, technically he asked her out at the Hale house yesterday, and that had almost been too much asking out in Joe’s opinion. But just sending a text like that and assume she’ll fall in line just beca-

_“He says ‘No dress-code, but please no sweats’.”_

“What?” Joe barked, half-blind with conditioner in her eyes. “He said _what_?”

_“This is ridiculous, I’m just gonna call-”_

“No! Text him ‘OK’, the letters, not the word and no smiley,” Joe snapped as she ducked back under the water spray, words slurred by the stream. “No sweats? I’ll show him no sweats that-”

_“I am fortunate enough to not understand a word you’re saying. I will not cancel then?”_

Joe wrenched off the water and stomped naked onto the floor, using the small towel to dry herself quickly. “No!”

She heard a tired sigh and the sound her phone made when a message was sent. _“Very well. Now can I please have the shower?”_

Wrapping her hair up, she covered herself as much as she could and let Jimmy have the bathroom. “But make it quick, you gotta help me choose my outfit.”

He closed the door while muttering: _“Get a roommate, they said, it’ll be fun, they said.”_

Already fuming, Joe opened the trashbags containing all of her clothes, still not fully unpacked from moving. No sweats, huh? Okay, what did Derek like? He always wore grays and neutral greens and to be fair, most of Joe’s closet was neutral gray, but only because it was washed out black. She needed something opposite of sweats in every way. Color, fit, texture. He had complimented her outfit at the rave, so those pants could still work — black fitted jeans. The top was a no-go unless he was taking her to a BDSM-club and that seemed too spontaneous for a first date. Had to wait until the third one at least.

So far it looked like she was going for jeans and a t-shirt, which was her default when the occasion didn’t allow for sweats. Joe made a face. She had to have any other top that could work but still keep it sort of neutral, as he obviously had not approved of her dress that night of the reunion dinner. Okay, he had said she looked amazing — Joe blushed even at the memory — but she had a feeling his sight was clouded with, uh, the pheromone-equivalent of beer goggles. Did she have time to head over to Aunt Mel’s to raid her closet? It would be cutting it close and mess up her hair-drying time.

The shower turned off and Jimmy trudged into her room seconds later, towel around his waist and dripping water.

“Okay, I’m down to these pants,” Joe said and held up the jeans in question. The rest of her clothes had exploded over her bed. “These are all my tops.”

“How many gray t-shirts do you own?” Jimmy asked with a curl in his lip. He was not a fan of neutrals, but he seemed to have eased up on the pattern-matching after he turned into a werewolf. Maybe anti-pattern was a werewolf-thing?

“What do you mean? These are totally different. That’s cotton, that’s a cotton mix, that’s sleeveless and this is like a three-quarter long sleeve and-”

Jimmy ignored her in favor of reaching into the pile. “This.”

“That’s my serious-shirt,” Joe said with a grimace as she took the item in question from his hands. A splurge when she was interviewing for post-grad positions at the university, a luxurious white business shirt of some sort of linen-mixed fabric that did not crease and was a bit less see-through than most other white shirts she had ever tried. “I wear this when I need to be taken seriously.”

He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. “Tonight sounds like a good time for that.” Something made him smile and now Joe raised her eyebrows. “You are standing in your underwear talking to me who is essentially naked and let’s face it, the epitome of male physique, and not caring a bit.” Cue eye roll. “It is fascinating how this mate-bond affects your judgment.”

“For your information, that’s not the mate-bond. I’m still attracted to other people,” Joe bit back and decided to go for the combo Jimmy suggested. She looked over at him. “Does it bother you? Either way?”

“Not at all,” Jimmy said easily, still with his arms crossed, which meant the towel hung on by a simple tuck on his side. “I meant what I said about not being attracted to you.” Under his breath, he muttered: “You’d be exhausting as a partner anyway.”

“Cool. Same. How’s this?” Joe had put on the jeans and shirt, feeling like she was going straight in for an accountant-interview. Jimmy rolled his eyes.

“Unbutton. One more. One more. One more.”

“Bro, are you serious, I’m practically not buttoned at all,” Joe murmured and looked at herself in the tall mirror by the door. She rolled up her sleeves to her elbows and tried to move around, seeing just how much she exposed herself. By Jimmy’s orders, she had unbuttoned until the underband of her bra. Not that much cleavage to begin with, it was still all on display now.

“Now tuck your shirt.”

She did and the effect changed again. Okay, she could work with this. It was a step further from hinting, but it was still not quite exposing. Like a firm, but not an explicit message of what she wore underneath her shirt.

“Hang on, hang on,” Joe said before Jimmy could go back to presumably put on some clothes. “Take a picture for Kelly, have her approve. Use my phone.”

Rolling his eyes, he still took the phone from her hand and switched to camera mode. “Can you do something with your arms, you’re slouching. Not the Wonderwoman-pose, just be natural. That...is not natural.”

“Just take the damn picture!”

Sound of a message sent, two seconds later, sound of a message received. Jimmy sighed. “She tells you to wear heels and then gives several smiley-faces with hearts in their eyes and one thumb up.”

He refused to have any opinion on her makeup and went back to his own room. Joe had a whole hour before Derek would pick her up, which she needed when she messed up her eyeliner _again_. Why was she so nervous? This was worse than that reunion-dinner. It was just Derek.

Her true mate.

Oh God, stop it, Delgado. She concentrated on the eyeliner again. Every time she leaned forwards, she realized she revealed more of her bra without it being overly tacky. It was just a black lacy bra she got at Macy’s or something, no push-up or any other effect. Not exposing anything, but still, that little peek-a-boo was kind of hot. And she wasn’t even that interested in boobs.

She found herself wondering if Derek was.

Fourth time’s a charm, apparently, when it came to liquid eyeliner. The rest she kept simple, but could not resist the temptation of red lipstick. It was an undisputed fact that Latinas looked good with red lipstick. The only downside to red lipstick was how it smeared if you kissed. Not that she planned to do any kissing tonight, but if it happened, it happened-

“Aargh,” Joe groaned to herself, after nearly stabbing herself in the eye with the mascara wand. Relax or he would be able to smell her arousal several miles away. First date was a first date no matter how long she’d known him. No kissing. Maybe holding hands a bit. God, would he put his arm around her like when he pretended to be her boyfriend? He was so tactile compared to her. Touching her like it was second-nature and who knew, maybe it was to him?

Ten minutes to go. Okay, makeup done, she could not get the eyeliner completely evened out, but who cared at this point, right? Hair semi-dry, not too frizzy, would probably frizz more if they were spending the night outdoors, but this was a guy who’d seen her in all states of disarray so it should be fine. Anything was an improvement from either the lopsided half-bun she wore or the monster mess that came after every near-death experience.

As she tried to figure out if she should go outside to wait for him — he seemed like a guy who’d be here at seven sharp — or if she should let him come up to get her, she ran her fingers over his leather jacket. The one he gave to her. Told her she looked good in. No matter if he meant it as a joke, he still gave it to her. She tested it on. Okay, now that looked cool.

“Looking good, Delgado,” Jimmy said as he passed her room, shooting her two finger guns.

No, not the jacket, it was too much. She was already playing up his ego with just agreeing to this date and not calling him out on the part cryptic, part blunt texts. But the jacket looked really cool. No, no jacket.

It smelled really good though.

All the more reasons to leave it behind, she would have enough just to fight her own hormones when having the source readily available.

Not that readily available though.

Probably.

Jimmy’s disinterested voice came from the living room: _“He’s here.”_

Pulling on the first of a pair of heels she had not worn in a while, but did wonders for her butt, she dashed out into the living room where Jimmy was on his computer. She hadn’t heard the buzzer.

“How do I look?” she asked and Jimmy gave her a thumbs up over his shoulder without turning around. Joe groaned. Sometimes she missed Aunt Mel who could hype her a bit up when necessary. “Do I go down or is he coming up?”

“He’s waiting for you in the car,” Jimmy said and tapped his ear. Aha. Super hearing.

“Are you guys talking right now?” she asked, wondering how far that hearing really went and Jimmy gave her a thumbs up again. He was looking at the latest development in the Kate Argent-case. Her trail was leading investigators to Mexico, not surprisingly.

“He says he’s still waiting.”

“Tell him to kiss my ass,” Joe muttered and pulled on the other heel, wincing a bit as it’d been a while since she walked in them. A realization struck her as Jimmy gave her a very specific look over his shoulder — Derek could hear her too. “Uh, I’ll be down in a second?”

Waiting for Jimmy to tell her if Derek answered or not, she looked at herself in the reflection of the window. Jacket or no jacket?

No jacket, and if they were supposed to be outside, Derek could give her his jacket. Or keep her warm in any other mann- Why was she like this?

“I’m just gonna go.”

Jimmy waved her off without a word. Since she hated to carry a purse, she put her wallet and phone in the back pocket along with the lipstick in case she had to touch up. Because she had a drink or something, not because of kissing. Okay, you know what, Joe? Shut up.

She wobbled down to the ground floor and found Derek’s Camaro sitting on the curb outside the main entrance. It looked extra shiny as if he’d polished it. The windows rolled down and she saw him take off his sunglasses when she walked up to the car.

Without killing the engine, he reached over to shove the door open. Her heart was already hammering ridiculously loud in her chest, a fact that had to be more than prominent to him because of the insanely many buttons she had undone. Smiling tightly, she got into the car — a car she had literally gotten in a thousand times before so it was no big deal, Joe, would you just relax for a second here? — and buckled up.

“Hey,” Derek said and that was it before he got the car into gear and cruised off.

By the time she realized she hadn’t returned his greeting, it was too late. Oh well, he would smell she was nervous and probably give her a free pass. Not like he was initiating any conversation either.

Okay, so he was in a pair of fitted dark jeans that looked new, or at least there weren’t any scratches on them like most of his other pairs. On top he wore a snug deep red — maroon or burgundy maybe? — henley shirt in a thicker material than he usually wore. Looked like cashmere? Looked expensive, actually, and there was some nice leather detailing around the collar.

Trying and probably failing to be discrete, she leaned back to take a peek at his shoes to get any inclination if they were going hiking after all and she had to go back and change.

Dress shoes.

Okay. Unexpected. Not unexpected, he cleaned up good.

After the initial greeting, he had not looked at her again. He drove like he hated both the road and his car, particularly his steering wheel and she could see one of the muscles — triceps? — flex on his arm even through his shirt as he gripped it. The deadly silence was killing her, but she did not have the nerves to turn on the radio because then he might ask why she was doing that, and then she would have to say it was too quiet and he would ask her to talk then and she would panic and say something stupid and-

They just passed the Beacon Hills-sign. She turned in her seat to confirm it. Oh God, maybe Derek fully intended to hike in dress shoes?

“Where are we going?” she asked after a few failed attempts where she had to clear her throat first.

“Berkeley.”

“Oh, okay,” she said to fill the silence. The only reason she could think he would take her to Berkeley was if he was trying to recreate that disastrous reunion dinner. The food had been nice — she thought at least, she could not even remember it. Maybe Derek was not a dinner-and-a-movie kind of guy, maybe it was just dinner?

This was the most awkward car ride in her life. And it was with Derek, of all people. He’d saved her life, she’d saved his life, they’d fought, they’d nearly kissed at least a couple of times, at least she thought they had, maybe that was just how she remembered it. No. Joe recalled the look of pure frustration on Derek’s face after Kelly knocked on the door at the reunion dinner. The other times there was an actual emergency going on, but that time was just bad luck and he had looked really frustrated. Really.

And now he looked angry, as per usual, still not relenting on the steering wheel. If anything, he had looked less angry when he was paralyzed from the neck down in the swimming pool. That could have been the sheer exhaustion though. To be fair, he had looked absolutely livid when he spotted her sneaking back in after getting the shotgun. Probably the third angriest she’d seen him, with the two other places being when Matt had a gun in her face and when the kanima put her in a choke-hold.

The complete silence made her fiddle with the undone buttons on her shirt, feeling stupid and exposed. Could she deftly button up without him noticing? Probably not, as he had noticed her playing with the hem of her dress before the reunion dinner — he had supernaturally heightened senses, nothing escaped him. And if she didn’t stop messing with the buttons, she’d open another one and she forced her hand down into her lap.

He’d trimmed his beard.

She kept peeking over at him, where he sat with a ramrod back, driving the Camaro like that was his only purpose in life. Like that time at the reunion dinner, he’d taken it a step further and made sure the lines were straight where the beard ended on his cheeks. Joe liked the beard or stubble as she usually referred to it. He kept it shorter than Jimmy and when they first met — that seemed like years ago when it was just in January — he had been nearly clean-shaven. Never completely clean-shaven and she could imagine him being that kind of guy who got a shadow before he had finished shaving the rest of his face. Probably not helped by the werewolf-gene.

Not a gene. A part of him. Which a gene was, so that analogy was actually fine.

If they were going all the way to Berkeley, she almost wished she’d taken her own car and met him there. This was the longest half hour in the history of time. Two words. He’d said two words to her this entire time. Had she insulted him that much with the ‘kiss my ass’-comment she made in the apartment? It hadn’t even been intended for him! That could not be it, she had dished out far worse things than that. Called him a failure in the high school locker room, but to be fair, she had just found out that his psycho uncle was alive after he himself had killed him and she was both suffering the effects of the mountain ash and quitting morphine-combo. Never found out exactly how Peter was brought back to life. Jimmy had said something about the Worm moon and the girl, but that had been it. Story for another time, silence was better than dredging up all that bad stuff right now.

Or was it?

Maybe a little argument was better than nothing? Would make for an awkward car ride home though. Jimmy could pick her up if it got too bad. No, no argument now. Things were bad enough with Erica and Boyd still missing. Joe would never admit it, but she had a small hope they were on a beach somewhere, couch-surfing and hanging ut, doing normal runaway kids’ stuff. It hadn’t been that long, maybe they still had cash enough to live kinda comfy and then they’d come sneaking back when it ran out. A nice dream. Erica and Boyd made a cute couple. Had to find a guy for Isaac though. Or girl. Joe feared, suspected, worried — all of the above — that he had developed a crush on her, probably just projecting through his Alpha. Isaac needed a nice girl, or guy, his own age. She should probably go talk to him, make sure he knew that offer of The Talk still was available. Not that she had any clue to what she was doing when it came to the dating game, but she was pretty sure of her sexuality.

Oh thank God, they’d reached Berkeley.

It quickly became apparent that they were not going to that craft brewery because Derek was taking all the turns she did when she headed for the university. In fact, he was even pulling up to the university parking lot. More confused by the second, Joe watched him do that arm-thing when he reversed into the parking space. So now they were parked at the university. Joe narrowed her eyes, almost fearing some kind of set-up involving Kelly or Alex or any of the other guys. It was nowhere near her birthday though, and she did not see that many other cars here.

“Hang on,” Derek said as he killed the ignition and got out of the car. Major deja vu, as he came over to her side and opened the door. Giving her his arm, he said with what sounded like annoyance: “Didn’t think you’d wear heels.”

“Uh, well, I am,” Joe said awkwardly as she used his arm as support to get out. Easier in jeans, no fear of flashing anyone. The heels almost brought her to his height, but she was more concerned with scanning the parking lot, trying to figure out what they were doing here without actually asking him. No arm around her shoulders or waist this time though, so it was not all like the reunion dinner. No facade to keep up.

Instead, he put his hands in the pockets of his jeans and nodded his head to indicate the way. It took her approximately five steps to regret her footwear, but after Derek’s comment, she would rather chew her toes off than say something about it. So she tottered after him, literally, as he was walking at his normal speed. She could usually not keep up with him in sneakers when he did that, let alone heels. When he was ten yards ahead of her, it seemed to dawn on him that he was missing something and he turned, still with both hands in pocket, with raised eyebrows.

“Coming?”

“I’m trying,” Joe bit out, hating these shoes with every fiber of her being. It was a reason they had originally been stored in the back of the closet. They looked good on, made her butt look all cute and perky, but they were a nightmare to walk in. Shoes like that could only be worn to bars where she could stand by a tall table for five minutes at a time and then go sit down somewhere. No dancing or walking in these shoes. Had he turned off his werewolf senses or something? How could he not notice her literally bite in a swear word with every step? 

They were walking down the campus sidewalk, heading to one of the newer buildings Joe never went to because she hadn’t had classes there since she was a Freshman. A couple of students milled about, heading to or from the library or dorms. Oh my God, what if he was taking her to some dorm party? Did he know anyone from the school? How could she explain that as a post-grad who lived off-campus, she would never even contemplate attending another dorm party, not even if her life depended on it?

And no conversation. Zero. Zilch. This was so weird. It was like going on a date with your platonic best friend. Why had she brought up the date-stuff again? Couldn’t they just have made out in the Hale house yesterday and then taken it from there? Did they _need_ to be dating when they were already destined to be together?

Eventually, Derek stopped in front of a pair of glass doors to the main building. He waited patiently, or at least with feigned patience, for Joe to catch up. 

“What are we doing here?” she finally asked, having tried and failed to figure it out. Joe tried to not sound whiny, but the shoes hurt and while she had not had high hopes for tonight, a tour around her own college had not been on the expected agenda.

Derek nodded at the door. A large poster had been put up, declaring this was the entrance to the annual anthropology-exhibition as hosted by the university’s museum. The college had one of the largest collections in the US, but not the space to display it all, so they curated a streamlined exhibition that changed each year.

“Okay?” Joe asked, wondering why Derek looked so pleased. “Are you secretly an anthropology-buff?”

“No,” Derek admitted and pushed the doors open, holding out his hand to her. “But you are.” 

Quirking her brows, she took his hand, noting the heat, and let him lead her inside. He paid the modest entering-fee at the reception desk and they entered the exhibition hall. This year’s theme: Native American Myths and Legends.

Eyebrows raised, she looked at him again and he smiled with closed lips. Still, more than she was used to, still enough to make her heart beat just a little faster.

“I like hearing you talk about this stuff,” Derek said with a shrug. Her hand still in his, he tugged on it so she stepped closer, where he tucked her arm into his elbow.

Joe, a bit distracted by the fact that they were so close and that her arm was around his, swallowed. “Are you expecting me to present the exhibition to you?”

“If you’d like,” he said, his voice resonating through her core. “As I’m not illiterate, I can read the displays if not.”

Biting her lip to avoid smiling like an idiot, Joe followed Derek to the first exhibit. The Silver Fox and the Coyote of the Miwok-tribe, native to Northern California. She lasted all of ten seconds before she began to explain what was missing from the display text.

“A lot of tribes actually have both the creators being male, unlike the traditional Miwok where the Silver Fox is female. The duality is a really common theme in a lot of traditional legends because you have the wise and orderly on one side, that’s the Fox, and then there’s the trickster, the Coyote. There are literally so many mythologies that have this trickster-figure because it was all about life lessons, you know, and they needed something god-like whose sole purpose was to create havoc, where the other gods were too pure or wise of heart.”

He let her talk throughout the whole exhibition, in essence, giving him a more thorough tour than any guide could have managed. Her heels echoed on the marble floor and she tried to keep her voice down because there were not that many people in here despite how it was open until nine pm. A werewolf with super-hearing was a nice companion for that, as he would hear her no matter how low she whispered.

After he had made her aware of it back at the house, she noticed how much more mindful she was of him now that she talked. How his eyes moved when she explained certain parts of a woven blanket, for example. How they darted around. She noticed the minuscule parting of lips when he was thinking, also noticing the hint of bunny teeth when you saw him from the right angle, no less gorgeous for that. His flexing jaw when he had disagreed with something akin to a werewolf-legend, specifically skinwalkers. The tilt in his head when he looked at her after she had tried to be funny or tell something a bit more raunchy than they could put on the displays. Pheromones, he called them. Signals that he liked her. Or at least her when she was talking about stuff like this.

“Okay, so the _Maidu_ was actually Sierra Nevada people, north of Yosemite, and they were completely-”

“Excuse me, ma’am, sir.”

Steered by Derek, they turned around to the nice plump lady who had taken their entering-fee in the beginning. Joe wondered if she had gone too far in explaining the creation-myths, but to her defense, there were a lot of semen-analogies there.

The plump lady smiled sweetly. “Sorry to disturb you, but we’re closing in five minutes.” She held up her hand to display the number five. “Thank you so much for visiting.”

Joe watched her go back to the desk. Still holding on to Derek’s arm, because it did take some pressure off her feet if nothing else, she tried to locate a clock. “Didn’t you say they were open until nine?”

“I did,” Derek said and showed her the time on his phone. 8:55.

“Son of a bitch,” Joe said without thinking. No wonder she was parched, she had been talking for nearly an hour and a half. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Joe, I _like_ hearing you talk about this,” Derek said with a slight smile, no doubt hearing the crazy flutter of heartbeat that brought on. “Why’d you think I took you here?”

Despite his statement, Joe was at a loss for words now and they exited the hall while bidding the woman a good night. No matter what Jimmy said, it was still kind of cold in April and she was glad Derek had made no moves to shake her off his arm as they trudged back to the car, keeping a more leisurely pace now. It was like holding onto a radiator.

Derek opened the car door for her and offered his arm as support when she got in. She had thought it was just an act he put on at the dinner, but maybe this was how he was raised? Part of the werewolf-code — thou shalt help girls in too-high heels. Time had passed so fast after they entered the exhibition, and although her feet still throbbed, she did not actually want the night to end.

“You like Chinese?” Derek asked as he got in the driver’s seat and Joe, grinning like an idiot, confirmed that she did. 

Because Joe used to live in Berkeley, she knew about a couple of places and they chose the one closest. A busy night, they still managed to snag a table for two, tucked into a corner. Not surprisingly, Derek sat with his back to the wall, forever vigilant. She had been out with other guys who did that, who also happened to call themselves alphas, but they weren’t like Derek. They weren’t _actual_ Alphas like Derek.

“Did you really live in New York?” she asked after the nice waiter brought them their drinks. She opted for the non-alcoholic variant tonight, not wanting to cloud her judgment more than necessary. 

Derek looked surprised. “Yeah, six years. Why?”

“I thought that might have been something you just said,” Joe explained, referring to how he had told Caleb and Kyle at the reunion dinner about it. “Are you actually a licensed mechanic?”

“I am actually a licensed mechanic,” Derek said slowly, but with a hint of a smile in his eyes. “Laura, she, uh...” This was the first time Joe had ever heard him talk about his sister after she and Jimmy sprang him from the torture chamber. He took a deep breath, regaining his voice. “Laura made me do it, to get me out of the apartment.”

Derek took a sip of his beer, one that would not even give him a buzz, and looked elsewhere.

“Where’d you live?” Joe asked, as a New Yorker herself, deciding not to push on the subject of Laura too much. 

So it turns out that they had overlapping years in New York. When Derek was working as a mechanic in Brooklyn, Joe had finished up high school in the Bronx. Two opposite sides of New York City, but still close enough that it wouldn’t have been impossible for them to accidentally meet. Funny how life worked.

“What would have happened if you, like, saw me on the subway or something? Could you smell me from day one? Stupid question, you can smell everyone, but when did you actually know what was going on?”

Derek paused, twirling his beer bottle around. They had almost finished their first round, still waiting for their food. “Not everyone’s scent almost knocks me down the stairs.”

“So you knew already that time you lurked in the hallway?” 

“When I lurked in Scott’s room,” Derek corrected and had another swig of beer. “You just caught me leaving.” He talked slowly, mostly to his bottle. “I had a pretty strong suspicion, but...”

“But?”

“It was bad timing to get distracted.” His eyes glittered from the small tea-lights on their table. “So I stalked you a bit — sorry — and every time I saw you, it just kept getting stronger. Then I tried to avoid you, which did not work at all since you kept showing up everywhere-”

“I’m sorry,” Joe couldn’t help but laugh. She gestured to herself. “ _I_ kept showing up everywhere? Excuse me, but every time I turned around you were there!” Joe counted on her fingers. “The vet clinic, the video store, the school parking lot-”

Derek shrugged. “All those times I was there before you.”

“You-” Joe stopped to think, realizing he was right. “Oh my God, I’m the stalker.” She mulled it over and decided: “Nah, bro, you stole my car to have it cleaned. That or the engine-thing is the most stalker-ish thing you did, beats any of mine.”

Half worried she offended him, she realized he was smiling as he looked down at the tabletop. Almost embarrassed? It was not a look she was used to seeing on him, somehow made her heart beat faster.

“I felt bad for bleeding all over your seats,” he pulled in a sharp breath, “and scaring you. The engine was as much for my own sake as yours. I’m, uh, sorry about that. Both times, really. You’re right, I should have asked.”

“You could at least have told me you were a licensed mechanic,” Joe mumbled into the now empty glass of her drink. “I was worried my car would blow up.”

“I think I lowered the chances of that drastically. The original engine was a literal fire hazard,” Derek said and right then, the waiter turned up with their food. They leaned back as the steaming plates were put in front of them. They thanked him and each went for the chopsticks, Derek snapping them apart in a fluid movement. Seemingly without thinking, he reached over to do the same to hers. “Reminds me that I never kicked Carter’s ass for that.

Half distracted by the chopsticks back in her hands, she said: “You probably beat him up in high school, let bygones be bygones.”

They picked at their food for a while — she had the safe broccoli beef, extra spicy, while Derek went for some kind of lamb-dish with noodles. 

“Never beat anyone up in high school,” Derek said conversationally, popping a piece of meat into his mouth, a brief flash of canines. She must have looked skeptical as he sighed and again, seemingly without thinking, reached over to take a piece of her food. He did not notice her slightly surprised look. “Barely got to play sports. Secrecy was our main advantage, Mom never let us forget that. But homeschooling would just set us further apart from the rest of the town, which our money already did, so I guess that’s why she allowed us to attend Beacon High.”

Feeling adventurous, curious to see if he would notice, Joe leaned forward to snag a bite of his food. He did notice, but only to push his plate closer to her to give her better access. Okay, that lamb-thing was delicious and she would definitely order this the next time they- Joe mentally cleared her throat. Next time _she_ was here, no matter the company.

“How many siblings-” She bit off her own question, realizing her faux pas. All of her questions were in the past tense.

“Laura’s the oldest, then me, Michael and Cora,” Derek listed on his fingers, quickly, but determined to go through with it. He returned to his food, brows pulled down to give him a dark expression. “Michael was the only human of us. We also lived with my dad’s brother and his wife, with two kids, Tyler and Aaron. Tyler probably human, but it’s not easy to tell when they’re that young.”

Big family, Joe thought but said nothing. It did not go unregistered that Derek used a mix of tenses when talking about his family. She could imagine the Hale house when it was a mansion, filled with people, kids coming and going as they saw fit. A long dining table, maybe, food passed between them as naturally as they talked, loud laughter and jokes filling the room.

She did not realize she was crying before a tear hit her plate. Joe flinched and was about to get up, run to the bathroom. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I’ll-”

Derek grabbed her hand and pulled her back to the table. His bright eyes were dry but watchful. “It’s okay.”

“It really isn’t,” Joe muttered as she used her free hand to dab at her eyes with the napkin, hoping the mascara wouldn’t run. She wasn’t sure if she meant what had happened or the fact that she was only halfway through their dinner and already crying.

“It is what it is,” Derek said, repeating her words from the hospital.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

As he tightened his grip on her hand, her voice died to nothing.

“Don’t apologize for that.” He signaled to the waiter to get them another round of drinks. “How about you? Any siblings?”

Still holding the napkin up to her eyes, her other hand in his, she shook her head. “Closest thing I have is Scott and-” That thought did nothing to brighten the mood. “My Grandma had a hard time having children, so she stopped after two. Got some second cousins in Argentina, but we don’t really have any contact with them.” With a sigh, she gestured to the napkin. “I really didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay,” Derek repeated. Probably realizing that family was not the most fun thing to discuss, he changed the subject. “I got a question for you for once. When did you first notice me?”

“When you were standing like a psychopath in the upstairs hall,” Joe muttered, glad of the reprieve from the gloom, even though she wanted to know more about Derek and what he came from. “No, really, I mean it. I smelled you when you passed me.”

Derek’s eyebrow raised as he chewed. “And that didn’t strike you as strange?”

“I was more worried about how you’d broken into the house, rather than the fact that you used a shit ton of cologne.” Joe laughed as Derek rolled his eyes. “But yeah, that’s when I noticed you, scent and all.” She glanced at him, comparing how different he looked from just a few months ago. “By the way, been meaning to say, I like that you stopped shaving so often,” she used her fingers to indicate her own jaw before picking up her chopsticks, “you look better like this.”

She caught a hint of a smile even as he leaned over his food, using his free hand to eat. “I still shave once a day.”

A piece of broccoli dropped from her chopsticks. “Are you serious?”

“I just changed from a razor to a machine,” he explained as he rubbed his own jaw, and now that she was aware, she could see his beard had already grown darker. “It grows like crazy. My dad was the same.”

“Because you’re a,” she glanced around the restaurant, but no one was paying attention except Derek, who looked at her expectantly, “werewolf?” At his slightly bigger smile and shrug, she blinked. “You should hope so because your skin would be completely raw if you did it without any healing in the picture.” Picking the fallen broccoli back up, she raised her eyebrows. “You could have like a full hipster-beard in a few days. Should totally do that for Halloween”

“Or I could just...” Derek did another shrug and gestured to his own completely serious face. His lips twitched when Joe laughed at the image of Wolf-Derek handing out candy on Halloween.

“If you just did the red eyes and fangs, you’d be a pretty convincing vampire.” She chewed thoughtfully. “Are-”

“No,” he said decisively, already guessing where that question was heading. “There’s a lot of other things, but I’ve never come across vampires.”

Joe couldn’t help but smile at the whole situation of asking if vampires were real as a serious question and having it dismissed by a werewolf. Noticing his inquisitive expression, she shook her head, still smiling.

“I’m just processing that I’m on a date with a werewolf.” Was it her imagination or did his face light up slightly every time she said the word? They were in a public setting, but he’d probably let her know if she needed to keep her voice down. Every table in the restaurant was occupied and Joe glanced around. “Can you hear, like, every conversation in here?”

“Not at the same time.” He took another swig of beer and his eyes got slightly unfocused for a second. “Kitchen messed up an order so they’re arguing, but not much interesting other than that. I told you, our hearing’s selective and,” another tug to his lips in a slight smile and she just realized they had been holding hands for a while now when his thumb stroked gently over her hand, “I’d rather listen to you.”

Yeah, he definitely knew what he was doing. Even if he pretended to not notice the rush of heat spreading in her face and continued eating in silence, his eyes crinkled like he was holding back a smirk. 

A brief pause as the waiter cleared their plates and refilled their drinks. Both of them leaning back broke their grip on each other and Joe was not bold enough to reclaim it.

“Derek?” she asked when her heartbeat was back under control.

Derek made a noise of confirmation that he’d heard her, eyes locked on the label on his bottle, obviously thinking about something.

“Why _did_ you roll around in my bed that night of the full moon?”

No, his grip definitely tightened around the bottleneck. As if to buy time, he took a long swig, staring into nothing. “It’s going to sound creepy.”

Joe burst out laughing at his expression and the fact that Derek Hale, big bad Alpha werewolf, worried about sounding ‘creepy’. Her laughter did not make his mood brighten considerably, but the more she tried to get it under control, the more she started cracking up at his expression. Finally, he rolled his eyes, but she could see the smile threatening to peek through.

“Mm, try me,” Joe finally got the voice to say and sipped on her drink through the straw, knowing her lipstick was probably all rubbed off now anyway, and found she did not care even the slightest.

“I lost control,” Derek mumbled slowly, so she had to lean over the table to hear him. “I meant what I said that it doesn’t happen often, but the full moon makes everything stronger and I had just fought Scott as he tried to kill Allison and Jackson — long story, don’t ask — so my adrenaline was already running high and then you’re there all of a sudden and you’re smelling agitated and angry and the next thing I know I’m also in pain. Sensory overload, is that a word? And I know now, and knew then, that Scott’s just your cousin, but right then, when I lost control, I just saw him as-”

“As?” Joe prompted and her eyes widened. “Competition?”

“I told you it was gonna sound weird,” Derek muttered and drank more beer. “But to answer your question, I managed to redirect myself to the second strongest source of your smell in the house to calm down,” Derek spoke the last part directly into the bottle, “and simultaneously mask it with my own.”

“I’m sorry, what was that? That last part? You _masked_ my scent with your own?”

Derek looked like he wanted to sink through his chair, but with his bottle now empty, he had no choice but to put it down and nod stiffly. 

“Dude, what are you, a musk ox?”

A sharp inhale before he recovered. “They didn’t cover that part in the stories you found?”

Her turn to want to sink through her chair. “Uh, they did actually, but that was somehow the least worrisome part of it.” She shifted around a bit, twirling the remaining ice cubes around in her glass. “How much of those stories are based on reality? Like, do you ever need to bite me or something to claim me or...?”

With a raised eyebrow and completely straight face, he asked: “Do you want me to?”

Eyes snapped to his face as the question had her frozen. Only the glint in his eyes let her know it was a joke and she managed to breathe again.

“Dude,” she said, if only to annoy him a little back, “you just told me you rolled around in my bed to mask my scent with yours, I’m allowed to be a bit concerned about the rest.” She drummed her fingers on the table, half-tempted to reach for his hand again. “I just, y’know, want to know the rules. What’s expected or...” _what you want_.

“I’m not sure exactly what you’ve read, but I’m pretty sure it’s not like that.” Derek’s tone was neutral and he signaled the waiter for more drinks. He seemed to remember something and asked: “You want coffee instead?” After she nodded and Derek placed the order, he sighed, obviously not done with the subject. “I’m not expecting anything from you, Joe.”

“Okay, good. What does ‘mate’ mean?” The question blurted out before she could stop it. “Deaton asked me if you told me and-”

“I did tell you.” A rush of butterflies in her stomach as he put those bright eyes at her. “Yesterday.”

“That Old English stuff?” Her face cleared. “Is that why you’ve been eating my food?”

His eyebrows raised in puzzlement before he realized what she meant. “No, that was just,” he shrugged, almost apologetically, “old habits, I guess. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you remind me of Laura at times.”

Joe absolutely took this the wrong way. “I remind you of-”

“I’m able to relax around you,” Derek clarified immediately and poked a hole in Joe’s swelling balloon of indignation. He looked to the side, obviously not relaxing anymore. “Take it as a compliment.”

“Oh. Thanks?” Again, this topic seemed too sore to prod, so she asked instead: “So, what does ‘mate’ mean?”

Her breathing stopped again as he leisurely reached over the table to rest his fingertips on the back of her hand. His eyes were on hers though, open and honest. “Equal.”

This time when the waiter came with their drinks, neither pulled away.

Without releasing her hand, Derek changed the subject to something more mundane. They discussed music for a bit, comparing notes on concerts attended in New York when they lived there at the same time, but never matching. Derek told her more about his apprenticeship to become a mechanic, how he re-built this veteran car from scratch just to sell it to afford the Camaro, the only thing he said he bought completely with his own money. She in turn told him about her various part-time jobs — she’d had brief careers as a barista, hostess, gym receptionist, veterinarian assistant before she managed to pay her bills as a tutor, TA, and through various scholarships.

It was comfortable. At least for her. Without any way of reading his chemosignals, she had to take his word for it, but at least he looked more relaxed than she had ever seen him before. Maybe that was why they were in Berkeley because Beacon Hills represented so much pain, stress, and danger for both of them. His voice lost that hard edge it always had and became almost soothing when he talked. At least until he started going through all of the ‘first date stuff’ Joe had rambled on about the night after the rave.

It started innocently enough — he seemed to read every kind of book in existence, his dream job was as a freelance mechanic (only working when he felt like it) and the strangest phone call was from her when she was stranded in the woods under attack from a deer.

“Okay, how fast are you?” she found herself asking, recalling how insanely quick he had run out there that night. “Like, why do you bother with a car?”

“Because if I want to run that fast, it’s on all fours,” Derek said simply, as if to get it over with, and waited patiently for her to stop coughing after the coffee went down her windpipe. Something about that imagery was impossible to consolidate with the clean-cut guy in front of her. A guy who now smiled gently, watching her laugh while trying to recover.

Even after she stopped laughing, he kept looking at her. They weren’t fully holding hands, but both resting one of their hands next to the other’s on the table at all times. Light, comfortable touches that still sent tingles into her core.

“What?” she asked when regaining her voice, taking a sip of water to try and clear her throat. By the way he looked at her, she worried she had something on her face. The smile lingered, but he shook his head when she started brushing off her undereyes in case of mascara fallout.

Of all the questions he could have asked, she was not prepared for this one: “Does it bother you?”

It took her a few seconds to realize that he was not talking about him looking at her, but rather what set her off in a laughing fit in the first place. “I mean, not really, it’s just hard to picture, you know, because you’re clearly a bipedal creature trying to do a quadrupedal-”

“Joe.”

Of course, he saw right through her attempted diversion. Fiddling with the tattered remains of her napkin, she sighed. “I’m not bothered by _you_ , just,” she shrugged, “the imbalance? You have a clear unfair advantage.”

“It’s not always an advantage,” Derek said slowly but did not elaborate. “And you’re okay with the rest?”

“It’s grown on me,” she said with a tiny smile. “Are you okay with me,” her brows furrowed at her poor choice of words, “not being the rest?”

His eyebrows raised in clear surprise, beer bottle momentary frozen on its way to his mouth. “Most of the time,” he said eventually, “when you’re not actively trying to get yourself killed.”

“Hey, I heal too.”

“Took you a week and a half to recover from what would have taken me less than a minute.”

“Show-off.” For a second, she glared at her coffee. “This ‘bout me trying to shield you from a shotgun blast?” The vivid memory of Kate turning the barrel towards them made her frown even as he nodded slowly. “To be fair-”

“You reacted on instinct,” Derek finished without any more anger in his tone than usual. One of his fingers brushed against hers. “It was stupid, but it’s part of-”

“The bond?” she guessed, tempted to roll her eyes.

“Of who you are,” he said instead and raised his eyebrow in a challenge. “Guess it runs in the family.”

Slowly, she asked: “Is _that_ a compliment?”

A smile tugged on his lips. “Sometimes.”

And Joe found herself smiling back.

In the end, she drank her coffee and he finished his last beer and the nice waiter came to inform them that they were closing up. Despite her protests, he paid for both of them. She was not sure if she wanted to know how he earned his money, afraid it would turn out to be something completely illegal. 

Now when they walked out, he put his arm around her waist, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. At least it made her immune to the cold air outside. She had no idea what time it was. Still some people wandering around downtown, so obviously not midnight, but still late. Time to go home, probably, and she waited for Derek to suggest they should call it a night.

“You want to take the long way back?” Derek asked, indicating the brightly lit downtown area with the large fountain in the middle of a plaza. 

“My shoes are killing me,” Joe admitted, as much as she hated to say no because she really did not want this night to end. It was a night without any deaths, monsters, or supernatural drama — she had this Cinderella-feeling that things would end at midnight.

Derek shrugged with a half-smile. “Take them off.”

“I can’t walk barefoot,” Joe said and wrinkled her nose. “Not sanitary.”

“You’ll heal if you catch anything.”

“Still gross.”

Joe let him walk her to the fountain anyway, wincing with each step. “Hey, what are-” She almost believed he was throwing her in, but instead he just lifted her up on the fountain edge. Joe laughed, embarrassed even though they were practically alone. More of the fact that he lifted her like she weighed nothing, a feeling she had not had since she was around six years old. “What are you doing?”

“Shoe,” Derek said and held out his hand. When she didn’t immediately respond, he put his shoulder behind her leg to steady her and forced her foot up so he could wriggle her shoe off. Joe laughed more than she had time to be offended, but relented both her shoes to him so she was barefoot on the wide fountain edge.

“I swear, if this ends with me getting dunked in water...” Joe let the empty threat hang in the air, but accepted his hand again to keep her balanced as they walked around the large fountain, him on the ground and her on the edge.

Just holding his hand sent tingles up through her spine and she found herself searching for something to say to fill the silence. If it got quiet, she would start to overthink again.

“You look really nice tonight.” She surprised herself by saying it, but decided to push through. He’d obviously made an effort, not that he really needed to with his natural good looks. “It’s a good color on you.” She wrinkled her brows a bit. “It’s the only color I’ve seen you wear other than that one green sweater you have and that is practically gray.”

“Thank you,” Derek said, almost lost in thought, watching her balance the very wide marble walkway. “Took the last tag off in the car while we were driving.”

Joe smirked, somehow still losing balance every once in a while despite the fountain edge being so wide her forearm would not even reach across. “You went out and got a whole new outfit for tonight? Aww.” When he kept quiet, she raised her eyebrows. “This is the part where you say that you think I look nice too. Presuming you actually do, if you don’t, then please don’t say any-”

She yelped as Derek tugged sharply on her hand, causing her to topple over.

Instead of the fountain, she fell over him and he grabbed her easily around the waist while her hands landed around his neck. This brought their faces altogether too close for comfort and she could smell the beer on his breath, knowing it did nothing for his mind. Eyes locked together, she had nowhere else she could possibly look, and he took a step back from the fountain. Feet gently coming off the edge as he sat her down on the ground, still looking at her like she was the only thing in existence.

“Joe,” he said, leaning down, closer to her as she thought her own heart would make her go deaf, “you look amazing tonight.”

She swallowed, so acutely aware of everywhere they touched, everywhere he pressed into her, and vice versa. Opposites, hard where she was soft, flat where she was curved, but both hot all over. Derek leaned closer still, so close she could not tell her heartbeat from his and-

Her phone rang.

Locked like that, with his hands on her waist and her arms around his neck, they stared, inches apart. A glint in his eye and her breath hitched when she felt his hand on her backside, but it was only to get the ringing phone out of her pocket. 

“Not tonight,” he murmured and she heard a soft splash behind her, ringing continuing for a few seconds underwater before it stopped — and Derek put one hand behind her neck and leaned down. His eyes flickered to hers. “Is this okay?”

“Derek, please just kiss me.”

And he did. Finally.

The stubble around his mouth tickled, but it was an afterthought, a triviality, compared to how his lips felt on hers. Hot and demanding at the same time, tasting a little of beer, but most of something else that was just Derek. One of his hands pressed into her back, lifting her up to him, while her arms closed around his neck, pulling him towards her.

A low growl somewhere, from him, from her, it did not matter. God, she wanted this. His heat, from his hands and his lips and his mouth, transferred into her, filling every limb with fluttering fire. Quelling the butterflies in her stomach for just a second before they released with vengeance onto her very being.

Feet nearly lifted off the ground, her naked toes against the soft fabric of his new jeans, his other hand in her hair, holding her close, closer, as if they could never become close enough. His lips parted, moving with hers, not in a rush, just intense. This was what she wanted, right now, no room for doubt in her mind. Her whole body felt on fire, but the good kind, the kind where you want to writhe around in it, quench it the only way the body knew how. Helpless against him, she shuddered at his fingers raking her scalp between her curls, and she held onto his neck, strong and muscular just like the rest of him. 

When they eventually broke off, it was just their lips, the rest of them staying in that position. Derek still held her off the ground, she still pulled herself to him, clinging to him. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark beyond reason, and she imagined hers to look completely black.

She managed a shuddering breath through her nose, inhaling him at this proximity just flooding her mind with sensations. Derek, his scent, how he felt, how warm he was, how much he wanted her, how much he was holding back, afraid of scaring her, afraid of ruining things, afraid-

Should she be able to feel his thoughts? Or was it her own, her body just confused with who was who?

Joe cupped his cheek, felt the light scratching of his beard, the smooth skin, the flutter of his eyelash as he closed his eyes completely. This time she kissed him, just leaning forward the few inches of space left from their previous kiss. Deep, long, unmoving. Chaste by comparison, but brimming with promises.

Now his phone rang.

Again, soft lips leaving hers as Derek grudgingly put her back down. The cold concrete froze her toes, especially compared to the warmth of his body. One arm around her, still holding her, apparently unwilling to let go as he reached back for his own phone. A defeated sigh through his whole body, passed on to her, just like he passed on the phone.

She recognized the number. Memorized years ago.

Her voice sounded hoarse when she answered. “Hi, this is really not a good time.”

_“Joe, finally, I’ve been trying to get reception for days now.”_ Her dad’s voice came through the speaker and Joe wondered how the hell he had known to call Derek’s phone. “ _You know a girl named Erica Reyes?”_

A lump of ice in her stomach, killing any previous fire and butterflies. “Yes?”

“ _She called me a few days ago, saying she needed help, but the call cut before she could say anything else. Is she all right?”_

“I haven’t- I haven’t-” Joe stuttered, trying to make the words come out right, to let him know that she didn’t know. A warmth on her arm — Derek’s hand gently touching her, grounding her. She’d stepped away from him without thinking. “I haven’t seen her in over a week. She’s missing.”

A long silence followed, only the smattering sound of background noises wherever her father was.

_“All right, kid. It’s gonna be fine. I’m catching a flight to SFO, I’ll be in Beacon Hills tomorrow morning.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the voice of Kamala Harris: “We did it, Joe. We did it. You finally got to kiss the resident sourwolf of Beacon Hills!”
> 
> Oh, and by the way, there’s still two missing teenagers, an Alpha pack and Kate Argent to think about. But hey! At least there was a Halegado-kiss! Only took them 300k words and 52 chapters to get there.
> 
> Buckle up for season 3A, kids. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.
> 
> That’s all I have time for today, I’m responsible for dinner tonight for the first time and it is stressful. As always, I’m so grateful for your comments! I have almost finished writing this chapter from Derek’s POV as well and I’ll post it tomorrow if time permits in the oneshot-collection called “The Realist”.
> 
> Honored that so many of you seem to enjoy this story!  
> Please let me know what you think of this chapter and thank you for reading :)
> 
> Here’s to hoping 2021 is better than 2020 (and let’s face it, the bar is low).
> 
> HAPPY NEW YEAR! Godt nyttår! Buorre ođđajahki!


	53. The Investigator

_You know you can’t tell him the whole truth?_

The words went on repeat inside her head as she watched Special Agent Rob Delgado lay out his findings in the spare office at the sheriff’s station. Beacon County had not been able to replace all of its lost deputies after Matt killed most of their staff, so there was plenty of space available. All of the windows were still boarded up after the shooting and contractors were busy with the refurbishment. The county had approved a security upgrade, including a holding cell with an electronic lock since the last one was rendered useless by Isaac’s breakout.

She and Sheriff Stilinski stood on either side of the conference table — Rob Delgado never used a desk in his life — with a big map of the county with surrounding areas.

“This is where you found the cell phone?” her dad asked and Joe nodded. Did not volunteer that she still had the phone, because the phone came with an arrow and that would lead them astray from what actually happened to Erica and Boyd _after_ the hunters. Thank God he didn’t ask. He marked the spot on the map. “And this is where you knew they were last seen?”

Pencil tapping against the house under construction belonging to the Argents. They had cleared out of there long ago, nothing left but loose wiring and the smell of bleach. She nodded.

_You know you can’t tell him the whole truth?_

“All right,” her dad said in his New York-accent. Familiar as it was unfamiliar. “Working theory is that they were headin’ in this direction,” he marked the spot of the found cell phone, “intercepted by someone and either persuaded or forced over to this house where they eventually left. Time estimate gives us around forty hours before she called me,” he leaned over to the neighboring county, a small gas station in the middle of nowhere, “from here. Call lasting twenty seconds.”

Rob Delgado, in a rumpled suit from an overnight flight, put his hands in his belt — a classic police stance if Joe ever saw one — and surveyed the map. Heavy bags under his eyes and he had not shaved for a few days. Straight from one assignment to the next. She recognized the frown on his face, saw it often in the mirror — he did not have a good feeling about this.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your input, Rob,” Sheriff Stilinski began, his arms also in his belt. “But I’m not sure how this falls under the FBI’s jurisdiction. Two runaway kids, sixteen-year-olds, a boy and a girl and no indication of foul play...”

_You know you can’t tell him the whole truth?_

Her dad glanced at her before answering. “I dunno, Noah. First the call to Joe and then to me. Girl was obviously trying to get help.”

Guess what her dad’s voicemail had been about? Joe dug her nails into her own arm as punishment — listening to her dad explain that last night had made her want to scream. If they’d known sooner, if they’d figured things out earlier, she would have done things differently.

Sheriff Stilinski dragged his hand over his face. “We gotta take into account that they could just be messing around. Prank calls.”

“That’s what your gut tells you?” her dad asked with a raised eyebrow. Sheriff Stilinski sighed and shook his head. “I know you, Noah. Known you for a lot of years. You’re telling me that you don’t feel it in your bones that something’s not right here?”

“Been feeling that for a while now.” Sheriff Stilinski looked worn. He sighed and checked his notes. “I went and talked to their families. Vernon was in a foster home and the woman told me he wasn’t the first to jump out of the system, especially not at that age. Typically described as withdrawn and somewhat of a loner. No living relatives they knew of, nowhere he would likely go.”

“Boyd,” her dad repeated as if tasting the name. “Any relations to that girl who was abducted from the ice rink ten years ago? Alice or Alicia or something?”

With a sigh, the Sheriff nodded. “Alicia. His kid sister.” The two men shared a _look_ that Joe could not really interpret, but eventually, the Sheriff continued with reading from his notebook. “Erica Reyes, an only child, lived with her parents. Father works for an insurance company, her mother on some kind of disability. Erica’s been epileptic her whole life, heavily medicated, in and out of hospitals. Father mentioned she had seemed different lately, staying out all night, not coming home for days. He was just glad she was making friends, seems like, something about new medication finally working.”

_You know you can’t tell him the whole truth?_

“Joe?” her dad asked and she looked up from where she had been worrying her lip with her teeth, studying the map. “How’d you know this girl?”

“Uh, she, uh, was in Scott’s year,” Joe said, clearing her throat when her voice stuck. “I only met her a couple of times, but...”

But what, Joe? She reminded you of yourself at that age? When you would start staying out all night, not coming home for days? Except your dad wasn’t happy you made friends, he practically got the entire NYPD out looking for you at those times. Got a lot of your friends arrested, but somehow you always got off the hook. Underage drinking, simple assaults, drug possession — and that all caught up with you when your dad finally had enough and you got shipped to juvie, huh?

“We talked,” Joe continued, shaking off her own inner monologue. “I guess we became friends, sort of. She, uh, I mean...I was a lot like her when I was that age.” She shrank under her father’s watchful stare and addressed the Sheriff. “Look, I know how it seems on paper, that they’re just two kids running away from less than ideal situations, but you didn’t hear her voice. She was scared.”

“Okay, you know any of her other friends? People she hung out with, who might know something?”

_You know you can’t tell him the whole truth?_

Clearing her throat, she said: “I do, but they won’t talk to you. Not directly.” At the two men’s skeptical frowns, she shrugged. “They’re all accounted for the night she disappeared anyway.”

The last thing she needed now was her dad suspecting Derek for any involvement in Erica’s disappearance. Well, he _was_ involved, but not directly. Just the catalyst, as he was the one who turned her into a werewolf.

The thought soured the memory of their kiss the night before. He claimed Erica had asked for the bite because it would cure her epilepsy, and what happened when she changed her mind? He did not exactly kick her out, but he sure as hell did not put too much effort into stopping her either. Mistakes, we all make mistakes and Erica’s biggest one was getting seduced by the promise of control delivered from the lips of a pretty face. The same lips that had kissed Joe so intensely she wanted to die and be reborn, the same lips who had delivered a single warning:

_You know you can’t tell him the whole truth?_

“All right. I’m heading out for the gas station, see if they remember Erica, if she was alone, or things like that.” Her dad frowned at the map and glanced at Sheriff Stilinski. “You’re saying she didn’t have a driver’s license?” The Sheriff shook his head and her dad touched the map, trailed the distance from the house to the gas station. “Too far to be taken on foot. She either had help or took a bus or something, could be a lead worth looking into.”

Except Erica and Boyd were werewolves and that distance would be nothing to them. Already this partial-truth thing was derailing the investigation. Throwing them off the real tracks.

“You got plans, kid? Wanna head out with me?”

At first, she didn’t realize her dad was talking to her and must have looked as surprised as the Sheriff did at the prospect. She blinked, pressing her hand into her chest with a question mark on her face.

“Rob,” Sheriff Stilinski said with a slight frown. He addressed her dad directly, turning his back to her a bit to give some semblance of privacy. “I mean, I know she’s your kid and all, but she’s not exactly qualified to be part of the investigation.”

“Not bringin’ her to a shoot-out, Noah. Just some leg work.” Her dad buttoned up his blazer, getting ready to leave. “Come on, I haven’t seen my daughter in months. You’re telling me you never bring your boy with you on patrols?”

The Sheriff admitted, grudgingly, that he did that on occasion, but he still did not consider it the same. No matter, her dad jumped on the excuse. He gestured for her to come along and she nodded awkwardly at the Sheriff.

“We’ll stop for breakfast on our way over, how’s that sound? Lookin’ too skinny there, kid.”

It was a bright glorious day and her father put on a pair of dark sunglasses as he led the way to a new-looking station wagon that he either borrowed from the local field office or rented from the airport. Joe sighed and got in — she could use breakfast, but her dad was acting like everything was fine again when it really wasn’t.

“Why do you have a tan?” she asked when they were on the road. Her normally white-passing dad looked every bit as Latino as he really was.

Her dad tapped his fingers in rhythm to the song playing on the radio. He smiled when looking at her. “If I tell you, I might have to kill ya.” A short laugh at her rolling eyes — he always made that joke, like he was CIA instead of just the FBI. “All right, this isn’t public intel, but I was on assignment down south. Like, way down south.”

She got where he was going with it. “Like, beyond our borders south? I thought _federal_ agent implied domestic travel only.”

“Working this case with the help of our fellow _Federales_. Crossed borders, crossed jurisdiction. Good people. They’re on alert for Kate Argent if she should show up. As much as I asked, threatened, and begged they’re not letting me near that case again, saying my judgment’s clouded because of what happened to you.”

_Again_... She tried to ignore his questioning gaze, giving her the space to elaborate if she wanted.

When she didn’t, he cleared his throat and prompted: “You wanna talk about that?”

“If I want to talk about how no one believed me when I said she wasn’t dead?” Joe snapped, harder than intended. “That everyone believed I was just so traumatized from getting shot I was delirious? That everyone conveniently ignored the only reason I was at that station in the first place was to report her?”

Her dad nodded encouragingly. “That’s the ticket.”

“No, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Kid, you gotta-”

“I want her caught, Dad! I want her behind bars, visible, so I can know she’s there! I want to know that she’s not behind Erica’s disappearance, I want to know Erica is alive and-” Frustrated, she pressed her hands into her eyes, wiping the tears away. “What I don’t want to do is talk about it.”

The road rolled by in quiet for some time. “We’ll find them. Both of them. Kate Argent’s on our ten most wanted list, distributed internationally. And this Erica’s got two sets of Delgados looking for her, that’s more than most get.”

Joe snorted, the notion of her own investigation being parallelled with her dad’s was ridiculous. If anything, it counted for more that Erica had Derek Hale and Jimmy Carter also looking for her. Joe’s talents did not include finding people.

As if her dad could hear her thoughts, he cleared his throat. “So, uh, Derek Hale, huh?”

She sank down in her seat. After she had not picked up when he called last night, he’d called Aunt Mel who had asked Scott who had in turn called Jimmy who finally gave away that she was out with Derek. Traitors, the whole bunch of them.

“Good lookin’ guy,” her dad commented and Joe tried to become one with the upholstery of the car’s interior, blend into the background. “A bit of backstory, but nothin’ too bad. You’d think he’d want to have dinner with us one night?”

“Dad, _I_ don’t even want to have dinner with you,” Joe muttered and put an effective stop to her dad’s ministrations.

Derek Hale and her dad together were just too much to bear. Derek would flip on his other persona and they’d talk cars and sports and her dad would just love him and give her this knowing look every once in a while and she could not stand the thought of it. She hated how well he got along with Alex before, how he just went to great lengths to disprove everything Joe had said about him by acting like _such_ a great guy. His true colors came out after a while though, but Joe would rather not repeat that ordeal with Derek. Could end in a literal blood bath.

As he promised, they did stop for breakfast at a roadside diner. Ate in silence, her dad stabbing his fork into the plate so hard she worried it would crack, while she shuffled the scrambled eggs around on her own. It had been a mean comment from her side. What worried her more was how he hadn’t responded as she expected. No yelling, no clap-back. Not that the cold shoulder improved anything, but at least it meant she got to keep her voice for a while longer instead of screaming herself hoarse at him.

Finally, when the waitress brought them two cups of coffee, he leaned back in the booth and flung his napkin on the table. “This ‘bout me not coming here when you were in the hospital?”

Her eyebrows rose. “No?”

“‘Cause, you should know, that nearly killed me. Literally. My partner had to knock me about to get my head back in the game, saying I was no good to you dead either.”

Her voice dripped with venom. “I’m so sorry my near-death inconvenienced you.”

“That’s not what I-” Her dad put his coffee down too hard on the saucer and rubbed his face. “I _wanted_ to be there, Jos- _Joe_. You should know that, you know I’d walk through hell to get to you.” He kept quiet for a while, staring out the window to the empty highway. “You know how many strings I had to pull to get those helicopters in the air last time you called? How many favors I had to call in? To just leave in the middle of a job to go save you?”

“I wanted you to catch Kate, not save me,” Joe spat, as that had been the truth. “No matter what, you’d get her confession on tape. You’re the only guy with a badge I knew they couldn’t have paid off already.” She slammed her back against the booth, suddenly nauseated. “Would’ve been better if you didn’t come flying in. She’d be dead for real then.”

“ _Mija..._ ”

“It’s fine, I don’t care,” Joe said simply.

That only made his frown deepen. And like before, he fell into another broody silence and if he kept this up, she was starting to worry her interest in Derek only stemmed from unresolved daddy issues with how they acted so alike.

Derek. Who kissed her last night. Who literally swept her off her feet and held her so close they were considered a single entity, at least for a while. Derek, who handed her his phone when recognizing the number and picking up her shoes, retrieving _her_ phone from the fountain and followed her as she walked barefoot back to the car, not noticing, too focused on her dad’s voice saying he was on his way to Beacon Hills. Derek, who let her sit in his car in deep thought, not saying a word, all the way to the apartment. Derek, who grabbed her hand before she got out, rubbed his thumb gently over the back, and said:

_You know you can’t tell him the whole truth?_

Back in her dad’s car, she rubbed her own hands together, trying to replicate the comfort Derek’s touch brought. Failing. His voice had been the usual, hard and flat, but a worry in his eyes. For her? For himself? For his entire subspecies, as Jimmy referred to them? All of the above? Joe rested her head against the car door. Last night had been so good. For a while, forgetting about everything else, just the two of them. But the world did not consist of just the two of them, except maybe when they were kissing. He had past mistakes to amend and she...she felt responsible too because maybe she should have been harder on Derek? Stopped him before he turned all these teenagers? She’d yelled, berated him, challenged him, but she never tried to stop him, not like she tried to stop the kanima or Kate.

They reached the gas station, sitting alone on the side of the highway with a sign that declared that this was the last chance to fill until a given number of miles. A row of payphones on the outer wall, but the surveillance camera was angled towards the pumps. Joe scanned the surroundings, trying to gauge where they had come out of the forest. They might have headed for the light of the gas station, trying to find civilization again. Erica might have been desperate to find a phone after her old one broke. What about Boyd, didn’t he have a phone? Had they been split up, either voluntarily or involuntarily?

Aware of her dad watching her, Joe still went to the phones and saw that one of them was out of order, in case someone missed how the whole handset was yanked off its cord. She leaned closer — scratches in the plastic could indicate a clawed hand grabbing it from Erica’s ear and tearing the whole thing loose.

“You spot the camera?” her dad asked when she came back to him. She nodded. “Phones are in a blind zone. Could be your girl came inside or in front for any reason, still worth checking out. Let’s go.”

Her dad seemed to straighten up when entering the dusty gas station, assuming more swagger in his walk. I’m in control, it said. I know what I’m doing. He brought his badge out to the overweight lady working the register, they talked for a while until the lady fetched another woman, older. It had to be the owner or something because she indicated her dad should follow her out back to look at the tapes.

“Come on,” her dad said with a nod of his head. Her eyebrows rose. This was exactly what Sheriff Stilinski had questioned. Was he trying to win her over by letting her play real detective for once? Still, her curiosity got the best of her and she followed both her dad and the gas station-woman to a cluttered backroom where the smallest possible TV in the world showed the surveillance of the gas pumps.

“Night of the tenth,” her dad said after checking his notes. “Young, long blonde hair, five-seven, wearing mostly black.”

The woman rewound the tape and already Joe’s stomach dropped. Not even digital.

“We only keep the tapes for a few weeks,” the woman said, her voice evident of heavy smoking through the years. “You got lucky with this one.”

“How many frames per second?” Joe asked, looking at the jerky footage going backwards over time. The woman shrugged, saying something about not being computer literate.

“Looks to be five,” her dad said, giving her a glance of approval. “Low, but it’s what we got.”

The least possible frame rate for capturing smooth movements was thirty, regular videos were sixty frames per second. At five, it looked like a student project with still-lifes moving on the screen. Eventually, the woman found the correct date — it said a completely different one on the screen, but she said she never bothered to reset it after a power outage and by her math, it was the right one. Probably true, considering how Erica Reyes appeared on the screen.

“That’s your girl?” the woman asked and Joe nodded silently. In choppy movements from the crappy surveillance camera, it showed Erica run inside the gas station. The inside camera, equally poor quality, was aimed to show the faces of the people being expedited. Except in Erica’s case, her face was distorted by large flares from her eyes.

“It’s her,” Joe said, licking her lips. The werewolf eyes must mess with the camera or something. But it was her. Even if she was missing half her extensions on one side, it was her. Even if her clothes were torn and dirty, it was her. She was talking to the clerk, looking over her shoulder, agitated based on the body language.

“Whoa there,” her father said when the tape showed how at one point, Erica leaned over the counter to grab the donation bucket and ripped off the seal with no apparent effort. Grabbing a handful of coins, she ran back outside. The outside camera did not fare any better with her face, unable to make a positive ID from the light obscuring her features.

“She needed coins for the payphones,” Joe said, her voice dry and hollow. “Who was working here that night? She’s obviously talking to someone.”

With an annoyed sigh, the woman got up. “I gotta check the books for that one. Got a lot of kids working part-time at night.”

“Yeah, because that’s safe,” Joe muttered, but only her father heard it and gave her a stern look.

“Well, I was wrong. Looks like it was Janet up front. _Janet? Get in back here, would ya?”_

Janet, the overweight woman they’d seen first, came in and gave Joe a wary look. Her dad put on the charm though.

“Miss Janet, looks like you’re our star witness here,” he said with a smile Joe guessed could be considered handsome. He tapped the screen, still showing Erica’s distorted face. “Night of the tenth, late shift, looks like. A young girl came by, stealing from the donation bucket. Remember her?”

“Oh, that’s the one you were looking for?” asked Janet, obviously relieved. “She didn’t look like your picture at all. She was wearing a lot of makeup, first of all, guessed that made her look older than sixteen,” Joe had to agree there, “and she looked really strung out, you know. She kept begging to use a phone and I thought she was just another junkie, we get them in here once a while, hitch-hikers that’s kicked out when the trailers get tired of ‘em shivering all over the place. Anyway, I told her there were payphones out back and she said she didn’t have any coins and I said I could exchange a bill for coins and she got really upset, saying she didn’t have any money at all and saying something about ‘someone was coming’ or whatever.”

The rest they knew. Erica stole some chunk of change, went out to the payphones, called Joe’s dad.

“Did you see anyone else with her?” Joe asked, tilting her head to gauge the sincerity of the woman. “A tall black man, young as well. Probably wearing a leather jacket.”

“No, she came alone. In and out in less than a minute I would guess. Never figured out where she came from, no cars had stopped for the last hour or so. Must have been walking for a while, trekked mud all over the floor.”

Her father asked her a few more obvious questions, but Joe was not listening. Erica had been terrified, that she could see even from the tapes. Alone, no Boyd. In silence, she followed her dad out to the payphones again as her dad did the same as she did, studied the broken handle. He noted down the numbers, comparing with his phone record, but did not share his findings. It was too obvious.

“No car when she got here,” her dad said in deep thought, pushing his jacket back to put his hands on his hips. “No car when she left.” Turning, he took stock of the perimeter like Joe had done. “Mud on her shoes. Mud on her shoes...”

Joe could only stare at the broken phone. Someone with unnatural strength and claws yanked it off. Erica herself or someone else? Because let’s face it, who was strong enough to kidnap a werewolf besides another werewolf? The Argents — except maybe Kate — would not have been on foot, they would have cars and probably made sure to destroy the evidence Erica was even here. Kate had been bitten by a Demi Alpha and turned into _something_. Could she have followed Erica for some reason?

Rob Delgado looked to be contemplative as he drove back to Beacon Hills. So was Joe. Derek had mentioned a pack of Alphas. Did they have more motive than Kate? What would they want with Erica, who was by all accounts, not an Alpha?

Leverage. The word kept coming back to Joe. How Peter used her, how Gerard used her — leverage. How she guessed Scott used her too, now that she thought of it, getting Derek to agree with his first plan of capturing Jackson instead of killing him. Only the thought of Scott made Joe’s stomach twist into knots. Little stupid sweet Scott who she thought she knew so well.

“I know this isn’t what you want to hear,” her dad said when they were getting closer to the town. “Because it’s not pretty. Girls at Erica’s age make up for the largest percentage of random abductions in the country. Statistics point to human trafficking, either local or interregional.”

“She’s not,” Joe swore, “human trafficked!”

_She’s not even human._

“The only positive side is that she’s most likely still alive,” her dad continued, not bothered by her outburst. “I’ll talk to the local field office, see what they got in similar cases. Establish a pattern.”

“And Boyd?” Joe asked, a harsh lump in her throat. “What statistics is he part of?”

Her dad’s silence followed until he had pulled up at the laundromat. “We have to consider the real possibility that this Boyd was an accomplice-”

“Oh my God!” Joe swore and tore off her seatbelt. “No! I know these kids, Dad! Boyd was a sweetheart, he would never-” She could not even bring herself to say the words. Her hands shook, but she forced herself to stay calm. “We have to focus on hard evidence here, Dad. Not victimology, it’s not that simple. We have to find the physical pieces of the puzzle that will tell us where she is. If her shoes were muddy, where did she come from? It hadn’t rained for ages, the forest would have been dried up even if she did trek through the Preserve. I know it seems like a stretch, but people do crazy things when they’re scared.”

“We got a young, blonde girl presumably kidnapped from a high-risk location and you want to ignore victimology? Come on, kid, what are you not tellin’ me here?”

_They’re werewolves, Dad! And other werewolves might have taken them!_

“Forget it,” she muttered instead, hand already on the door handle.

Her dad sighed. “I’ll send the tapes to the crime lab, see if they can pick anything else up. I’m stayin’ at Mel’s place if you need me.”

“I won’t.”

Joe left her dad in the car and did not turn back around until she heard him drive off. She hated this. Hated it so intently her chest burned at the thought. Her dad was a good cop, a good agent, and he was doing all the right things, and getting nowhere because the truth was so much more complex than what he thought. He knew Joe was hiding something, he just didn’t know how bad it was.

She unlocked the combination of locks in the right order and pushed her way inside the apartment. Jimmy, as expected, was on his computer. It surprised her to see him staring at a blank document.

“How’s that block going?” she asked as a way of greeting and headed for one of the armchairs, slumping down across it so her legs hung on the outside of the arms.

“It seems to be relentless.” Jimmy spun around on his chair. “Any luck?”

Joe summarized what she had learned. At least Jimmy also flinched at the mention of five frames per second. They bounced theories off each other. Was Erica missing her extensions already at the altercation with the Argents? Could be a question worth asking the girl who probably knew the most, but the remaining Argents had fled the country. Or had Erica and Boyd fought someone else in the Preserve, only Erica getting away long enough to reach the gas station and call for help? No cash, no phone, just a paper note in her pocket with a phone number.

Much good that did her.

“Did you tell Derek yet?” Jimmy asked as he knew Derek and Isaac were also searching for Erica and Boyd with less conventional methods.

Shaking her head, she got up from the chair to check on her phone that sat on the kitchen counter, buried in dried rice. Before leaving last night, Derek fished up her phone from the fountain with an apology and promise to buy her a new one. Jimmy had suggested they try the rice-trick first. It turned on at least, even though the screen flickered a bit. When the service kicked in, several text messages did too.

Aunt Mel, Kelly, her dad — all asking where she was and why she wasn’t answering. Kelly sounded less panicked though, more interested in where she had been wearing that outfit. And finally, a text from Derek.

Lobito: _355 Channel St. Top floor._

With a raised eyebrow, she texted back.

Joe Delgado: _Is this a trap?_

Lobito: _[is typing]_

Lobito: _No. It’s my address._

Guess Erica really nailed his texting persona, Joe thought wryly, thinking about that cryptic text that first lead her to the railroad depot. She had Jimmy look up the location online. Also downtown, but closer to the old industrial district. It looked to be some sort of apartment building and based on the listing, it was twenty-eight floors to the top. Her eyebrows rose even further. Seemed like a risky place to squat illegally compared to the railroad depot.

“Do you need me to come with you?” Jimmy asked and Joe pursed her lips. She did not even want to go there herself. Thinking of what she just learned and contrasting that with last night made her near dizzy in confusion. Still, Derek deserved to know, she guessed, since he at least was trying to find Erica now. If that was for Erica’s sake or Derek’s own was yet to be determined.

“Why would an Alpha pack be after Erica and Boyd?” Joe asked instead of answering. She had told Jimmy about the Alpha pack after Derek told her, but this seemed like a new world to him too. He had mentioned reaching out to some people, hoping for more info. “Make them into Alphas? I don’t get it.”

“Simple cruelty is not limited to humans.” Jimmy typed in a few words in the document but deleted them right away. “Does seem like a lot of trouble for just random malice, I will admit.” He tapped his finger on the keyboard but did not type anything. “I loathe to be the snake in paradise, but have you considered that Derek might know more than he’s telling you?”

“By now I’m kind of counting on it,” Joe said, darker than intended, and now felt foolish for thinking about the kiss all the time. The world stopping for a few seconds at a time did not excuse months of mistakes and lies. She wondered if he hated her for Kate. For keeping her alive. For being kidnapped by her. For hearing her version of the story before his. For not allowing him to just bury the memories once and for all.

“Again, do you want me to accompany you?”

“No,” she said and got up to leave again. No, she wanted Derek alone.

* * *

355 Channel Street was an incredibly tall building, the kind where you got vertigo by looking up at it and seemed to utilize the same material as the rest of the industrial district for construction such as steel, brick, and concrete.

No one in the entrance hall, which puzzled Joe a bit, you would think that a building like this would house hundreds of people. Everything looked clean and recently refurbished, even though they had kept the original style — it might have been some sort of factory built into an apartment complex. The empty hall made her glad the shotgun was on her shoulder, along with a handy stolen police badge if anyone questioned it.

No Kate Argent popping out of the shadows and Joe eventually located the elevators. No way was she walking all twenty-eight sets of stairs. By the time the elevator reached the top floor, Joe had the shotgun loaded and ready, nerves getting the best of her. It was too quiet and she _did_ have a history of walking into these kinds of things.

The doors _plinged_ open and Joe nearly shot Isaac Lahey.

“Oh my God!” she yelled as he backed off with a panicked: “Ohmygod!”

For a few seconds, they stared at each other and Joe slowly took the shotgun down so it wasn’t glaring him in the face.

“Hello, Isaac!” she said, still in shock at how close she came to committing homicide. Lycanthricide? Maybe. Language wasn’t her best subject.

“Hi,” he said with a small wave, somehow managing to own shirts with sleeves that were too long for his arms. “I, uh, I’m going down.”

They shuffled around so he was in the elevator and he gave her a tight smile as he leaned in to push the button.

Doors closed and she was alone in what was some sort of loft apartment. Top floor, no doubt about that, the ceilings were high above her. The elevator opened straight into a hall that led into a spacious room through a heavy sliding door, now propped open.

Inhaling, taking note of the scent, and calling: “Derek?”

“ _In here._ ”

She followed the sound of his voice, putting the shotgun away gently so he would not hear it. The loft had concrete floors and a large back wall with windows overlooking Beacon Hills. It made Jimmy’s window with the view of small-town America seem a bit overrated. Not that big of an architecture buff she could not name half the features in here, but it had a very heavy tone of industrialism. Steel structures and a spiral staircase leading to somewhere. Minimalistic decorating, but that might be since they seemed to be in the middle of moving in.

It was hard to remember her misgivings with this guy when seeing him in a tank top lifting heavy furniture. Sweaty half-naked Derek could be forgiven for any sin in the world.

Now, see, that’s the instincts talking. Snap out of it, Joe.

“Everything okay?” he asked gruffly, but probably because the table with a steel frame weighed more than himself. It clanked heavily on the floor when he put it into place in front of the large windows. As she did not answer, he paused his lifting and leaned on the table instead, folding two sweaty and very muscular arms over an equally muscular chest that with the sweaty tank top allowed her to see the outline of every-

“Oh my God,” Joe said and turned away from the sight. Less embarrassed than aggravated with herself. She did not need to look at him to know he had his eyebrows raised. “No, things aren’t okay. Someone or something took Erica and Boyd.”

She relayed the same to him as she did to Jimmy, focusing on the facts and leaving out less convenient details about her dad’s offer to have dinner, all three of them. In turn, Derek asked for specifics, declaring he would check out the gas station later, but there might not be any scent trace left since it was over a week ago.

Eventually, the anger about Erica overtook her other bodily functions and she was able to look at Derek without just jumping him and break in the table, so to speak.

“I saw claw marks on the phone,” she said, watching him closely for those minuscule tells he had despite his usually stoic expression. Where his gaze flickered, how his jaw flexed. “Is this Kate or that other pack you talked about?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, _could_ it be the other pack?”

Derek was not looking at her, rather studying a pile of boxes in the corner by the staircase. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know or you’re not sure?” Joe pushed on, having learned the difference when it came to him. When he didn’t answer, she huffed and crossed her own arms, mimicking him. “I swear to God, Derek, if you insist on keeping things from me... I can handle anything else, but that’s a dealbreaker and this bond’s got nothing on my stubbornness.”

“Obviously,” Derek said under his breath, but she caught it. Looking at her, he sighed and relented a bit. “I’m not sure.”

“Which is not the same as you don’t know,” Joe pointed out and walked over to the large windows, curious to see how far down it really was. Okay, so the balcony kind of obscured the view, but it was a really tall building. “If it’s the Alpha pack, like if you’re more sure than not, I’m calling my dad off the search right now. One, it’s wasting his time looking for human traffickers if some jacked-up werewolves caught her, and two, he cou-”

She stopped herself.

“He could get hurt,” Derek finished and she rolled her eyes, seeing it in the reflection from the window. “It’s okay to admit you care about him even if he lied to you.” Joe gave him a very specific look over her shoulder and he nodded in reluctant agreement. “I was referring to Scott, but I get your point.”

He drew a short breath, as if he was about to say something, but didn’t. Probably because the elevator dinged again and Isaac appeared with a stack of boxes. He put them with the others, toppling one of them over, but hurriedly shoving it straight.

“That’s the last one,” he told Derek. Out of breath, he leaned onto the wall. “Now can we please order food?”

“Order,” Derek said simply and rose from the table, signaling the end of both conversations. Isaac made a small victory-noise and dashed up the spiral staircase, while Derek pulled a stack of steel chairs from each other to put at the table.

“You’re really going for this whole industrialism-theme, huh?” she asked with raised eyebrows. A different form of minimalism from Jimmy, who preferred white clean surfaces and bright neutrals. “Are ya gonna have any color in here except the bricks?”

Derek held up a still wrapped bedspread in a dark gray-blue color. All right, she thought and rolled her eyes a bit. Pushing the shotgun back on her shoulder, she made her way to the elevator again.

“You don’t want food?” Derek asked to her back as if her exit surprised him.

Turning, working hard to keep her expression neutral, she shrugged. “No, I gotta get back. Got a review tomorrow with Walker and...I dunno, Dad might want to do more father-daughter bonding over this missing person’s case, like that’s a normal thing at all.”

“Right,” said Derek, a slight twist to his eyebrows. It had obviously not been what he expected.

“Right,” said Joe, because this hadn’t been what she expected either. Hot and cold she could handle. This lukewarm killed her.

Derek looked confused, as much as his expressionless face allowed. Voice hesitant, but he asked anyway. “You want to talk...about your dad?”

“If that’s what your senses are telling you, you’re losing your grip, buddy.” Joe shook her head at the thought and turned to walk again. “I want to find Erica and Boyd. End of story.”

Somehow moving without making a sound, he caught up with her before she reached the elevator and touched her arm gently to make her pause. He kept his voice soft, but that was probably because of Isaac’s proximity. “I can only tell that you’re angry, not why.” The touch burned through her jacket. “Did I do something?”

“No,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “Not really.”

“Something I didn’t do,” he accurately guessed, seeing straight through her not-quite-a-lie. His hand dropped from her arm and he folded his arms over his chest, defensive and resigned. “Didn’t stop Erica and Boyd.” She wondered if he could read everyone’s minds or just hers. “I’m aware they’re my responsibility, Joe. I’m working on it. We’ll find them.”

“Did you know she came to see me at the hospital,” Joe asked without addressing the rest, “to tell me they were leaving?” By his flickering eyes, the answer was ‘no’. “That’s when I gave her my dad’s number and he tried calling me the day after I moved in with Jimmy’s remember? He was trying to tell me something had happened and-” She bit herself off. “Can you get why I’m feeling this responsibility too?”

“This wasn’t your fault, Joe.”

Voice tight, glancing over at the staircase to see if Isaac was coming back down, she hissed under her breath: “I saved Kate’s life. I’m the reason she’s still out there. If she took them or hurt them, if she’s got them strung them up somewhere while we were out-” Joe made a face, even though he hadn’t said anything. “I don’t regret last night, Derek. Last night was amazing and you’re amazing, I’m just-” She cut herself off again, not knowing what she was right now.

He regarded her, eyebrows tilted up in a soft expression, but before he could say anything, Isaac’s voice drifted from inside the loft:

“ _Is Joe staying for pizza? Because then should I get two or three?”_

Derek closed his eyes in obvious frustration. He called over his shoulder: _“Just get three anyway.”_ Turning back to her, he gave her an apologetic shrug. “Joe, for what it’s worth, I don’t think this is Kate, I-”

“ _What kind of pizza does she like? Is she cool with chili peppers?”_

It was hard not to smile at the obvious frustration in Derek’s tightened jaw. She leaned sideways around Derek. _“I’m not staying, Isaac, thank you!”_ Straightening up, she smirked at Derek. “It’s not easy having kids, you know.”

“Funny,” Derek said with a tight smile completely devoid of humor. “Can we-”

_“Delivery or pick-up, Derek?”_

Grinning widely now, Joe patted Derek on his arm — totally not an excuse to touch him — and said: “He’s your responsibility too, remember? We’ll talk later.”

“Okay,” Derek said with a resigned smile. He caught her hand before it was out of reach, but just trailed his fingers over hers as she walked away. The sparks from his touch flew up into her chest, kickstarting her heart to go a little faster as he squeezed the tips of her fingers before letting go. “Good luck with your review.”

Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded and then reached the elevator without further interference, catching Isaac’s shouting another question at Derek before the doors closed. She leaned against the wall with a huff.

One date, one kiss — how much did it really change? A lot, it felt like. It was hard to pinpoint why she was disappointed. He could smell she was angry, he would probably not think it was a good time to kiss her again, but didn’t he get that he could change her mood too, not just sense it? He was definitely hiding something again and she realized he had never volunteered any information about his day. No doubt overhearing her conversation with her dad yesterday, he had known since then that Erica was in some kind of trouble and she could not bring herself to believe he hadn’t done anything about it. He just hadn’t told her what he had done.

Equals. Right.

How much did a kiss really change? One date, one kiss — were they in a relationship? Didn’t feel like it. This felt like uncharted territory and she had no idea how to act around him. Which was ridiculous because in many ways she knew Derek better than she knew almost anyone. But in other ways, she didn’t.

God, this was confusing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Papa Delgado is back in town and the plot thickens... Also, go easy on my baby Isaac. He's a bit clueless, but he means well <3
> 
> Sorry for the delay, by the way. sometimes real life gets in the way for me too. Forgot how much work it is to have houseguests and suddenly I'm the adult and have to cook, clean, and entertain these people instead of taking my laptop up to my room and hiding. It went well though and NYE-dinner was a great success, even though I am definitely my mother's daughter and made around twice as much food as necessary. 
> 
> Posted another "The Realist"-oneshot yesterday for those who are interested, with Derek's POV from the date of chapter 52.
> 
> Hope this was an acceptable chapter to kick off the new year of "The Skeptic"!   
> Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think <3


	54. The Secret

“Median time between submission and acceptance is one hundred days. I expect you to fix the highlighted issues by Friday, so if accepted, you can expect publication in August. I will be conducting ‘field’ interviews throughout the California crime labs from May to Mid-July. Your accommodations will be paid and any other expenses reimbursed, the standard hourly rate applied to the actual ‘work’, traveling time not included. You are acquainted with Miss Brooks, a former student of mine? Good. She is our liaison to the Attorney General’s office. Any questions?”

Joe had her hands filled with her own redmarked paper, a stack of interview questions and background material, the university’s fieldwork checklist, and Kelly’s official contact information. All handed to her by Professor Walker who now watched her, waiting for a response. “Uhh...”

“Don’t be shy, Miss Delgado, you may ‘spit it out’.”

“Not about the work,” Joe admitted and tried to fold the large stack of paper so it would fit in her backpack. “I, uh, have a question about motives.”

“Broadly speaking, motives can be categorized as either expressive or instrumental. Can you tell me the difference?”

Why were all professors like this?

“Expressive motives are expressions of emotions, like anger, jealousy, or sexual gratification. Instrumental is directed at some goal, like financial gain or elimination of an enemy. There are gray zones in-between.” Joe nearly quoted the textbook word-for-word, but Professor Walker seemed satisfied.

“Can you have motive without intent?”

Joe sighed, scrambling to remember. “Generally, no, but if there is intent to commit a crime precursor, there would also be a motive.” Knowing Professor Walker’s follow-up question, she just kept talking: “If there is intent to commit index offense, it would be premeditation. Lacking the intent to index offense, there can be either unintended consequence, escalation or multiple intents, not to be confused with escalation as the latter pertains developing a new separate intent in the execution of the first one.”

“Top marks, Miss Delgado. You have earned your question. Please go ahead.”

“It’s not exactly straightforward.” Joe started with the excuse, wondering how she wanted to phrase it. “It’s a kidnapping case. High-risk victims taken from high-risk location.”

What’s more high-risk to kidnap than a werewolf, right?

“No direct communication from abductors, but possible ‘signature’ left on prominent location.” The Triskelion on the door of the Hale house. “Excluding sexual gratification, what other motives strike you as a possibility?”

Professor Walker regarded her for a while. “If this is concerning an active case, I will have to let you know that my consultant fee is triple digits.” She gave a thin smile at Joe’s shocked expression. “A joke, Miss Delgado, but I can see that it missed its mark. Very well. Why the exclusion of the sexual gratification motive?”

“Uh, the victims are of different genders and races.”

“Aha, I see. Well, this one falls between two chairs at least. Expressive kidnappers not fixated on a certain victim type rarely bother with high-risk victims or locations when there is plenty of low-risk available. Instrumental will always try to establish some sort of communication to bargain what they see as their tangible benefit, be it money or some other form of gain. Expressive kidnappers’ real motive will always be in the possession of the person or persons kidnapped, maybe not for sexual means, but definitely for power.”

“This can seem like a gray zone between the generalizations. The kidnappers can be trying to gain power over a third-party, hence the signature, but not be interested in anything tangible...” The Professor trailed of her sentence and instead looked up, focusing intently on the door. 

Joe twisted her brows together and tried to find what Professor Walker was looking for, but the door looked the same as ever. Until a few seconds later when it opened and a familiar mane of hair popped in.

“ _If we leave now_ -” Professor Kane froze at the sight of Joe. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Sarah, I didn’t realize you were with a student. Hello, _Josefina_. Sorry, sorry.”

“I will be right there, Bridget,” Professor Walker said evenly and watched the door intently again as Professor Kane excused herself and pulled the door shut after her. “Sorry about that. We do lunch every Tuesday at this time. As for your question, I think I need more specifics about the victims and their relationship network to establish any solid ‘foundation’ for a theory. It is a vast difference between, say, members of organized crime or tourists happening to pass by.”

“Right,” said Joe, deciding not to comment that she was surprised Kane and Walker were friendly enough to have lunch together by the way they talked about each other. She got up, having stuffed all her paperwork into her backpack. “Excuse me, Professor Walker, but do you think I could get a minute with Professor Kane? It will be quick, I promise.”

Professor Walker paused in tidying up her desk, obviously ready to leave. She nodded towards the door. “Go ahead, she’s right outside.”

Professor Kane _was_ right outside, and Joe realized they might know each other better than she first thought. Kane perked up at the sight of Joe. “Hello, Miss Delgado. Good to see you in good health.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Joe said, thinking about the strange visit to the hospital. “How was Europe?”

“Largely uneventful. Flight was terrible and the jetlag worse.”

“Right,” Joe said, not really paying attention. “Uh, can I ask you a few questions? It’s about, uhm, less conventional academics.”

“I do prefer to take those conversations in the office, Miss Delgado.” Professor Kane checked her watch, always hanging around her neck, and sighed. “Be quick about it, please.”

There were a lot of loose ends Joe wanted to tie up. With Erica and Boyd still on her mind, Joe first asked: “Have you ever heard about an Alpha _pack_?”

Instead of answering, the Professor paled and cast worried glances at the door Joe just emerged from. “Pardon?”

“An Alpha pack,” Joe repeated. “I don’t know if there’s more than one, but this one has this symbol with a sharp-legged triskelion.”

Again, the herbal smell of Kane’s hair assaulted Joe’s senses as she leaned in. Her voice came in a tense whisper. “Now you listen to me and you listen to me carefully, girl. You will stay-”

Her words died as the door opened and Professor Walker stepped out with a long gray coat over her arm.

“Sorry,” Professor Walker said, obviously noticing both Joe and Kane frozen in the hallway. Hand still on handle, she looked prepared to return back to the office. “Did you need more time, Miss Delgado?”

Several seconds passed where everyone just stared at each other. Eventually, Professor Kane gave Joe a warning glance and said: “No, I think we’re done for now. Just _let the matter go_ , Miss Delgado and we can continue this conversation _in my office_ at a later time. Sarah and I have a reservation, you see.”

“Okay?” Joe said, looking between her two professors. “Uh, enjoy your lunch?”

“Thank you,” Professor Walker said and addressed her colleague. “Shall we?”

“Let’s,” Professor Kane said with a tight smile and the two professors bid Joe goodbye and walked down the hall. Professor Walker towered over Kane and seeing them side by side made their differences stand out even more.

What had _that_ been about? Before Professor Walker came out, Kane had seemed almost scared and there was no misinterpreting her telling Joe to let the matters go. Whatever this Alpha pack wanted, it was probably not good. It only sealed the deal, didn’t it? Erica and Boyd needed help.

* * *

Werewolves or not, Alphas or not, kidnapping was kidnapping. There was a lot of academic interest in kidnappings because as opposed to straight-up murder, there was still a chance of a happy outcome. She agreed with Professor Walker’s assessment, this one did seem to fall between two chairs. If it was this Alpha pack, if they wanted Erica and Boyd for simply ‘expressive’ purposes, as their personal playthings or torture subjects, why bother with the sign on the door? Even if that was just to taunt Derek, like a werewolf graffiti saying ‘I WAS HERE’, they would still stick around to get his reaction, the same way a serial killer would read newspaper articles about his own murders.

It did not fit with ‘instrumental’ motives either, because that implied a gain and that required communication. A sign on a door was a specific one-way form of communicating. Unless they knew Derek had a way of contacting them. Or...Derek already knew what they wanted. No bargaining needed. We have your betas, you know what we want, now give it to us. 

With that in mind, she headed for the loft apartment downtown. Still no other people in the building, so she was starting to suspect it either wasn’t ready to be inhabited or Beacon Hills’ recent murder statistics affected the housing market somewhat. Already before the elevator reached the top floor, she could hear shouting.

“ _...don’t think I need help from someone who has currently lost two-thirds of his small teenage..”_

_“...if you don’t, you’re gonna end up killing...”_

_“...not all of us have tempers, Hale, I’m more level-headed...”_

Her pulling the heavy sliding door open into the loft did not even make the two shouters pause and she took a tentative step inside, wondering if she _should_ have brought her shotgun this time. What she saw was Derek looking seconds away from strangling none other than Jackson Whittemore who stood inches from Derek while arguing.

“What’s going on?” she asked Isaac, who sat on the steps by the doorway.

“Uh, Jackson’s parents are moving him to London and Lydia asked Stiles to ask Derek to help Jackson get control of his shifting before they leave.”

“Oh.”

Derek’s nostrils flared and his arms flexed, obviously restraining himself, as Jackson berated him for downright murdering him after Lydia expelled the kanima. He did kind of have a point there. Somehow, Derek explaining that they could not take the chance of the kanima materializing again if Jackson did not get over his issues did not calm his adversary. The more Jackson talked — well, yelled — it became obvious why Scott and Isaac had seemed hesitant in forming a confirmation circle.

This looked like it could take a while and Joe slid down on the floor next to Isaac.

“Finished moving in?” she asked him. The apartment still looked Spartan, but it might be the look Derek was going for.

Isaac nodded and looked at the loft — it was kind of cool, Joe guessed, if you liked that kind of style. “Yeah, pretty much. Still trying to persuade Derek to get an actual TV, at least for upstairs.”

_“Last time you tried to ‘help’ me, you just left me in the school bathroom, coughing up black goo!”_

_“You had just told me you were ‘not part of my pack’, making you ‘not my problem’.”_

Joe grimaced; staring at these bare brick walls would make you lose your mind. “No TV? What kind of Scientology bullshit is that? What, is he gonna home-school you too?”

“No, actually, he’s been pretty strict on the school attendance policy lately.” Isaac studied his hands, almost embarrassed to say anything positive about himself. “All my grades are up.”

_“What can you possibly teach me that I don’t already know?”_

_“Apparently, you don’t know how to not go around killing people.”_

“Oh, really? That’s good,” Joe said with a smile. “So, uh, about that thing we talked about,” she held her hand up when Isaac looked at her with wide eyes, “that I’m not gonna mention specifically right now, relax,” his shoulders sagged down again, “but I’ve been meaning to tell you that the offer still stands. Should you need it.”

It looked like he had trouble finding the right words, but he just nodded and mumbled: “Thanks.” Both of them turned back to watch the shouters.

_“You need to find an anchor, to control the shifts.”_

_“How about you anchor yourself on this?”_

“Uh-oh,” Isaac said as he must have been able to tell that Jackson giving Derek the finger was not going to end well. It didn’t. Too fast for Joe’s eyes to follow, Derek grabbed Jackson around the throat and marched him over to the thick concrete column, holding him up against it.

“See that?” Derek asked gruffly as Jackson’s face morphed while trying to get loose. “That’s panic. That’s not control. And unless you find control, you’re either gonna kill someone you love or get yourself killed by some London-hunter.”

“Are you serious?” Jackson wheezed, still petulant to the last. “English cops don’t even carry guns.”

With a roll of his eyes, Derek dropped him and Jackson slid to the floor.

“Always this violent?” Joe asked Isaac, a bit disturbed, even if Jackson seemed to recover fast enough.

Isaac winced as they watched Jackson get off the floor and immediately storm Derek, who had to be expecting it as he tore around and slammed Jackson down into the concrete floor. “Tough love.”

“Sheesh. Kid needs therapy more than he needs a beating,” Joe commented drily.

Too late, she remembered the super hearing — Jackson nearly catapulted himself off the floor. His face went back to normal as he stalked over to them, fixing the white Ralph Lauren-sweater that had ridden up at Derek’s attack.

“You’re McCall’s cousin right?” he demanded and Joe tried to catch Derek’s eyes, but he remained impassive back on the middle of the floor.

“Yeah, we’ve met, but you were kinda not yourself,” Joe said slowly, realizing the only interaction she’d had with him was in his kanima-form. “I’m Joe Del-”

“Whatever. _Therapy_?” He let out a rude snort. “You think a therapist is going to be able to help me?” Jackson gestured to himself. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Oh, hey, my childhood trauma was getting bitten by the most useless Alpha werewolf in town, turned into the kanima instead, and was reborn as a werewolf after the same Alpha killed me’. Do you hear how that sounds?”

“Well, uh, I was kinda talking about the underlying issues to _why_ you became _a_ kanima,” she stressed the indefinite article, “in the first place.”

“I don’t have underlying issues, okay?” Jackson claimed, his chiseled face twisted in a patronizing glare. “I drive a Porsche, is the captain of the lacrosse team-”

“Co-captain,” Isaac supplied lazily, studying his own fingers.

“-and is due to an insurance settlement worth more than this entire building when I turn eighteen.” Jackson didn’t even pay Isaac any attention. “What kind of issues could I possibly have? Besides, I’m unique, okay? There’s no other case like mine.” 

This child...

“Hold that thought,” Joe said and got out her phone. She put it on speaker mode.

“ _Hello? Joe?”_

Joe smiled at Jackson as she spoke into the phone: “Hey, Alex, it’s me. Listen, issues among adopted adolescents. Short version, fifty words or less, go.”

“ _Uh_...” Alex hesitated, but only briefly. This used to be their game. _“Adopted adolescents face special challenges in the development of identity, as aspects of their histories may be unknown, making it difficult to construct a coherent narrative linking past, present, and future. Extensive literature on adjustment outcomes for adopted adolescents indicates an elevated risk for adjustment problems.”_ Brief pause. “ _How’d I do? I counted forty-six_.”

“Amazing. Thank you,” Joe said slowly, enjoying the smug expression disappearing from Jackson’s face. “Just to check, that’s practically textbook, right?”

_“Yeah, that’s basic for adoptees. Anything else?”_

“Nope. Thank you. Say hi to Maddy, bye,” Joe said and ended the call.

She gave Jackson a sweet smile. “Hear that, Jackson? You’re textbook.” Taking some care to form the word, she added: “Basic.”

She could live long on Jackson’s face right there. Not that long though, as she saw his claws extend with a faint _snip_. 

“Oh no,” Isaac said and moved to shield her with his body. His own claws out, he stared down Jackson. “Not cool.”

Derek came walking up behind Jackson, not particularly worried about him clawing Joe’s face off by the looks of it. He clamped his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “What was that about a level head, Jackson?”

With a violent shudder, Jackson tore himself loose from Derek. “Get off me!”

Before anyone could say anything else, he was in the outside hall, glaring at them over his shoulder as he pulled the door shut.

Isaac retracted his own claws, a fascinating thing Joe hadn’t seen that close before, and looked up at Derek. “That went well.”

“He still got a full moon coming before he leaves,” Derek said drily and went over to the kitchen area on the far side of the loft. “Even if I’m not sure that’s gonna be enough.”

He got out what looked like a beer from the fridge and Joe wondered why he bothered drinking them since werewolves couldn’t even get drunk. He couldn’t possibly like the taste, could he?

Apparently, he could, as he popped the bottle open with his thumb. “Thank you for your contribution, Joe, very helpful to make him flip out like that.”

The sarcasm dripped and Joe rolled her eyes. “Like you were doing any better? Physically assaulting a teenager?”

Isaac got off the floor with a sigh. “I’m gonna go and, uh, be somewhere else. And keep my mouth shut.”

She stared at Derek, who stared right back as Isaac scrambled up the spiral staircase. Maybe they had soundproofed the place, as she thought she saw Derek relax a bit when Isaac disappeared from sight. He went back to the fridge, all stainless steel, of course, to go with the rest of the place, and emerged with-

“Iced coffee?” she asked with a raised eyebrow after he handed it to her.

“Still waiting for the coffee maker.” Instead of using a chair like a normal person, or the floor like Joe, Derek perched himself onto the same heavy table he had put in place last time she was here. “What do you want?”

That was a nice way to greet the girl he claimed to be his true mate, Joe thought and struggled to keep her expression neutral. What was this? After the date, it seemed like his interest had vanished. Had he got his quota filled? Like, he did not even sit down next to her, he went to sit ten feet over on that stupid table.

“Erica and Boyd,” she said to answer his question. It was an honest answer, if only partial. The full answer was ‘Erica and Boyd and _you_ , asshole!’. Admitting she had also just wanted to see him felt humiliating, especially now. Aware of how little he watched her, how utterly fascinating that beer bottle was, she sighed to make him look at her. “Did you find anything at the gas station?”

A small shake of his head before he sipped the beer, averting his gaze again. He had definitely found something, but maybe not at the gas station.

Her eyes narrowed and she followed up on her hunch. “This isn’t Kate, is it?”

“Probably not.”

“Is it the Alpha pack?”

“Maybe.”

“And you know what this Alpha pack wants, don’t you?”

“No.”

She clicked her tongue. “But you have a theory.” Not a question, a statement. “Derek?”

“Leave Erica and Boyd to me. Get your dad to drop the case.” That was not an answer and he probably knew it. He kept studying the bottle, not even looking at her, still talking in a flat voice. “I mean it, Joe.”

“Can you tell me why?” No answer and she blew air out of her mouth to stay calm. “Look, this has all the trademarks of an instrumental abduction, which means they want something. First rule is establishing contact, which they did with the sign. That means they know that you know what they want. So just tell me.”

When he did not say anything, she dropped her head back in defeat. “This whole spiel about equals, was that just bullshit? What’s going on here, Derek? Why are you not letting me help?”

“Erica and Boyd are _my_ Betas, Joe,” he said, still keeping his voice slightly down and he glanced at her for a split second before his focus returned to the bottle. “Not yours.”

She bit the inside of her lip to avoid lashing out, even though he probably heard how she inhaled sharply. “And Erica’s my friend, so what’s your point? I know I’m not an expert on werewolf-dynamics, but have _you_ forgotten how regular people work?”

“I need you to trust me on this, Joe.”

“Trust is earned, Derek,” she threw back immediately. “Why? Give me one good reason and so help me God, if you start with the ‘just trying to protect you’-crap, I’m leaving.”

The silence revealed that had probably been exactly what he had planned. After another annoyed sigh, he said: “You were the one who was worried your dad could get hurt yesterday.”

She let out a short laugh of disbelief. “You’re trying to protect Dad now? Special Agent Robert Delgado, who’s been a fed as long as I can remember? Risking his life is basically in his job description and I’m _always_ worried he could get hurt, but I’ve never, not once, asked him to quit a job because of it.”

“This is different.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

Even from this distance, she saw his nostrils flare as he shoved himself off the table to stalk over to the windows. “You want to tell him.”

It had been in the back of her mind since yesterday and especially after talking with Walker. Kidnapping was kidnapping and all her dad needed was all the facts.

“He’s living at Aunt Mel’s, with Scott, who’s not the best at keeping secrets in any case, especially not from a literal FBI-agent who uncovers things for a living.” With a shake of her head, Joe shrugged. “Way I see it, he’s gonna find out soon anyway and he could help, you know. It’s his job.”

“No.”

Not an unexpected answer, but he could at least have pretended to consider it. What had he said the other night? Secrecy was their main advantage. Telling the truth to an FBI-agent probably sounded like a literal nightmare to him.

“It’s too risky.”

“Fine.” Joe shrugged again when Derek threw her a slightly surprised glance over his shoulder. He had probably expected further arguments. “I’m not the werewolf here, so it’s your decision. It was just a suggestion and I still think it's a good one and I’d ask you to think about it if I thought it’d make a difference, but...” She trailed off and leaned back on her arms on the top step. “Believe it or not, I’m on your side here.”

With his back to her, it was hard to make out any expressions, but she thought she saw a slight tilt in his head. “Can you get him to drop the case?”

“No,” she said and had to laugh at how his shoulders tightened, “I’m not even trying to be difficult. I can’t.” Another thing she had realized since yesterday. “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, you know? Besides, you still haven’t given me any other reason than ‘you said so’ and in case you forgot, Derek, I’m _not_ your Beta.”

If possible, the muscles on his shoulders flexed even further as he crossed his arms, looking out the window instead of her. “I know.”

“So whats’s the point of running two parallel investigations when we both want the same thing?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Only because you’re making it complicated.” Joe stretched out her legs on the steps, picked up the iced coffee, but put it down again with a sigh. These kinds of talks were getting so old. “Trust is a two-way street, Derek.”

_Still_ no answer.

Taking a note out of Jimmy’s book, Joe tried for a long and meditative breath. This was more than the awkward talking-stage; something had happened and she was starting to wonder if it was worth it if she was the only one trying. Okay, so, Derek was definitely worth it, but maybe not now when they both had so much on their plates? Then again, they always had a lot on their plates.

“Why do you feel that it’s your job to protect everyone all the time?”

“I don’t’ know.” His voice was snappish and he did not turn back around to face her. “Why don’t you call Alex and ask for her professional opinion?”

Eyebrows up, she cleared her throat in a pointed manner and blurted: “Is _that_ why you’ve been pissy since I walked in?”

He didn’t answer, just followed up with questions of his own. “She didn’t sound too surprised you called. Do it a lot?”

“Yo, Derek ‘Not The Jealous Type’ Hale, you need to practice what you preach here.”

Truth was, Joe had only checked up on Alex twice after she got out of the hospital, but they had been more of the ‘Hey, hope you’re not drinking again’-kind of checkups than anything else. She’d tell Derek this if he hadn’t done literally everything to lose his rights to know stuff now.

Joe recalled Alex’s comments from her visit, how she claimed Derek’s body language couldn’t have been more possessive at the reunion dinner.

A nibbling thought came of how Joe kind of liked the idea of him being jealous. Not too jealous, just a little, just enough to make it clear he wasn’t okay with sharing. Joe definitely wasn’t and she wondered if he knew that, if he could smell that too somehow. She remembered the panic Kelly’s question from a long while back had brought: _Are you guys exclusive?_ Of course, Kelly was the one she had been jealous of as well.

The downside of being paranoid was that it raised another question:

“Are you just pretending to be jealous to change the topic?” Joe swallowed at how raw she sounded, heat building for some inexplicable reason.

At least her words made Derek forsake the window to come back sit on the table, both feet still on the floor. He picked up the beer bottle and took a slow sip. “I don’t usually pretend to be anything with you.”

“Usually,” she repeated and tried not to falter at the deadpanned look he gave her. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to read him. “ _Are_ you jealous?”

“Do you want me to be?”

The immediate denial died on her lips. He was a walking lie detector and would call her bluff. It was not a yes or no answer either and she found she was not going to even try to explain.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she noted and tried to shift around without it being too obvious, a warmth spreading in her chest.

A half shrug, obviously tense. “You didn’t answer mine.”

She had to stay focused. There was no reason he couldn’t be both jealous and use it as a diversion technique. Biting her lip, she asked: “What did you find at the gas station?”

He swallowed heavily and sounded gruff. “Joe...”

“What does the Alpha pack want?”

The only answer was a tightening in his jaw, gaze focused on the beer bottle. And he called _her_ frustrating?

Joe dropped her head back with a moan. “Oh my God, Derek!”

Somehow, that changed something. Something, not sure what, changed. A shift in the air, in the current, something.

When she looked back up, everything _looked_ the same, except it wasn’t. She could feel it somehow, the hair on her arms rising.

Derek hadn’t moved, hadn’t said anything, but he looked different. Eyes, she thought. Dark eyes. Watching her now. Definitely watching her. Clutching the beer bottle so hard she only waited for it to break, like at the reunion dinner.

“Derek?” she asked, almost scared of the answer. No distance in the world would be enough to mask his scent now. Rolling off him, calling to her. What had he said about those instincts? Mask her scent with his? Did she have the same instinct? That would explain her sudden need to go up to him, straddle him, rub herself all over him and-

No. Down, girl.

“Stop that,” Joe said and tried to discreetly cover her nose.

His voice was as dark as his eyes. “I didn’t start it.”

He was breathing heavy, she noticed. Definitely doing what he could to remain in control. Joe tried to just notice his heavy breathing, but noticing that also meant noticing how broad his shoulders became with each inhale, how his body language seemed relaxed, but was that of a predator, waiting to pounce, luring in the prey.

“This conversation is obviously not going anywhere, so I am,” Joe muttered, using what little self-control she had left to get up from the floor, leaving the iced coffee behind.

Looking back at him before she went into the hall, she swallowed at the sight of him, all but physically pulling her towards him. She shrugged, resisting it the best she could, anchoring in the frustration. “I told you, Derek. Dealbreaker.”

His eyes closed. “Joe-”

_“And my review went fine, by the way, thank you for asking!”_ she called over her shoulder and willed herself to keep going.

Walking away from him into the elevator hall had to be the hardest thing she had ever done. She could feel his eyes bore into her back, studying her movements, assessing her. Or just watching her ass, like a normal guy.

When the elevator doors closed behind her, she took a deep breath, inhaling all the way to her core, and let it out while dropping forwards, hands on her knees. Whooeee. That was intense.

Her clothes felt several sizes too small and she pulled her t-shirt off her chest, trying to air it out. The movement made her aware of her body giving of every signal that she was, uh, ready. Some of that evidence noticeable through her t-shirt and soft bra underneath and she looked down at her traitorous nipples. Wondering both how long they had been like that and if Derek had noticed. Joe hunched her back a little, making it less obvious, but the damage had probably been done.

Hell, he could probably smell her arousal. She could at least feel it.

What had that been about? Okay, so, maybe she _had_ started it at the thought of him being jealous, but he’d seemed far more on edge now than before. Had he done it on purpose to make her stop asking? Or was it all her? 

One kiss — okay, technically two — but still. One date, one kiss. Mentally, she was not ready to just jump in the sack with him. Well, maybe if she wasn’t so pissed at him, which she was so there was no point in entertaining that idea anymore. Especially not within a few miles from him. It was not fair. Usually, it was the guys who gave away obvious, physical signs of being turned on. 

On the ground floor, she stalked out into the fresh air and shook out her curls, wanting as much of the chill as possible hitting her skin. He seemed to like her curls, she thought, twice now running his hand through them the first chance he got. Which was _not_ what she was thinking about, she was thinking about getting in her car and going down to the station, hearing what her dad had found out.

Usually not something she would look forward to, but at least thinking about her dad made her daydreams about Derek crash and burn. She glanced up towards the top of the building, but at this distance, any shadows moving were imaginary and only in her head. Just wishful thinking that she somehow felt his eyes on her, watching her leave.

The afternoon shift was just heading out as she pulled up to the station. The Sheriff gave her a solemn nod, telling the front desk to let her through, and then said something about going home, presumably to have dinner with his son.

She’d barely seen Stiles since that night, knew through word of mouth that Gerard had beaten him thoroughly before sending him home, hoping to elicit more response from Scott. It explained his appearance when he and Lydia burst through the wall in his Jeep, how rough he looked. A consequence of moving out of Aunt Mel’s house and not talking to Scott was less frequent interactions with Stiles, something she did kind of miss.

It was a bit strange that Stiles wasn’t injecting himself into the investigation of Erica’s and Boyd’s disappearance if only to make sure the Sheriff wasn’t caught in the crossfire. If Derek was pushing her away, who was to say he had told Scott and Stiles _anything_ though _?_ Not like she could ask him now. Communication, trust, relationships — everything was a two-way street.

As expected, her dad was still working even though the rest of the station seemed empty. He was leaning over the conference table when she entered and she saw the map had been embroidered with different colored post-it notes. The same suit as yesterday, she noted. Still rumpled.

“How ya doin’, kid?” he asked, almost on autopilot, when she knocked on the office door. Not expecting or waiting for an answer, he waved her inside. “Missed an excitin’ day of talkin’ to truck drivers. Pro-tip, if you ever want to get them talkin’, just show them a picture and don’t mention the age of the girl, because then they’ll clam up on pure instinct.”

“Any luck?” Joe asked, grimacing at the thought of truck-drivers preying on young girls.

Her dad shook his head. “Nah, but got her picture out there. Speaking of, parents couldn’t positively ID her from the gas station footage. You were sure, though?” As she nodded, he did too. “The lab must be in some kind of slump because I got this back already.”

_This_ referred to some printouts, stills from the security cameras at the gas station by the looks of it. No Erica in the frame here, but instead there were-

“Blurs?” she asked with a raised eyebrow, after studying the printouts.

He shook his head. “People. Okay, blurred people, but still. Here.” He used a bright marker to trace the outline of what looked to be a humanoid figure, moving across the gas station lot. “Two of them. One looks to be female.”

“Could just have long hair.” Joe squinted because that was the only justification he could have to determine gender. They were really just blurs, but at least no one looked to be blond. She looked up at him. “Running?” 

He shrugged. “Movin’ fast, but with five frames a second, don’t have to be that fast. Called the lady, Janet, again, but she could not remember seeing anyone else than Erica that night. She admitted she wasn’t always paying attention to the outside though.”

“A duo of male and female perp does make more sense,” Joe mumbled, now wondering if she had been too fast excluding that sexual gratification motive. Alphas could be sexual deviants as well, right? Not that she had that much to go on regarding the sexualities of Alphas, but Peter at least was a downright creep. Putting the pictures down, she noticed her dad’s slight smile and she sighed heavily. “What?”

“You got a knack for this,” he said and it seemed like honest praise, probably was. Not really knowing how to respond, her dad took advantage of her silence to get something out of his briefcase on the floor. “Noah, he, uh, showed me this.” Her heart sank as she recognized the title — her paper, given to the Sheriff for approval regarding his quotes and the case details. “Didn’t know you were interested in criminology, but this is good, Joe. It’s really good.”

Half of her wanted to shout at him, but could not find any reason to do so. He hadn’t gone behind her back; the Sheriff had probably thought he knew all about it already. So instead of shouting, she shrugged. “Thanks.”

“You know, uh, we teach criminal profiling at the academy,” her dad said, almost suggestively, still holding onto the paper as he leaned on the table. “A lot more hands-on than the universities, no offense.”

She knew the risk when she changed fields. Knew her dad would read more into it than there was if he found out. And now he had. Before she could find an appropriate answer, he laughed a little.

“Academy brings in guest lecturers from all over the world, the best in their fields. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll see you there?” he said and smiled at her, a proud smile.

It tore at her insides. His acknowledgment of her academic career was somehow worse than him pushing the law enforcement route. 

Her dad tapped his knee with the paper, now rolled up in a tube. “Noah especially liked your conclusion on how rural police forces might be better equipped to recognize criminal patterns than their big-city counterparts because of the off-the-job social connections between the departments or agencies. Good job, kid.”

When she did not say anything, because her throat was clammed up completely, he sighed and threw the paper on the table, landing in the middle of the map. “Come on, let’s get outta here. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.” Noticing her hesitation, he continued: “You think better with a full stomach, kid. Let’s go.”

“That’s not true,” Joe said, even though she did follow him because she didn’t have the right to be in here without an escort. “Studies show that we have more focus with a higher dosage of the hunger-hormone. After you eat, a higher percentage of your blood is involved in the digestive process, so less for your brain.”

“Sounds fine in theory,” her dad said as he killed the lights and locked up his office. “But it doesn’t help when the only thing I’m focusing on is that I’m hungry.” He cast her a knowing glance as they walked out of the station. “Have you eaten anything today? Coffee doesn’t count.”

“I had breakfast,” Joe said, but with furrowed brows, not really sure if that had been today or yesterday.

“Yeah, I know that look,” her dad said, but not unkindly. “Come on. Greasy hamburgers and fries, every cop’s go-to when trying to crack a hard case.”

“I’m not a cop.”

He shrugged and unlocked his car. “Would’ve made a good one.”

With no response to that, she figured a hamburger did not sound directly unappealing and got in the car. They drove in silence, leaving Joe time to think. Going no contact with her dad had been her own idea following the disastrous New Year’s Eve when Alex and her dad went toe-to-toe. Her therapist had supported it, but only for the sake of giving Joe enough emotional space and distance to heal on her own.

On average, estrangement between close family members lasted around five years. The advice was that Joe should have a clear image of when she was ready to establish contact again: she had to understand why she wanted to reconnect, why now, what her expectations were, and set clear boundaries. Look out for red flags such as defensive behavior, gaslighting, guilt-tripping, and other emotional abusive tactics.

Her therapist’s main piece of advice to Joe was to also be on the lookout for green flags. With Joe’s personality type, she could easily fixate on just the negatives. A delicate line to walk.

She wondered what her dad’s therapist had told him.

At the diner, he gave her his card and told her to order something while he found them a table. Joe had a flashback to the same exact scenario when she was fifteen. When her dad took her to their local fast-food place, told her to order whatever she wanted only to sit her down afterward explaining why he couldn’t protect her anymore and she was going to get charged with the hospital break-in. It almost made Joe’s words stick in her throat when it was her turn at the register.

“Uh, hi, yeah. Two bacon cheese, please. One side with fries, one with onion rings, blue cheese dressing and, uh, two large cokes.”

Like Derek, her dad preferred a corner table. Or booth, in this instance, and she carried the drinks over and sat down. She slid his card over the table, which he caught easily.

“I thought you were doin’ your thesis on this folklore-thing,” her dad said and she recognized it as an opening for a conversation. Joe ran the checklist of red flags, but couldn’t see anything other than genuine interest. She squashed her initial reaction of rolling her eyes.

“I was,” she admitted and twirled the straw in her glass around, clinking the ice cubes. It took some time for her to find her voice, and for once her dad waited for her to do so. “I guess it’s a reason you call trauma life-changing.”

“You know,” her dad said slowly, looking into his own drink, “you can be granted witness protection.”

“I’m not going into hiding for that bitch.” Her voice came harder than intended, but no less honest for it. “She’s tried twice and still hasn’t killed me. When she comes again, I’ll be ready.”

Joe flinched as her dad reached over and put his hands over hers where they clutched the glass harder than she realized. He only pried her fingers apart and then retracted his arm slowly. 

“Can I ask you somethin’, kid?”

With a snort, Joe leaned back in the booth. “That’s usually my line. Hit me.”

“You said somethin’ about wanting to know Kate Argent didn’t have somethin’ to do with Erica’s disappearance.” Dad talked slowly, obviously watching her and she willed herself to stay immobile. “Any particular reason you think Kate might have somethin’ to do with it? Did she know Erica? Or Boyd? She got a motive?”

Shit. Shit shit shit.

“No,” she said, not sure how to pitch her voice to make it believable. “Just, Kate obviously has a history of abducting people and there’s a limit to how many psychos there can be in a town this size, right? But that woman in the photo had dark hair, so it’s obviously more than one.”

“There’s such a thing as hair dye,” her dad said casually and it felt like someone had dropped an ice cube down Joe’s back. “But we got eye-witnesses placing Kate just shy of the Mexican border, so you’re probably right.”

“Oh,” Joe said non-committally.

Her dad looked at her for a while, probably gauging her emotional state. “You know, one of my guys in the California-office runs a side-business with home security systems. I’ve offered Aunt Mel to get their house upgraded and if you want, we can take a look at that apartment of yours too.”

“I don’t want your money, Dad.”

“ _Joesefina, mija,”_ her dad said with a tired sigh. His eyes were heavy and his shoulder slumped. “I’m not tryin’ to buy you back, kid. I just want you to be safe.”

Joe had heard that too many times lately.

“I just want you to feel safe,” her dad continued. “Everything I do, everything I’ve always done, I want you to feel safe.”

Looking down, she muttered: “I can take care of myself.” She bit the insides of her cheek and added with a nervous smile: “You taught me how, remember? It’s saved my life a couple’a times already.”

Saved by the bell now, Joe thought, as the food arrived and cut through the high emotional talk. She was spared to see her dad’s expression by focusing solely on the cheeseburger and side of onion rings. Stuffing her face beat having to deal with her own conflicted thoughts and they ate in silence, albeit a more comfortable one than they had had in years.

Cheeseburger devoured and onion rings gone, she had no choice but to look up at her dad who had finished eating as well. He sat with his back against the booth wall, looking at something in his hands that she couldn’t see, probably his phone or something. He barely glanced up when the server came to take away their plates, but Joe ordered two cups of coffee, not caring that it was after nine. She knew her dad’s coffee habits mirrored her own.

“Thanks,” her dad said gruffly when the server came back with two cups.

She added creamer to her coffee, he added two packets of sugar. It looked like he had something on his mind and Joe tried to wait him out, curious despite her best efforts.

The diner buzzed around them, busy even though it was late. Some deputies came in dressed in their uniforms, picking up coffees and pie, greeting her dad with a nod. Truckers also pulled up, ordering full meals that they ate while watching the small TV in the corner showing some kind of sports game — Joe found herself wondering how many of them picked up underaged hitch-hikers with a don’t ask-policy. High school kids swarmed in, looking like they came from band practice judging by the cases they carried — they ordered hot chocolate and talked loudly from the opposite side of the diner, just like normal teenagers were supposed to do.

“Dad?” Joe asked eventually, as they had finished both their initial cup and a refill of coffee without saying a word. 

“Hm?” 

“Did something happen on your last assignment?” she asked carefully. Those were usually the times he got this melancholic expression — when a job ended badly. “Dad?”

He let out a deep breath that he seemed to have been holding. Then he laughed and shook his head. “No, kid. Nothin’ happened. Got close, but it didn’t happen.”

“Close? How close?” She couldn’t help the worry that shone through in her voice. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, a bit too fast, a bit too rough. He cleared his throat and stuffed whatever had been in his hands back into his inner pocket. Now she noticed his phone had been on the table all along. “Yeah, I’m okay.” The smile he gave her seemed both sad and proud at the same time. “We’re okay. It’s, uh, just real good to see you again, kiddo. Wasn’t sure I would.”

“Dad?”

“You know I love you, right?” His words sent a shockwave into her stomach and his serious look only adding fuel to the fire. “Despite everythin’, if I didn’t make it back, you’d know that, right? That I never stopped?”

Blinking to clear her eyes from sudden tears, she couldn’t even answer. “Dad, what happened?”

He just shook his head. His mouth was drawn tight like he was biting his lips together. “I love you, kid, always have and always will. Never doubt that. Promise me.”

“Dad, I love you too, but what-” Wet streaks of tears ran down her cheek and this time when her dad reached over to clutch her hand, she didn’t flinch or pull back. “What’s going on?”

“It’s okay, _mija_.” His eyes were wet with tears too, but he smiled. “I just missed you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody with latent daddy issues let me hear you say: "Heeeyoo!"  
> In the distance, a faint: "Heeeeyyyooooo."
> 
> Also, communication, Derek! Com-mu-ni-ca-tion! (It gets better next chapter, I promise, he's under a lot of pressure, because when is he not?)
> 
> I am currently battling a plot bunny for a Peter/OC/Chris-story that I hope will be satisfied if I just do the rough outline for now. Want to finish up "The Skeptic" and then my Stranger Things-story before I start anything else. Haven't seen that many Peter/OC or Chris/OC-stories out there, so it might not be that interesting to post either. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Claiming artistic license for the pseudo-psychology/criminology in this story. It's not all 100% there because I'm a STEM-major, unfortunately.
> 
> Anywho, thank you for reading and commenting on the last chapter. Looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this one as well!


	55. The Anchor

As far as roommates go, Jimmy was pretty decent. He would do most of the housework if she could do the grocery shopping. In fact, if he could avoid leaving the apartment at all, he seemed happy enough to do all of the housework. He kept strange hours, like herself, and preferred to wear a headset to avoid distraction and she sometimes forgot he was even there when he huddled in the corner of the living room, only his fingers flying over the keyboard indicating any vital signs. And like herself, he had only a moderate need for conversation, referencing that he preferred to leave his problems to the professionals.

And as easy as he was to live with, she missed Aunt Mel and Scott. Not so much that she had plans to move back, but enough for her stomach to churn a little bit when she made coffee in the evening and didn’t have to set the timer for Aunt Mel so she had fresh coffee before her next shift. A small twinge in her heart when she did not have an appetite and wanted that sugary cereal Scott always put on the grocery list, but Joe never could justify buying for herself. Small stuff.

It was a five-minute drive over to the McCall house. It would take less than ten seconds to dial Aunt Mel’s number. Even if she used her dad staying there as an excuse — a fact that made her suspect he was not handling the missing person case in a completely official manner — she could still just pick up food and bring it to her aunt at the hospital. That could actually work, Joe thought as she waited for Jimmy’s tea water to boil. They’d fell into a routine of fixing each other’s drink whenever they got one for themselves.

Leaning against the counter, she sipped her own coffee with a heavy dose of creamer. She’d do that tonight, she thought. Pick up some Chinese and-

Immediately her mind went to the Chinese restaurant she and Derek had gone to. It had been so nice! So nice she had almost forgotten about her actually crying at the table at one point. They had been talking like normal people, without any hidden agendas or ulterior motives. At least not from her side and she could not see any scenario where Derek knowing she went to an Alicia Keys-concert in 2005 would benefit him. Joe wanted more of that and less of everything else. Erica and Boyd missing, this apparent rival pack who might have taken them, Kate...

Her phone buzzed just as she poured water into Jimmy’s tea mug and she sloshed half of it over the counter. Swearing, she hastily mopped up the spill, rushed over to Jimmy with his tea, and then nearly threw herself over her phone.

The air left her body.

“Not Derek then?” Jimmy asked behind her where he fished out the tag from the teabag that had slipped into the mug. She only huffed in response, wondering if he could smell the disappointment or just guessed.

“No,” she mumbled after a while. “My dad. He’s gotten Erica’s laptop from her house and’s getting their computer guys to unlock it.”

With a sigh, she put the phone back on the desk, got her coffee, and tried to focus on the revision Walker wanted for her paper. As her dad had gently reminded her, she was not on the county’s payroll and he wouldn’t let her spend every waking hour investigating the disappearance. Focus. Sure, she could focus, on literally everything else but the paper.

There was no denying she was waiting for a text from Derek. After the date, she’d gone to see him twice and he hadn’t made any obvious effort to see _her_. He had texted her his address, which she had interpreted as an invitation, but it was not exactly that either. Of course, she practically itched to text him. Not even about the important stuff, but also about mundane things. Tell him about the paper at least, the research project, stuff like that. It had been two days since she last saw him and even if she could not realistically expect him to apologize, at least contacting her would be nice.

Okay, so, yes, she was the one who actually left last time. Not sure what kind of pheromones he’d been emitting, but it distracted too much from the otherwise serious topic and she did not like it. Okay, so, yes, she _liked_ it in a purely physical and pleasurably sense, but she was not happy about her body doing its own thing detached from her rational mind. Not that she felt rational now, pining over her phone in hopes of him reaching out to her.

What had Aunt Mel said? Communicate. Be explicit. Use your words. Sounded easy in theory, but whenever she tried talking to him about stuff like that, she either stuttered like a shy schoolgirl or went on a long incoherent rambling. He was actually pretty good at expressing himself whenever she gave him the opportunity. Which was the problem, wasn’t it?

From what he said at the Hale house, she could read between the lines that he found her interesting, cared about her, and enjoyed her company. Just the thought made her skin tingle. Then again, he’d phrased it as questions and not exactly answered them. He was good at telling a version of the truth without lying. Guess she needed him to be explicit. He _had_ said he liked her and found her attractive, that had not been up for interpretation so-

“Can you _please_ go take a cold shower or go pine in your own room?” Jimmy snapped as he tore off his headset. They were easily six feet apart, each in their own corner of the long desk under the large window. “You smell desperate.”

“I do not!”

“Maybe not,” he admitted with raised brows, “but you look desperate.”

“Focus on your writing, _Claudius_ ,” Joe bit back as the open screen behind him only held a half paragraph of words he’d spent the last hour on. “Not so funny trying to expose the truth when you’re a part of it, right?”

“I can’t focus,” Jimmy said calmly, not rising to the bait, “because your fidgeting is distracting. Can you please just send him a text message and explain what you want?”

“No.”

He sighed and tilted his head while studying her. “Why not?” Before she could respond, he raised a lazy eyebrow again. “Please tell me it’s for an actual reason and not some absurd women’s magazine ‘rule’ about who should text first and when and whatnot?”

Joe slowly spun on the computer chair so she faced her screen more and Jimmy less. His sigh was laced with sarcasm. Steaming, Joe mumbled: “He’s been weird since the date.”

“Have you considered that he’s nervous?” Jimmy asked, sounding as interested in the conversation as he was in discussing sports results. “Or that because he asked you out, he believes the ball is in your court?” He sniffed. “Personally I never understood all those unspoken ‘rules’ about dating. I texted Kelly first thing after the dinner and she responded well to that.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t get a text first thing, so it’s different.” She spun around again. “Okay, my phone was lying in a bag of rice.” One more twirl. “And he did send me his address, so I guess that counts as something.” The chair squeaked when she pushed around once more. “And he’s probably been busy looking for Erica and Boyd too.”

“You’ll get sick if you keep that up.”

She stopped the chair, already feeling her stomach protest. “No, I won’t.” Glaring at Jimmy, because he was giving her a knowing look, she tried to distract. “I don’t know what to say to him.” An idea struck her. “What did you say to Kelly?”

“I thanked her for a good time at the dinner and said I hoped we could stay in touch because talking with her had been the highlight of the last few months. You can wipe that smile off your face, Delgado, I was only being honest. A tactic you might want to adopt.”

“That is seriously so sweet,” Joe said with heartfelt sincerity — because it was! — and Jimmy rolled his eyes. His phone was buzzing constantly with all the texting he and Kelly did back and forth, so it had obviously worked in his favor. “But it doesn’t help me because I’ve seen him twice since then, it’d be weird thanking him now.” She threw her head back with a sigh. “Also, you’re texting with Kelly who is actually a sociable human being. Not a stubborn Alpha werewolf.”

“Maybe you should focus less on the Alpha werewolf part,” Jimmy suggested, “and more on the stubborn? If both of you are sitting on the fence waiting for the other to text first, I’m sure we will see another ice age before either of you cave.”

Just as she opened her mouth to snap back, her phone vibrated again and she nearly toppled off her chair to get to it. Ignoring Jimmy’s eye-rolling, she bit her lip to try and hide her disappointment.

“Not Derek then?”

“Shut up.”

It wasn’t Derek. Just another text from her dad asking if she wanted to get coffee from the shop and meet him at the station. Groaning, she slumped out of the living room to put on jeans instead of sweatpants. She had _no_ idea if or how she was going to get her dad to drop the case. Part of her hoped he would find something that could lead to Erica and Boyd, the other part hoped he would continue barking up the wrong tree so he didn’t get caught in any werewolf-crossfire.

After the little cry-session at the diner, they’d worked together the last few days following up on any potential leads. It had been the most time spent together in probably a decade and still no shouting. And no real leads either for that matter. At least he was not trying to dissuade her from being part of the investigation, quite the opposite in fact. Hard to tell if this was to ease his own guilt or if it was connected to whatever had happened down in Mexico. He had somehow changed the subject every time she tried to ask or sprouted something about confidentiality.

In a final act of desperation, she’d even called Uncle Raf to pry and had to listen to him make jokes for fifteen minutes.

_“You sure you got the right number here, miss? Joe? No, I don’t know anyone named Joe. Delgado? Joe Delgado? Oh, you mean Josie? Five-seven, dark hair, smart mouth, and a mean shoulder tackle? Yeah, yeah, no, I think I’m remembering now. Vaguely. I mean, it’s only been what, a few years since last time you called?”_

When he finally shut up for more than two seconds and she got to ask him about her dad, Raf just confirmed that yeah, he’d talked to Rob. Yeah, he’d heard what happened. No, he wasn’t gonna tell her. No, she could ask her dad. Well, then her dad would tell her when he was ready. Not the one for sentimentalities, it surprised her when he tacked on a vague statement of missing her — and Scott — before he hung up.

“Put on a jacket, there’s a chill in the air.”

Joe froze near the door and pivoted slowly towards Jimmy. “Excuse me?”

“There’s a chill in the air,” Jimmy repeated, seemingly unbothered. “You’re only wearing a t-shirt. Put on a jacket or you’ll get cold.”

“Okay?” she said slowly and grabbed her denim jacket. “You wanna come with me, by the way?”

Jimmy didn’t even turn around from his computer, but then again, she’d asked him the same thing every day. “To meet your father, the FBI-agent? I would not.”

“I don’t get why you’re so hung up on police. Do you have a secret identity or something? Because I know you’ve never even been arrested as James Carter.”

“But you _have_ been arrested, Delgado, so do I really need to explain the shortcomings of the US justice system to you?”

“Not all cops are bad...”

“You mean your dad and the Sheriff aren’t inherently bad,” Jimmy said, looking over his shoulder at her. “But a few bad apples spoil the barrel. I’ll send you a link to a good article.”

“Okay,” Joe said again in the voice of someone not going to argue anymore and so without a word, she gave him a salute, and left.

By the time she reached the coffee shop, she realized he had been right — it was an unusually cold day this late in spring. So he was not only an easy roommate but also a considerate one. She should dedicate time later to help him with his blog, she owed him that at least.

With one oatmilk cappuccino and one double americano with extra sugar in one of those cardboard drink holders, she walked the few blocks to the sheriff’s station. Some construction workers were outside and one of them whistled while she passed them, but she figured it was just on the general basis of her gender. It could not be her enticing combo of black jeans, high necked gray t-shirt, and denim jacket paired with yesterday’s hair bun.

“There she is,” Rob Delgado said loudly as she entered and handed him the americano. He had been leaning on the front desk, obviously waiting for her. There were not that many new post-its on the map in the spare office, but a glaringly pink laptop stood at one end of the table with the cursor moving across the screen. Her dad must have noticed it caught her attention as he commented: “Remote connection to our computer lab.”

“Don’t you need a warrant for that?” Joe asked, uneasy at the prospect of invading Erica’s private life.

“Not when she’s a minor and the parents gave their consent.” Her dad made a noise of approval after sipping his coffee. “Relax, _mija_ , we’re not reading her diary here. There’s filters in place screening for specific content that might be relevant.” Erica’s search history opened up on the screen and Joe made a mental note to delete her own when she got back. “Which reminds me...”

Fascinated by the computer working seemingly by itself, she’d missed that her dad pulled out a chair for her. He gestured for her to sit and she did, watching him flip through his notebook.

“Stretched my legs today,” he informed her casually and she tried not to react. The last few days where he’d humored her by focusing on hard evidence alone hadn’t led anywhere. “Talked to people at the school. Seems like both Erica and Vernon-”

“He usually just went by Boyd.”

Her dad raised an eyebrow at her, but corrected himself. “Erica and Boyd were somewhat lone wolves- you okay, _mija_?”

Joe had choked on her coffee. She waved her hand while she tried to dislodge the liquid. “Fine.”

Another raised eyebrow, but still no comment. “Loners at the school. Talked to Scott and Noah’s kid and this other one, what’s his name,” he flipped through his notes, “Isaac, that’s it, but no one could remember seeing them the day of disappearance and they did not know of any plans of runnin’ away, anyone who would want to hurt them or if they had friends out of town they might be staying with.”

He furrowed his brows. “At least I think that’s what Noah’s kid was trying to say, he was talking _a lot_. Gotta be honest, he didn’t seem to like me all that much and was somehow asking me more questions than I was askin’ him.”

That sounded like Stiles at least.

“Stiles is, uh, kinda loyal, Dad. He might just have an issue with you because of me. Don’t take it personally.”

“Right. You know these kids, Joe?”

“Uh, only through Scott. Why?”

More flipping through his notes. “I’ve been wanting to speak to this other kid, Jackson Whittemore. His dad’s pulled him out of school for a few weeks now, some health issues or whatever, and won’t let me near him without a warrant. Didn’t help that I’m Scott’s uncle.” He put the notebook down and peered at Joe. “What’s this ‘bout a restraining order and kidnapping?”

With a shrug, Joe just said: “High school prank gone wrong.” She sighed and wondered how to redirect her dad from his current line of investigation — if he talked to Jackson, the kid might be petty enough to give up Derek’s name and that’d make it awkward for everyone involved. “Uhm, Dad, as much as I appreciate you looking into this, aren’t you breaking some confidentiality clause just by telling me all this stuff?”

“If anyone asks, you’ve signed an NDA,” her dad said absentmindedly. “Erica’s trail is cold, but this Boyd-kid didn’t even have a trail before he went missing. No personal computer, few if any belongings, no living relatives — he had a part-time job at an ice rink, was in the ROTC-programme, cross-country team, yet no real friends that anyone could remember, except for Erica.” He looked up from his notes again. “You called him a sweetheart. Know him well?”

“No,” Joe admitted. Had she ever talked with the guy except for the ice rink? No, she hadn’t. He was just _there_ , in the background, but not lurking either, just observing. “He’s quiet. What’s ROTC?”

“Reserve officers' training corps. It’s an, uh, easy way to get a scholarship, in return for an active-duty service obligation after graduation.” The awkwardness in her dad’s voice came from talking about money again. He’d paid for her tuition until two years ago when she cut him out of her life and he cut her off financially. He cleared his throat before asking: “How you doin’ money-wise, kid?”

“Fine,” Joe said, focusing on her half-finished coffee. Compared to many others, she had it easy without too much student loan to worry about. Her academic record left her eligible for a lot of scholarships and she had gotten pretty good at applying for them. “Thought we agreed the other night you weren’t trying to buy me back.”

“All right,” her dad said, holding up his hands in surrender. “But can I at least buy you dinner? Not more junk food, but maybe that restaurant we went to last time I was in town?” She wondered if he was just pretending to act casual for her sake. “Could ask Derek to join.”

“Dad!” she groaned and slumped in the chair.

“What? It’s so bad I want to meet my daughter’s new...” He trailed off with a gesture, obviously looking at her for the correct word. Since she only glared at him, he settled for: “Special someone?”

Her eyes closed on their own, almost feeling a headache coming on. “Oh God. You already met him!”

“That was an official interview!” her dad protested as she shot up from the chair to pace around. He grinned. “This’ll be more like an interrogation- I’m jokin, kid, relax!” He ignored her exaggerated eye-roll and shrugged. “He seems like a good guy. Compared to some of the other lowlives you’ve dated, he’s a solid catch. Not talkin’ about Alex, kid, you know that. I meant those guys you used to hang around with back in the city.”

She’d been about to blow up on him for calling Alex a low-life. If anything, Joe had been the low-life in that relationship. The more she analyzed that night where everything unraveled, the more she realized both Alex and her dad had Joe’s best interest in mind but had really bad ways of showing it and Joe had even worse ways of reacting to it.

“No,” she said automatically and folded her arms. “No dinner.”

“Because you feel you can’t take a night off or because of Derek?”

“Both.”

With a resigned smile, her dad shrugged again. “All right. Can’t blame a guy for askin’. Hang on, I gotta take this.” His phone had started ringing and he answered as he left her alone in the office.

Still angry without really knowing why Joe plopped back onto the chair. Why did she feel bad? Probably related to her dad’s behavior when they went to that diner the other night. He’d been looking at something and had this melancholic expression. And told her he loved her, which had been a few years since last time.

Joe knew she did not owe him anything, this was an official case even though he seemed to be working it somewhat unofficially. Maybe it was just the thought of going out again while Erica and Boyd were still missing? Or was it just the thought of going out with her dad _and_ Derek?

There was only one bright side she could think of — it was a convenient excuse to text Derek. Not that she needed an excuse. But it was one.

The office door opened and shut as her dad came back. “Lab got nothing from her laptop except that she was apparently Team Jacob.” At her confused look, he winked. “Googled werewolves more than vampires.” He mistook her expression for something else as he added: “Twilight? Big hit novel that came out a few years back, turned into a movie with that pale guy from- okay, nevermind.”

Not having a single clue what he was talking about beyond the mentioning of werewolves, she let out a quiet breath of relief when there seemed to be a plausible explanation. He went to the pink laptop and shut it with a click before he unplugged it, apparently intent on returning it to her parents.

“I can check with Derek if he has time,” she found herself saying without thinking and tried to not read too much into the surprised and happy smile flickering over her dad’s face. “What did you have in mind?”

Tonight, eight o’clock at that same restaurant they’d gone to last time. With a promise to let her dad know right away of Derek’s answer, she left the station to get another coffee at the coffee shop. Not that she had a particular need for more coffee, but she did not want to go back to the apartment just for Jimmy to comment on how nervous she smelled just from sending a simple text to Derek.

Without a laptop, she sat down in one of the plush armchairs by the window instead of a table and tried to think of a non-desperate, cute way to ask him to dinner with her and her dad.

It didn’t take long before she started regretting the whole thing. She should have just asked him out for coffee. She’d almost done that several weeks ago when he showed up at her house the same night Scott got arrested. Knowing what she knew now, was she relieved or disappointed that never happened? Would things have played out differently?

No point dwelling on it, she supposed and tried to write the quite simple straightforward question to Derek. They could have one night off, for her dad’s sake. Yeah, that’s it. For her dad.

‘ _Do you want to have dinner with me and Dad tonight?_ ’ No, that sounded lame. ‘ _You got plans tonight? How about dinner, with me and Dad?_ ’ Better, but still not good enough. ‘ _Have you been to The Westwood Grill? Dad and I are going tonight, want to join?_ ’

Sighing, she slumped back in the chair. She needed something that made it sound like it was not her idea and she was simply forced to ask him. Okay, she would just have to jump into this or the opportunity would pass.

Joe Delgado: _Dad wants to take us out to dinner._

To her surprise, the reply came almost instantly.

Lobito: _When?_

Joe Delgado: _Tonight at 8. Westwood Grill._

Lobito: _Dress shirt?_

Oh God, yes please, she thought and tried to drown the butterflies with her now lukewarm coffee. Of course, that meant she had to wear a dress. A different one from the reunion dinner as he hadn’t seem to approve of that — she was running out of clothes fast, but it was worth it to see Derek in a dress shirt again.

Joe Delgado: _Sure._

Lobito: _What kind?_

Lobito: _Do you have time to come by?_

Okay, so, apparently he was a double-texter. Interesting. It kind of made up for the lack of emojis or any other kind of emotions in his texts. Not that she showed any more in her texts to him, she found herself unconsciously mimicking how he wrote to not seem juvenile.

And that last text was a definite invitation, right? He wanted her to come over. What for? To pick out a shirt? Was there more than one kind of dress shirt? She had to put the phone down for a few seconds when her imagination tried to convince her he would try on the different shirts for her, which meant that he would be shirtless in between. Not what she could be thinking about right now. It was not that far to his apartment building, who knew how far his sense of smell reached.

Joe Delgado: _Now?_

Lobito: _If you have time._

Joe definitely had time, but first she took some time in the coffee shop restroom to salvage her hair. One advantage with curls, they sprang back by just applying some water. A bit frizzy, but better than the bun and why was she so worried about how she looked now all of a sudden? He had seen her in literally every state of distress imaginable. Get over yourself, Delgado. Even while mentally berating herself, she did a full twirl in front of the mirror in case she had accidentally sat in gum or something and then gave herself the finger in the mirror before getting out of there.

All her worries about Derek smelling her bodily reactions disappeared when she stepped out of the elevator at the loft. He was not alone in there and she felt her lip curl up at the sight.

On the couch sat Jackson Whittemore, who had both his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised in obvious contempt of the man sitting in front of him. Joe thought she would have had that same expression if she was forced to be that close to Peter Hale, of all people, who was leaning forwards on a chair in front of Jackson, staring at him.

Behind them by the long table stood Derek with his arms crossed while Isaac slouched on one of the chairs. If he slouched any further, he would end up on the floor and Joe found it hard to tell if it was Jackson or Peter who left him most unimpressed.

Derek gave her a nod when she entered, but she felt her eyes drawn to Jackson, whose jaw had squared at the sight of her.

“Focus, please,” Peter berated and the teenager in front of him sighed loudly, feigning interest. Joe could not blame him, her skin crawled just by the sound of Peter’s voice.

“Hey, Joe,” Isaac greeted her without taking his eyes off Jackson and Peter. He looked at unimpressed as she felt.

With her arms crossed, unsure of what to make out of the situation, she took a few tentative steps into the loft. “Hey, Isaac.”

Peter sent her a quick and almost-not-sarcastic smile over his shoulder. Her eyes narrowed, but she had not brought any weapons along.

“Keep going,” Derek told Jackson, who rolled his eyes, and Peter, who seemed to bite in a reply.

With a last glance at the pair, Derek came over to her and led her to a heavy steel door on the far side of the loft. She had thought it opened to a utility room, but it was instead another spacious part of the loft separated by a thick wall. Instead of utilities, there was a large bed by the wall with a familiar-looking bedspread and another window overlooking the city. His bedroom.

“What’s going on?” she asked him when her brain recovered from the sudden introduction of his scent. “Why’s Uncle Creeper staring at the former homicidal snake monster?”

A large pipe running at eye height served as Derek’s closet apparently and Derek was in the midst of taking down some of the hangers, most of them still covered in the plastic wrap from a dry cleaner. “Peter’s helping me teach Jackson control.”

“Uh-huh?” There was no hiding the skepticism in her voice. With nowhere to sit beside his bed, and she did not trust herself there, she went to peer out of the window. “Maybe I’ll ask Jimmy to donate some of his meditation tapes. That sounds more viable than your current solution.”

“I know you’re not Peter’s biggest fan,” Derek said and laid out several shirts on his bed, “but he’s the one who taught me control.”

The satire disappeared from her voice. “Really?”

“Yeah, when I was in high school. Our family’s got this kind of symbol we use for focus, but it never worked for me. He was the one who taught me how to find a different anchor.”

Interest piqued, she studied Derek as he went through the motions of sorting his shirts in what at least appeared to be a random order. There was something endearingly mundane watching him do it and it sent tingles through her stomach again. And again she hated being in a confined space with no less than four werewolves where at least two would pick up on any chemosignals from her.

“What’d you mean by anchor?” she asked, not even realizing it was a question, anything to distract from the fact that she was in Derek’s bedroom with an actual bed that looked a lot comfier than what he had used in the subway cart. “You’ve mentioned it before, when-”

Her brain caught up to exactly when he had mentioned it before. The same subway cart she had just thought about where she had practically dissolved in sexual fantasies and he claimed he had an anchor to not be as affected.

“It’s something to concentrate on,” he said without looking at her. Speaking slowly, the most tell-tale clue she could get of him choosing his words. It was not because he was being dishonest, she had realized, maybe more to make sure she understood him correctly on the first go. “Something to focus on to stay in control, to keep us ‘anchored’ to our human side.”

She leaned against the windowsill. “I thought you said the wolf wasn’t a separate entity?”

“I said I didn’t have an inner wolf,” he corrected and gave her a brief smile. “As a werewolf, I have both a human and a wolf side. They’re both me.” Something must have given away how her butterflies soared in her stomach as he glanced at her. “Now you’re doing it.”

The blush was instant. “What?”

“Pheromones,” he said simply, obviously not intending to embarrass her. Not that it worked, because just the sight of him — drop-dead gorgeous as he was — made her duck her head down.

“Yeah, well, you already know I like you,” she mumbled, already analyzing her own emotions. Was it just him talking or was it him actually answering her questions? She cleared her throat to distract herself. “Is it a physical anchor?”

With just another glance at her, as if he was tempted to push the previous statement, he shrugged. “Can be. Can be an object, a feeling, a person... Scott’s anchor is Allison. Isaac’s his dad.” Something dark crossed over his face, but only briefly. “My sister used the triskele.”

“And yours?” she prompted when he remained quiet.

His bright eyes were open and honest. “Anger.”

“Guess I don’t have to wonder why you’re always in control then,” she said without thinking, a smile pulling at her lip. Derek was almost always angry. Something fell into place and the smile dropped. “Wait. When you say anger, do you mean that you literally _get_ angry to stay in control?”

Her mind went back to at least two previous occasions where she had not for the life of her been able to find out why he had suddenly been so pissed off — two car rides, to be precise. Of course, that led to a whole new set of implications and she cleared her throat to clear her mind, remembering they weren’t alone in the loft.

“You’re like the reversed Hulk.”

“Funny. Shirt?” He held up the same light gray he’d used at the reunion dinner.

Joe could recognize a diversion technique when she saw one, but considering how much he had let her get away with she dropped the matter for now. She stepped away from the window and surveyed the collection of dress shirts on his bed.

“It’s like five different shades of gray,” she commented, seeing how his color palette ranged from light gray to dark gray. They all looked expensive, but she was not well versed enough in tailoring to tell exactly what made them look expensive. Finely made, she supposed, and definitely not polyester as proven when she ran her fingers over one of them.

Derek held up one of them. “This one’s blue.”

“At best, it’s blueish gray,” she corrected, picked it out of his hands without thinking, and held it against him. It was a shade lighter than the bedspread in fact. “I guess it’s fine? Or just wear the one you wore last time, that was,” her brain searched for a word that wasn’t too thirsty, “appropriate.” Something about his expression bothered her and she was suddenly afraid she’d insulted him. “What?”

He took the shirt hanger back from her and shook his head. “Erica helped me pick last time.”

“You asked Erica for help?” She couldn’t help the smile now — something about that image made her warm inside, although it died out when reality caught up with her. Erica was missing. Suddenly she remembered how she had stormed out of the loft just a few days ago as well.

“I didn’t ask. She just insisted on helping,” Derek said in a low voice and then gave her a concerned glance. “Isaac told me your dad was at the school today.”

The guilt crept back into Joe and she went back to the window. “Yeah, I know. Standard protocol.”

“So there’s no leads?”

“Two-way street, Derek,” she reminded him. “I’ll share if you will. But Isaac’s got nothing to worry about.”

“And this dinner...”

“Was my dad’s idea.” It took Joe a few seconds to catch up when Derek didn’t say anything. “You think he’s trying to trap you?” At his non-existent expression, she just laughed. “Believe me, I got more to worry about regarding this dinner than you. He just wants to meet you because-” She waved her hand out in a vague gesture.

“Because of you,” Derek said, not even asking. “Are you okay with that?”

“If you are.”

“So you haven’t told him?”

“Told _you_ that was your decision,” she mumbled, avoiding looking at him. “So no.”

“Thank you.” A few seconds of hesitation, before Derek sighed. “Thought that maybe with the way things went last time-”

“That I would be petty enough to go behind your back?” she asked, raising an eyebrow to turn around and look at him. “That’s not _my_ style.” Running her eyes over him, she told him: “You need a shave.”

For some reason, that made his eyes crinkle in a small smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Shut up.”

Another exasperated sigh, but sounding laced with some amusement. “Joe, I’m not trying to go behind your back here. I’m just trying to get all the facts confirmed before I tell you, I don’t want to worry you unnecessarily.”

“The only thing you’re accomplishing is that I’m making up stuff to worry about instead. Do I have to remind you that every time one of us pushes the other away, it ends up with the other getting kidnapped?”

“I’m not pushing you away.”

It was tempting to call him on that. His words made her remember just how cold Derek had been the last time she was here. Before she had to leave at least, then he’d been anything but cold. Then again she had been pretty frustrated, but keeping at least ten feet distance between them had only made her more frustrated. And now the thought of it made her frustrated all over again.

“But you do have a tendency for rushing ahead on the smallest of leads,” Derek continued and her eyebrows rose up to meet her hairline. His hands came up, probably meant to be disarming, but achieving the opposite. “And last time, I wasn’t sure how to handle it. I don’t want to lie to you.”

“Rushing where? _You_ have any leads?” She scoffed at his raised eyebrow, conveying that she had just proven his point. “ _How_ is withholding things different from lying?”

“It’s keeping the truth a secret versus corrupting it.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he gave her a specific look and she realized her face was scrunched up in a frown. “What?”

“You write poetry in your spare time or somethin’?”

“Are you asking because you want me to write you a poem?”

Not going to fall for his attempt at making her blush, she bit back: “I’m asking because you obviously think I’m okay with dealbreakers if you just dress them up in pretty words.”

“You don’t seem particularly okay with it,” Derek commented drily and she hated how her body kept betraying her. He glanced at the door and she remembered how he had probably hundreds of things more important to do than choosing shirts for a dinner. With a sigh, he focused back on her: “Is it because of your dad or me you’re getting upset now?”

“I’m not upset,” she protested. “But it’s both of you. This was a dumb idea. I’m canceling.” For some reason, that made him smile even though he did try and hide it by turning away. Her voice could cut through steel when she asked: “What?”

He shook his head. “When there’s a good possibility you could actually die, your instinct is to dive in headfirst. When there’s a slight chance it can get awkward, your first instinct is to run away.” As her face twisted to protest, he listed: “The reunion. This dinner. How close were you to cancel on me last week?”

Too close, she realized, but refused to back down. “That was because you sent the vaguest text in history. Not even a question mark. What if I had plans?”

“Did you?”

“Not the point, Derek!” She straightened up from where she had leaned against the window. “It’s common courtesy. You could have told me what we were doing as well — I never would have worn heels if I’d known we were gonna be walking all night.”

“You could have asked,” he pointed out with an infuriating calm smile, eyebrows slightly raised in a challenge. “You could have just called me. We know each other well enough by now, Joe.”

“No, we don’t.” She shrugged excessively, not releasing her arms from where they laid crossed across her ribs. “Not...like this!”

“It’s not any different.”

“Yes, it is!” Joe waved her arms around now, unable to find appropriate words. “Maybe not for you, but for me it is. I know more about how you’re going to react if a homicidal monster drops down from the ceiling than I know what you like to talk about. This isn’t life-or-death scenarios or running around trying to save each other, this is,” she made a face, “frickin’ courtship or whatever. I don’t know, okay? It’s different! It’s like we’re friends and then we’re also kind of not and-”

His eyebrows were still raised, but the smile had gone. “You want me to _court_ you? Again, didn’t take you for a romantic.”

“Screw romantic, maybe I just want you to make an effort too?” she shot back immediately and gestured at him. “And not act so damn entitled just-”

A heavy knock on the door and she snapped her mouth shut. Frowning, Derek opened the door to reveal Peter’s smirking mug, one that Joe could feel her fists clenching just by seeing.

“As entertaining as this is,” Peter said with glee where he stood wearing a too-tight v-neck sweater, mostly addressing Derek, “I’ll have you know that these walls are not, in fact, thick enough to be soundproof.”

As Derek closed his eyes in defeat, apparently equally unaware of that fact as Joe, she just tried to breathe evenly.

“And for the record,” Peter added and nodded at her, “I agree with Joe. You need to make more of an effort here, Derek.” His arms came up in lazy gestures, each spiking through her spine with humiliation. “Court her. Woo her. Go the extra mile. Flowers, chocolate and jewelry, the whole shebang.”

“Oh God,” she muttered, cheeks flushed with heat now. It did not help that Derek scowled at Peter for interrupting, she was too pissed off herself to take any pleasure in it. Of course, they had overheard. Exactly what she needed. Raising her hands in surrender to the situation, she said: “I’m not doing this.”

“That glare doesn’t work on me,” Peter happily informed Derek when Joe stalked past both of them. At least she was spared having to physically push Peter aside as he made room for her to exit without any comment.

“Wow,” Jackson supplied from the couch with a shit-eating grin on his face, “that was pathetic.” It would have been easier if he had been laughing, but he looked completely serious with that same raised eyebrow from before. “That was pathetic to even listen to. Here’s an idea, why don’t you call your ex-girlfriend to make your argument for you like last time?”

His words made her freeze on her way to the loft exit. There were a lot of immediate questions related to his statement, but all she could think of saying was: “I am _not_ discussing any of this with any of _you._ ”

She did a full spin, indicating Peter first. “You’re a literal psychopath who went on a killing spree all over Beacon Hills,” her Bronx-hand gestured to Jackson, “you used to be the host of a mass-murdering snake spirit,” and then to Isaac, who looked panicked, “and you,” she faltered, “you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong, so you’re okay I guess.”

Isaac relaxed back on his chair.

“I did _not_ go on a killing spree,” Peter corrected with infuriating calm, gesturing lazily. “It was a targeted revenge mission with little, if any, collateral damage.”

“You are not denying the psychopath-part,” she pointed out and threw her hands up. “Not that it matters. I’m not having this conversation.” Talking to herself, she headed for the elevator again: “Not happening.”

_“I said I was on your side!”_ Peter called after her, but she just stomped inside the elevator, where she pushed the close door-button several times.

Without super hearing, she was spared to hear the exact conversation from the loft, but something managed to seep through:

_“Why are you still standing there?_ ” the smarming voice of Jackson drifted from the loft just as the elevator doors closed. His voice rose in exasperation as if whoever he was talking to was the stupidest guy alive. _“Oh my God, look, I know women, okay? She’s just like Lydia. Are you seriously this- Go after her, you idiot!”_

With the doors closed and the elevator heading down, she could at least breathe without inhaling Derek’s pheromone-induced scent. How did Jackson even know that Alex was her ex-girlfriend? Oh shit, what if he’d talked to Scott about it? Urrgh. What if Scott knew about her and Derek’s issues, whatever they were? When was she going to learn to keep her big mouth shut around super hearing shapeshifting assholes?

Oh God, and Peter offering advice? Ugh. Her skin crawled with goosebumps just at the thought. Flowers and chocolate, just like all women were the same — simple machines you put goodwill into and got affection in return. Not that there was anything wrong with flowers or chocolate — or being like other women, no internalized misogyny in this house — but it was the principle of things. Derek claimed they knew each other, he claimed he knew _her_ , so he could very well prove it if that was the case.

Hot and cold, hot and cold — he was infuriating! Not helped by how she seemed to shift between being angry with him and utterly infatuated with him every two seconds. God, maybe she should just ask him to wait with this whole business until they had found Erica and Boyd?

Was that what she wanted? No, definitely not, but it would save them both a lot of frustration. And guilt, because even though she spent most of her time looking for Erica and Boyd and she knew her dad spent almost _all_ his time doing the same, she still felt the gnawing in her stomach whenever she was trying to do literally anything else. Including this dinner. She was definitely canceling the second she got outside and could breathe again.

The doors opened and she stepped out, still deep in thought and-

She let out a sharp gasp as something grabbed onto her arm and spun her around. It happened too fast to even think about fighting back and she found herself firmly pressed against the wall next to the elevator, staring up at her assailant in shock.

“What the hell, Derek?” she whispered, realizing he must have run down here as he was breathing heavily, supporting himself on the wall next to her head. “It’s like thirty flights of stairs!”

No answer.

His bright eyes roamed her face and she found herself raising her eyebrows in return. The masculine scent she had stopped trying to interpret as anything other than delicious filled her nostrils and the way his sweater stretched over his firm stomach when his arm was up like that did not help either. No use in denying it, Derek Hale was incredibly hot and she was getting warmer by the second.

Not sure how long the elevator had used, she estimated he could barely have made it in time if he jumped down the side of the building. To distract from her rising blush, she questioned: “Jesus Christ, how fast _are_ you?”

“Very,” he said, still out of breath. His eyes flickered down to her lips and back to her eyes. The muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed. “It’s not bullshit.”

“What?”

“What I told you. Equals. It’s not bullshit.”

She realized he was leaning closer by the second and she wondered if he was even aware of it. He swallowed again, eyebrows coming up, like he struggled to focus.

“And I’m sorry,” every exhale fanned over her face, “for not telling you,” he still leaned down, so slow it could be considered torture and his words came even slower, “everything.”

Before she could even begin to interpret or respond to that, he seemed to have made up his mind. His gaze shifted between her mouth and eyes constantly.

All the time in the world to pull away, but her heart put a definite veto over her constantly second-guessing brain. With an inch of space left between them, she closed the gap, catching him slightly off guard and she loved it.

The second her lips met his she found herself equally breathless. Soft at first, building gradually — he parted her lips with his own, deepening the kiss while his arm on the wall bent to push himself closer.

A tremor in her chest, she was barely aware of her own hands remembering they could function, could touch him and she pulled on his slim hips to make him come even closer. His free arm curved around her waist, gently persuading her to arch her back, molding her body to fit into his, never breaking the kiss even once.

There was a direct link to her nerves from everywhere they touched. She visibly shuddered when his teeth gently nipped at her bottom lip, tip of his tongue swiping over the same spot just after. Her fingers curled into the soft material of his sweater, causing it to ride up slightly as she felt the added heat seep from his bare skin through her own clothes. Both of them were on fire and the scent, the taste, everything set off fireworks in her mind every time he moved against her. She could stay like this forever, glued to him, tasting him, feeling his hand dig into her hip.

Head spinning, she tried to breathe when he relented a mere inch, resting his forehead against hers. She swallowed heavily and, out of habit, bit her own lip trying to suppress the urge to just jump up and straddle her legs around his waist. A shiver passed through her when Derek let out a small growling sigh.

“Careful,” he whispered, his voice darker than she’d ever heard it.

Her eyes widened, even though his were still closed. “You can feel that?”

Breathing heavy, he just nodded. They remained flush against each other; knees interlocked, hips pushing together and his head still lingering on hers. It took several seconds, neither of them catching their breaths fully before he opened his eyes. “You okay?”

“Uh-huh,” she nearly whimpered, not sure how to adequately express how way beyond okay she was. The heat from his body added to the hot rush of blood in hers, she could feel small droplets of sweat gather in her hairline. Neither of them said anything and she wondered if his mind was as blank as hers. Had he even meant to do that or had it just happened?

Derek’s chest expanded as he inhaled through his nose. His face rested so close to hers that his exhale went straight into her own lungs. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asked, fully thinking that the only thing she could be angry at him for was if he never kissed her again or never touched her again.

“Not sure,” Derek admitted with his eyebrows up high and stared into her eyes. He inhaled again, his eyes sliding shut. “My anchor is anger, Joe, and around you...”

She laughed in disbelief, not failing to notice how the movement pushed her chest into his. “You’re not angry?”

“I’m frustrated,” his eyes remained closed, but the hand on her waist tightened slightly, “and irritated and exasperated, but I’m not angry.” Now his eyes opened and she forced herself to look back, meeting the intense stare. “I’m trying to be angry and you’re making it-”

Another heatwave flushed through her body. He’d cut himself off, the word hitting too close to something else at the moment. Half of her wanted to whisper it; jump up and lace her thighs around his hips, like at the rave, pressing herself against him while she said it, but just knowing the word made it difficult to breathe. _Hard —_ to breathe.

“-complicated,” he growled instead and she saw the muscles on his arm tighten as he apparently made an effort to show more restraint.

Somehow he knew, she realized; he knew that she knew that was not the word he had intended to use. As his eyes opened to a glowing red, she also realized how little it would take to push him over the edge. It was tempting, but...she had a feeling it was not what he wanted. Not _how_ he wanted it.

And she realized it was not how she wanted it either.

“Your eyes,” she said without recognizing her voice.

He nodded, taking deep breaths in and out, eyes closing again. “I know.”

What had he said back at the house? Not _usually_ overpowered by his instincts? It could happen, she knew that much. One time with a clawed up doorframe, the other with a spontaneous slumber party in the forest. The first had been the full moon, the second she hit him with the wolfsbane-stuff. What was it now? Just her?

“What happened,” she had to stop to breathe, “last time I was here? What...”

His body vibrated with a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Same thing that happened now.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“I have no idea how to explain it to you.” Another long inhale, chest expanding against hers. “You’re not anxious around me anymore.” Before she could protest, he shook his head. “Nervous maybe, but not anxious. Not like before and... now it’s like I’m losing my anchor around you.”

Losing anchor meant losing control apparently. She suppressed all fantasies on how hot it _could_ be, of him letting loose and just taking her here and now. Maybe later, but it would not be fair for him.

Joe cleared her throat as to not get stuck on the ‘maybe later’-part of her thoughts. “So, uh, dinner at eight?”

“Dinner at eight,” he repeated and nodded his head, forehead still resting against hers. “I’ll pick you up seven forty-five.”

“Dude,” it was hard not to smile at the slightly annoyed tightening of his mouth at the term of address, “it’s walking distance.”

“Then I’ll walk you there.” He sighed deeply and the hand on her waist released as he straightened up. Eyes dark, but not glowing when he opened them.

As he withdrew his hand on the wall, dust and bits of dried cement rained down and she turned instinctually. He’d dug his claws into the brick wall.

“Sure,” she said and tried not to sound weirded out — but _he’d dug his claws into the brick wall._ “Uh, you okay there, buddy?”

“I came down here to apologize,” he said and pinched the bridge of his nose. Joe realized she still had her hands on his torso and let him go so he could take a step back. Derek fighting so hard to restrain himself was seriously hot to watch, but she was not trying to complicate things for him on purpose. “I didn’t mean to-”

“You don’t need to apologize for that,” she said breathlessly, meaning the kiss, and let out a nervous laugh. She remained leaning against the wall, not too sure she was able to stand on her own. “Or anything else right now.” Not that she remembered the slightest what they had been talking about. “Uh, about the dinner, can I ask you a favor?”

Obviously not completely up to par yet, Derek just nodded.

“Can you leave your super nice regular guy-persona back here?” She shrugged when he looked up from his hand with a puzzled expression. “It’s bad enough that my dad might put his on, I’m not sure I’m gonna survive the dinner if you both do it.” With a sigh, she added: “Besides, I like you better, you know, as... you.”

His eyes flickered to the side in uncertainty, before he nodded slowly. “Sure.”

“Great,” Joe said and tried to actually have control of her limbs as she pushed off the wall. It felt like someone had replaced all her muscles with jello. “Then I’ll see you later?”

“Seven forty-five,” Derek repeated, his eyes back to open and bright again. “I’ll wear the blue shirt.”

“It’s barely blue.”

“It’s blue.”

Feeling like an idiot for smiling so wide, she walked backwards to the front doors of the building. “Bye, Derek.”

“Bye, Joe,” he said and she _felt_ his eyes trail over her body when she turned towards the doors.

The mood changes from hot to dangerously hot to teasing happened almost instantaneously. She forgot herself and bit her lip to avoid grinning and nearly tripped when she heard him clear his throat.

_Busted_ , she thought and pushed through the doors with a wave over her shoulder. “Sorry! Bye!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of this, a little bit of that. Don't know about you guys, but I got a great feeling about this dinner!   
> Also, my chapters keep getting longer and longer. I've heard about "kill your darlings", but I don't apply them in fanfiction. Sorry, not sorry :)
> 
> Thanks for reading as always, really looking forward to your thoughts on this chapter! <3
> 
> Side-note: To my readers in the US, are you guys okay over there? 2021 is off with a bang, that's for sure...


	56. The Dinner

“Isn’t that the dress you wore to Kate Argent’s funeral?”

In the midst of tying back her hair, Joe glared at Jimmy who stood in the bathroom door. It _was_ the dress she’d worn to Kate Argent’s funeral, but she had a limited number of dresses and it was by all designations a modest black cocktail-dress appropriate for a number of occasions. She’d worn it to networking functions and Christmas parties alike. ‘When a little black dress is right, there is nothing else to wear in its place’ was a quote from somewhere and had for some reason stuck with her.

“Kate Argent’s _fake_ funeral,” she countered and tried to twist some of her curls to a half-up, half-down hairstyle. Not even the thought of that psycho bitch was enough to distract from her nerves about tonight. “And I washed it since then.”

“Hm. You need some large earrings if you’re wearing your hair like that.”

She nearly yanked a full square inch of hair out from its roots as she spun around to look at him. No mocking on his face, just patiently scrutinizing her. “Okay, Carson Kressley?” At his dumbfounded look, she sighed. “Queer Eye, Fab Five? Carson was the fashion- you know what, nevermind. Poor joke. Playing into stupid stereotypes that only gay men know female fashion.”

Finished with the hair, she studied herself in the mirror and came to the same conclusion as Jimmy. With the high neckline of the dress and her conservative hairstyle, she needed hoops.

Growing up with a single dad, she had relied on Aunt Mel to make sure she wasn’t the only girl starting first grade without a pair of studs in her ears. The studs stayed in, even when she was by all definitions a tomboy and worse, a not-like-other-girls-girl. After she spent a year surrounded by other-girls-girls and shed some of that internalized misogyny, she discovered there was nothing weak about being feminine, and somehow that lead to gold hoop earrings.

Her dad had been reluctant, mostly because of his own issues with his heritage in his line of work — even though her dad and uncle had initially bonded in the academy for being the only Latino NATs (new agent trainees), she'd _never_ heard them speak Spanish to each other. White-washed, cookie-cutter FBI-agents, one worse than the other. Her dad had made a point of not talking exclusively in Spanish at home, but Rafael had simply stopped speaking Spanish at home altogether, leading to Scott’s embarrassing grasp of the language.  
  


Finally, like when she got her ears pierced in the first place, Aunt Mel had stepped in: _"Let the girl be a girl, Rob. They're just earrings."  
_

  
Except they weren't. Now hoops represented something more. Joe had done a whole paper on them as an undergrad. Now hoops represented decolonization to her because they were viewed negatively by the non-colored communities. A silent form of activism when worn in the right setting.  
  


And yet, Joe thought as she held up one of the thinner golden hoops to her ears, she only wore them now when she played down her original Bronx-accent or wore somber outfits like this. After she moved to Berkeley, she'd been so afraid of being too much, of playing into the stereotype of a loud Latina. So, in many ways, she was just like her dad.

At least _she_ could recognize that she still had some ways to go before being fully confident with her heritage. It didn't help that she only knew half of it; she had no idea what ethnicity her birth mother was, but considering Joe was darker than her dad, it probably wasn't Caucasian.

“You should go for thicker ones,” Jimmy commented with narrowed eyes and she jolted out of her private musings. “Those almost disappear in your hair.” Without waiting for an invitation, he came inside the bathroom and rummaged in the small tote that held her modest collection of jewelry. “These.”

Quarter-inch thick, but hollow so they would be comfortable. She hadn’t worn them in a few years. Joe held them up and realized Jimmy was right — again. “Are ya gonna help me pick out shoes as well?”

“Based on what you told me about your last date, you might opt for flats?” He did not take the bait of her teasing and left her alone in the bathroom with an admonishment that Derek would be here any minute now.

“Thank you, Jimmy!” she called after him as she fastened the earrings. As she’d planned to wear the denim jacket over her dress, the earrings really brought together the look. Smart casual, she supposed, and she could easily get away with ballet slippers instead of heels.

It was easier to focus on her appearance than to prepare mentally for the night. There were a lot of potential pitfalls, but at least now she supposed she and Derek were actually dating. If you could say that after one date.

Of course, she’d told Derek to be himself, so she could not count on his easy versions of the truth if asked any uncomfortable questions. To avoid any awkwardness, they should probably have agreed on a cover story. Then again, her dad already knew too much about Derek for it to be comfortable anyway. What had she told the FBI-agents when interviewed about the night at the Hale house? What had been her reasons _why_ she went looking for Derek? That whole night and day after was a blur. What had Derek said when they interviewed him?

Oh, this was bad. She should have considered it before. Her dad, an actual and trained FBI-agent, sat on transcripts of those interviews with both her and Derek. He would spot any discrepancies in an instant. Why had she agreed to this dinner? She knew why — they were in this mess just because she had wanted an excuse to see Derek.

The buzzer rang out, meaning someone was at the main door downstairs.

Shouting a generic goodbye over her shoulder, Joe darted out of the apartment. Half of her wanted to cancel the dinner, it would be easiest, but Derek’s mocking from earlier prevented her from that.

“Hi,” Derek said when she pushed through the door and stepped out on the curb. The sun had set by now and an overhead streetlight illuminated him where he waited outside the building. His hands were in the pockets of the jacket he wore over the not-blue shirt and he gave her a quick, close-lipped smile with raised eyebrows. “You look great.”

The door closed slowly behind her and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Thanks?”

“What?”

Without thinking, Joe glanced down at her attire. It was the closest she could come to comfortable while still wearing a dress. “Is it that bad?”

Derek’s eyebrows were not coming down, but the smile faltered. “I just said it looked great.”

“Yeah, but you’re not usually dishing out compliments free-handed.” Joe folded her arms and studied him. “And if you give them, they come at the end of the night, maybe with some prompting. So either I’m _not_ looking great or something else’s going on.”

“That went well for a total of ten seconds,” Derek muttered and rolled his eyes with another sigh. “You look great, Joe, you always look great.” As her eyes continued to narrow, because she knew how she normally looked, he huffed. “I just realized I’m not always good at letting you know I think that. Can you _stop_ making that face?”

“How,” she started, noting just how suspicious she sounded, “did you come to realize that? Exactly?”

Jackpot, she thought as Derek’s jaw tightened. At least she stopped making ‘that face’ when her eyes widened. “Does this have something to do with the trio of werewolves overhearing our discussion?” Derek looked so thoroughly done now that she laughed. “Who told you to compliment me? Peter?”

His eyes closed briefly before they flared open again. “Jackson.” That did not make her stop laughing and he ground his teeth together. For someone who claimed he was not angry around her, he was definitely annoyed. “Shut up. He was also the one who told me to go after you earlier.”

“I know,” she said, still giggling and pressed her finger to underneath her eyes so no tears could smudge her mascara, “I heard. It’s good advice, just surreal. Kid seems like a total douche.” Composing herself, she cleared her throat. “You look great too, Derek.”

“Mm,” he made a dismissive sound, hands still in his jacket as he started to walk. “You coming?”

“I mean it,” Joe laughed and hurried to catch up with him. Without thinking, she slipped her hand into his pocket and dragged his hand out of it, trying to ignore the tingles at touching his skin. “It’s a good shade of gray on you.”

Where she expected a quick rebuttal on how it was blue, he kept quiet. He’d paused at her ministrations and stared transfixed at how they were now holding hands.

“You walk way too fast,” she offered as an explanation, even if she knew he could hear her elevated heartbeat. As his expression remained unreadable, she wondered if she’d overstepped his boundaries. “You mind?”

“No,” he said quickly and his shoulder went down slightly as he relaxed. Or at least tried to relax. His grip shifted to hold her hand better and she could feel the squeeze he gave her all the way up her arm, into her core, and spreading out into every part of her body. They continued down the street and it seemed like he made an effort to slow down his pace.

“When did I walk too fast?”

“Dude, you nearly left me in the dust at Berkeley last time,” she explained and smiled to show she was over it. He glanced at her with a raised eyebrow, but otherwise no discernable emotion she could interpret. “I know I’m wearing flats now, but I can’t jog to keep up with you, they’re _too_ flat for that.”

Nighttime Beacon Hills was quiet on a weekday, just like him, and they passed the closed shops on the main street.

She cleared her throat, knowing this was a risk, but couldn’t help herself. “Can I ask you something? And I’m only asking because of your unfair advantage, but,” she inhaled briefly to steel herself, “did you nearly abandon me in the campus parking lot because you were nervous that night?”

With every step they took and he refrained from answering, she worried again if she had ruined things. Just as she was about to apologize for even suggesting he could be capable of such a silly emotion like that, he glanced over at her.

“Yes,” he said simply and she could breathe again. Walking next to him made it difficult to read any of his minuscule expressions, but his voice was neutral at least. “I was.” 

“Because I was really nervous?” she asked, thinking of how he said they responded to each other’s strong emotions.

Again, the answer took a while. “No, it was just me.” Something glittered in his eyes when he looked at her. “And by then you were pissed off.”

“Well, _you_ were sulking in the car the entire way there,” she countered without hesitation. “I started to worry you had changed your mind about the whole thing.”

He sighed at her words as if realizing he had to explain. “The alternative would’ve been to drive us into a ditch.” Again, he squeezed her hand and subsequently made her heart skip. “You were,” he shrugged, “distracting.”

“Distracting?”

Cue the eye roll, but she saw the smile tugging at his lips. “Hot.”

If it hadn’t been for his hand, she would have stopped dead in her tracks. Now she nearly tripped when forced to follow along as he kept walking.

“Attractive. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Was that what you wanted to hear?”

Each word sent a new spin into her core. Delivered with his usual indifference, but no trace of sarcasm yet.

Questions bubbled up, fueled by her own insecurity. Did he really think that? Was he just humoring her? Or worse, mocking her? Was it an objective opinion or clouded by the mate-bond?

“I wasn’t fishing for compliments,” she tried to defend while simultaneously making sure her legs were moving forward to keep up with him. “I just-” She cut herself off. She just what? To answer her own question, she finished lamely with: “Didn’t think it was that.”

“I’m realizing the whole world has an unfair advantage in picking up signs compared to you,” Derek commented drily and stopped this time when she did, their hands hanging like a pendulum between them. He looked somewhat amused, one eyebrow lifted. “It’s a bit of a hit or miss with these compliments. Now you smell anxious and I have no idea why.”

Joe tried to sort out her thoughts and that required too much of her focus to be walking at the same time. “Is it just because of the bond?”

The casual shrug from him did not exactly ease her nerves. Instead of asking the many insecure questions swirling around, she allowed him to tug her along to keep walking.

“Does it matter?” he asked eventually. Somehow his pace had slowed down further and Joe realized they were getting close to the restaurant and he was stalling. There it was again, that slight uncertainty in his tone, disguised as indifference or detachment. When she just blinked at him, he shrugged too casually for it to be real. “The reason I find you attractive. Does it matter?”

“Kinda.” Her brows furrowed, confused by the question itself. Of course it mattered. “I want you to like me because of who I am, not because you’re forced to just accept that this is what you get. You’re objectively hot, so-”

“And you’re not?”

She hesitated at his blunt question. That wasn’t the point anyway. Instead of answering, she clarified: “I just don’t want you to like me _because_ of the bond.”

“How you’re liking me despite it?” Derek asked, only a crease to his eyes telling her he was joking, at least partially. They could see the restaurant now across the street and Joe guessed that was why Derek slowed down to a full stop. He sighed and spoke at a careful pace: “Maybe it’s easier if you think of the bond as the _how_ and not the _why._ ”

It was easier to get lost in those eyes, she thought before answering: “I have no idea what that means.”

“Maybe we should talk about this after we get through dinner with your dad?”

“Maybe,” she agreed as she realized she had nearly forgotten all about the dinner. “Uh, another favor. If this ends in an argument, don’t intervene. It probably won’t,” she added as he looked mildly put off, “things have been good so far, but just to be on the safe side. Uh, and also,” she switched seamlessly: _“¿Qué tan bueno es tu español?”_ How good is your Spanish?

Her dad had seemed to be on some kind of Spanish-kick after returning from Mexico and it wasn’t impossible he would want to test Derek.

Derek shrugged. _“No sé, díme tú.”_ I don’t know, you tell me. He rolled his eyes when she kept looking at him expectantly. _“No sé qué es lo que quieres que diga. ¿Esto es suficiente? ¿O quieres que le siga?”_

“Okay, you should be fine,” she said quickly to cover up from the rising heat at hearing ‘her’ language from his mouth. It was so hot, especially because it sounded like California-Spanish where she admittedly was more used to the New York-variant. “Just stay away from most slang, because Argentina’s got their own spin so don’t use the word seashell in Spanish if it should come up. Or _coger_ as it means,” she cleared her throat, “something else.”

Realizing they were already running late, she talked fast. “Other than that it’s just the regular awkward questions that come from meeting the in-laws. Nothing to worry about.” Something occurred to her and she hesitantly asked: “Have you...met in-laws before?”

The question remained unanswered as a familiar booming voice cut over the street and they both turned towards Rob Delgado. Dressed in a darker, not rumpled suit, he waved at them from the restaurant entrance with a half-smoked cigarillo in one hand.

Automatically, she waved back and felt a tight smile line her lips. Half of her wanted to repeat her earlier question to Derek because she just realized Derek might not actually have dated so much after what happened with Kate and Paige.

“Relax,” Derek said instead and draped his arm around her to cross the street. “I’ve met your dad before.”

“I am so not worried about _you_ right now,” Joe mumbled, but tried to smile when they reached her dad who apparently seemed intent to wait for them. “Hi! Sorry we’re late. We were...walking.”

“Hey, what’s twenty minutes in a long life, eh?” her dad said with a short laugh and extended his hand to Derek. “Good to see you again, Derek. More pleasant occasion now, thank God.”

“Agent Delgado,” Derek said in greeting while Joe pondered if this could in any way be classified as pleasant. They shook hands, but before she could worry about Derek utilizing his super strength to crush her dad’s hand, they’d released each other and her dad looked happy enough.

“Call me Rob,” he said and opened the door for them. “Or at least use the full title, it’s _Special_ Agent Delgado.” He laughed easily. “I’m kiddin’. Come on, we’re in here.”

This was gonna be a long night, Joe thought as she plastered on a smile.

Beacon Hills didn’t have too many restaurants, but this place was one of the more popular ones. Probably one of the few who had long white tablecloths on all the tables with tasteful flower decorations in the windows. It was the kind of place where you kept your voice down when talking to maintain the relaxed ambiance. Carpeted floor muffled most sounds when they walked and waiters glided between the tables dressed in immaculate black shirts. A large glass wall separated them from the inside of the kitchen without blasting them with the sound of people cooking frantically at different stations.

Unlike last time, they were seated at a round table near a window. Her dad gestured to the chairs that allowed Derek and Joe to sit closest to each other with her dad at the point of the triangle on the other side.

“Took the liberty of ordering a bottle of red wine for the table,” her dad said as Joe tried to ignore his wide smile at the sight of Derek pulling out her chair. Instead of waiting for the waiter, her dad also took the liberty of pouring their glasses. “A nice Malbec from Mendoza. You like red wine, Derek?”

“It’s fine,” Derek said with a nod and accepted the glass. “Not a connoisseur, but Mendoza is in Argentina, right?”

“It’s where our family’s from,” Joe intercepted and snatched her own glass. Her dad was not a typical wine drinker, but she was. Argentine Malbecs were more fruity than its French cousin, but it was a deeply saturated color all the same. Also high in alcohol percent. “It’s his way of leading up to the question if you’ve ever been to the great Land of Silver.”

She froze, as she had never made that connection before. _Argent_ was French for silver, but it had a Latin origin and used to mean the same in Spanish.

“No, I haven’t,” Derek answered both of them, seemingly unbothered by her reference to the word ‘silver’ in any language. “Only spent some time in Venezuela when I was younger, my mother had friends there.”

“At least it’s the right continent,” her dad said with a smile and lifted his glass, waiting for them to mimic him. Joe gave him a suspicious look at where all this newfound patriotism came from. “ _Salud!”_

“ _Salud_ ,” she and Derek chorused and Joe took a large sip of the rich wine. It was a good one, she would have to give her dad credit there. Tasted of husky black fruits and oak, a hint of acidity, but paired nicely with something akin to vanilla. Her brows furrowed as she took another smaller sip. Kind of tasted like Derek.

“Approved?” her dad asked and she shrugged to indicate that it was okay. They were spared any further conversation as the waiter arrived with their menus and made a big show of both filling their water glasses and top off their wine glasses. This was just the kind of high-end restaurant where they frowned upon patrons serving themselves.

One of the skills her dad had cultivated during his years as an agent was the ability to small-talk about absolutely everything to everyone. He did not seem affected the slightest by his companions’ lackluster responses and had some sort of comment to make upon everything available on the menu. Somehow, he worked in that they just had to go for three courses when they were already here and to order whatever they wanted as he would foot the bill.

Not even remembering if she had eaten today, Joe still found herself without a real appetite. So far things had gone okay, but she realized she was just waiting for the ball to drop. Some offhanded comment that would set her off, some rebuttal to a question that would aggravate her father — she wondered if Derek realized he was the one at the table with the least anger issues at the moment.

“So, Derek, what do you do when you’re not out with my daughter?” her dad asked once the waiter had taken their orders. It seemed like an innocent question, but this was not her college friends that she saw once or twice a year. This was not only her dad, but also a man who had every opportunity to fact-check whatever statement Derek could give to that question. “You go to school or?”

“I’m between projects at the moment,” Derek answered slowly, “but I’ve done some extensive restorations of vintage sportscars in the past.”

And like that, the conversation was about cars again.

As far as Joe knew, her dad was not a typical car-guy, but he had that enthusiastic interest in cars that all guys seemed to have on some basic level. She got the impression he _wanted_ to be a car-guy or he at least acted interested enough for Derek to elaborate on some of the earlier projects. Projects that Derek explained with such detail they had to have actually happened.

“...we coated the SSI’s and the exhaust with ceramic to get the same finish from the factory. It’s got better heat dissipation and it’s longer-lasting even with stainless steel,” Derek said and leaned back when the waiters arrived with their appetizers. “You can redo just about any mechanical job, but redoing bodywork is basically starting over.”

“This was the 1974 911S?” her dad clarified as Joe absentmindedly thanked the waiter for both their food and topping her wine glass again. Derek and her dad were too busy talking to drink, which suited her fine.

Derek nodded. “Restored to factory state, except the new AC.”

“Back when I was fresh out of the Academy,” her dad started and laughed, “I had this old-school Dodge Diplomat, 84-model. I say old-school, but back then switching to four-barrel V8s was like driving a rocket ship.”

“You got it through your job then?” Derek asked and Joe watched him while trying to eat her own food at the same time. She did not even hear her dad answering before Derek continued: “The 360-engine was only available to the police; civilians got the 318 CID.”

And like that, Joe realized she could listen to Derek talk about anything — even cars — for the rest of her life.

There was something about the alertness in his eyes as he talked. Something about how he did not seem to waste any movement of his body; every glance, every expression, every shift served a function. His voice lost the hard edge though and his shoulders were down. Not tense, just attentive.

Just as her dad took the last bite of his crispy fried pacific oysters, his phone rang and he excused himself from the table. “Sorry, guys, gotta take this. Go ahead without me.”

Used to this at least, Joe just nodded and watched him head out the restaurant’s front doors, already changing to his work-mode. She leaned her elbow next to her plate, done with her appetizer as well, and took a slow sip of wine while studying Derek.

“What?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

“You’re not acting, are you?”

He was not behaving as he had at that reunion dinner. As easy as the conversation flowed now, he was not laughing or smiling more than he did with her. He was...normal. Not stoic or closed off or suspicious. Derek Hale seemed genuinely interested in the subject.

“No,” he replied to her question and made a slight head tilt to challenge her opinion on the matter. She just smiled, both at him and at the waiter who came to take their plates. Joe accepted the offer of a new bottle of wine, as they — mostly she — had finished the previous one. Derek shrugged and Joe found herself deeply captivated by how snug the shirt was over his shoulders. “I like cars.”

“I noticed,” she said, but still smiling. It made her wonder how much of his behavior at the reunion dinner had been genuine. If he had actually appreciated the opportunity to talk about cars with Caleb and Kyle. He had said she needed some normal in her life and she wondered if that applied to him too. Their lives had been dominated by one emergency after the other lately.

“You okay?”

“Surprisingly, yes.” She raised her glass and took another sip. “Wine’s helping.”

That made him smile. “Might wanna slow down just for your dad’s sake. If your healing’s anything like ours, you won’t be able to get more than a buzz anyway.”

“I know, Erica told me.” The smile fell away at the mention of the name. Joe swallowed and put the glass down, something cold and dead filling her veins instead of blood. She tilted her head in the direction her dad went. “Can you hear the call?”

Apparently, he was not going to question the morals of listening in on the phone conversation. He got that faraway look in his eyes. “His supervisor wants him down to Orange County. Your dad’s bargaining for a few more days here.” He focused on her again. “He has a gut feeling about this.”

“Well, he’s not wrong is he?” Joe mumbled and tried to straighten up on the chair. “He got any leads?”

“No that I can hear,” Derek said and reached over to grab her hand again. The warmth of his fingers counteracted some of the chill that had just run through her body. “We’ll find them, Joe.”

As her dad returned to the table, Derek released her hand and she tried to smile to indicate she’d heard him. If she believed him was another story. It had been so long already — and Derek was still keeping secrets.

“So, Derek,” her dad said as he sat back down. “Mets or Yankees?”

“Lakers,” was Derek’s instant reply and her dad laughed loudly.

Joe took another generous sip of wine. Sports were only marginally better than cars. “We’re Yankees,” she told Derek with a roll of her eyes. Of all the sports, she abhorred baseball the most. The games took forever.

“A basketball fan then?” Rob Delgado seemed to approve just on the notion of Derek liking sports at all. “You play?”

Derek nodded slowly. “I did. In high school.” He shrugged. “Some neighborhood games in Brooklyn. Not much these days.”

“High school, right,” her dad said with a feigned nonchalance that made Joe narrow her eyes. “You went to Beacon High, right? Same as Scott? Thought lacrosse was the big thing here.”

“Not when I went,” Derek replied and Joe saw his jaw tighten. High school was not a particularly good topic. “I left before senior year.”

Without commenting on that, her dad nodded. “Never got lacrosse myself. How about football, you a fan?”

“Not really. Too violent,” Derek said and Joe choked on her wine.

As she coughed and sputtered, Derek reached over absentmindedly to pat her back. The liquid dislodged and she grabbed the napkin to wipe her running eyes. Derek kept his hand on her back, rubbing gently until she gave him a thumbs up that she was okay. It was hard to catch, but there was a flicker of a smirk on his lips and she knew he’d definitely said that for her benefit.

“You okay, kid?”

“Fine,” she said and downed a half glass of water instead. Their main course arrived and forced Derek to take his hand off her, but he seemed to trail his fingers along the back of her ribcage longer than strictly necessary. Someone was getting a bit too comfortable.

Derek and her dad discussed some basketball that she didn’t really bother to pay attention to. Her dad glanced at her when the waiter refilled her glass, but didn’t comment. Somehow they got back onto the subject of high school basketball where Derek revealed they’d won some kind of championship when he was a Sophomore.

“You know,” her dad said in a tone that told Joe it meant trouble, “Joe played soccer in high school.”

“I didn’t really play soccer in high school,” she protested, glancing between him and Derek. “I was on the team.”

“You played a few seasons,” her dad said with a shrug and she rolled her eyes.

“I was stuck in defense because I was useless anywhere else,” she informed Derek. “Soccer’s not my high school success story, believe me. My debate team, however, did win the William Woods Tate, Jr. Team Excellence Award twice.”

“You were in defense,” her dad corrected her as if he hadn’t heard the comment about the debate team, “because you weren’t afraid to get your hands dirty. That old Delgado-check came in handy as well.”

“Uncle Raf says it’s the McCall-check,” Joe countered immediately, “and he was the one who taught it to me. You were working, remember?”

Like he had been during every single game she ever got to play.

“Your Uncle Raf has high thoughts of himself just because he’s seven feet tall.” Her dad gestured to himself using his fork. “I taught him the tackle in the first place. I hit them with the old,” he did a swift shoulder motion, mimicking the tackle, “and they’d drop like rain.”

Joe groaned at the inevitable dad joke.

As expected, her dad grinned. “Get it, because of ‘raindrop’?”

“I wish I didn’t,” she murmured and had more wine, which paired well with the steak she had apparently ordered. For once, Derek’s stoicism came in handy as he focused solely on the food as if he hadn’t heard either of them. “Can we change the subject?”

“Anyway, Josie’s team would definitely have qualified for the city championship,” her dad commented as he ate, again ignoring what she said, “if they hadn’t lost their key player.”

The name could just as well have been a pair of claws raking down her neck. Not made better how he seemingly didn’t even notice. “They never _lost_ their _key_ player, I was kicked off the team because I _lost_ so many practices.”

“Well, I still think you had potential,” her dad said in a disarming manner that grated on her nerves. He addressed Derek, who looked as uncomfortable as he could without showing much emotion: “They were bookie’s favorites for the 03/04-season.”

“No one cares, Dad.”

“Could’ve been your best season yet, all I’m saying.”

“Oh, you mean the season I was _unavailable_?” The knife skidded across the porcelain as she stabbed her meat a bit harder than necessary. “They got lucky getting rid of me before end of term.”

Again he shrugged, not even looking up from his plate. “Had every chance to make a comeback your Senior-year.”

“Oh my God, Dad, varsity soccer’s not the highlight of my high school career!” Joe slammed her cutlery down onto the plate. “If you don’t remember, I was kinda busy my Senior-year. Or maybe you don’t remember since you spent most of it out of state?”

“Because I was working-”

“And you were _always_ working.”

“You wanna do this here?” her dad asked, gesturing to the restaurant at large. “Again?”

“Why not? Pick up where we left off.” She took a sharp sip of wine and gestured to him. “You want to brag about me in high school, brag about that! I graduated with my original class in the top five percentile after losing an entire year, that’s not good enough for you?”

He muttered under his breath, not even looking at her: “Losing an entire year’s a nice way of puttin’ it.”

“Sorry, sorry,” she corrected with sarcasm dripping, “after spending my entire Junior-year in juvie. That’s your shame, Dad, not mine.”

Her dad’s nostrils flared, but he kept his voice low. “You still think that was my fault?”

“You still think it was mine?”

“Goddamnit, kid,” her dad said and now put down his own cutlery. “At some point, you gotta start takin’ some responsibility for your actions.”

“Right back at ya,” Joe said and leaned back in her chair with the wine glass still in hand. Even through her anger, she could hear how her accent crept back. “What? They don’t teach causation at the Academy? You don’t think _any_ of the choices you made played a part?”

“You know damn well that it was your own actions that landed you in there, Josie. I’d been covering for ya for too long already-”

“It’s _Joe_ ,” she snapped back in a hiss. “Not Josie, not _Josefina_ , but Joe. And I do take full responsibility for all my actions, but all those actions could have been avoided if you’d acted like a parent instead of a warden.”

“The end doesn't justify the means, kid. Action and state of mind are both elements of guilt.”

“Exactly! At least I can stand for both of mine! What’s your excuse?”

Her dad’s phone rang as they both glared at each other, neither willing to back down an inch. Grumbling, he checked the display and his stern mask became even harder.

“I gotta take this,” her dad bit out and tore away from the table.

The other people in the restaurant turned to watch him leave, but quickly averted their gazes when they noticed her staring at them. She did not even realize she’d half-risen in her chair before Derek’s hand on her wrist gently coaxed her back down.

“Shit,” she hissed and shoved the plate further in on the table, appetite completely gone. So angry with her dad, she’d nearly forgotten Derek was even there. “Sorry.”

Without saying a word, Derek shifted his grip to hold her hand in his.

“I knew this was gonna happen,” she said, not sure if she was talking to herself or him. “This always happens. We can act civil for a while and then-” Her free hand mimicked an explosion. “I don’t even know why he pushed that soccer-stuff so hard! I hated soccer, if you couldn’t tell, and I only started it in the first place because of his stupid love for Diego Maradona, the _only_ part of Argentine culture he didn’t try to suppress when I grew up. That and the wine, I guess.”

Not thinking, she let go of Derek’s hand to pour herself more of the aforementioned wine, but he reached over to tilt the bottle up. Much like he had done with the shotgun when she tried to shoot Peter, but this was somehow worse.

“You won’t get more than a buzz no matter how much you drink,” he said and held eye contact while putting the bottle at his end of the table. “You’ll only get sick.”

“Oh Jesus Christ,” she mumbled and slumped back in her chair as she rubbed her face. Humiliation trumped the anger and she bit her lip in thought. “I hate when you’re being all rational.”

Derek saw right through that. “Really?”

“No,” she admitted, “I hate when I’m being all _ir_ rational.”

“You’re not irrational, you’re hurt. It’s kay, Joe, it’s human.”

She glanced at her non-human companion, who was again acting way too considerate. “Can’t you turn off your senses and live in ignorance for a bit?”

“Not when it comes to you.” A slight smile lingered on his lips despite her sour mood. “Our hearing’s selective, our sense of smell is less so.”

“Sounds exhausting.” Joe drew in a deep breath herself. “I don’t know why I thought it’d be different this time. He’s been acting weird since he came back. Only tonight he was back to his normal self, so I guess I shouldn’t worry. Seriously, the soccer blindsided me, I’d been mentally preparing for the story on how we had permanent stains in the ceiling after I tried making cocoa like Grandma did. But instead, no, soccer.” She gestured at the front doors of the restaurant where her dad had gone outside to talk. “And this! He _always_ does this! I think I can count on one hand how many dinners we’ve had without interruption.”

The waiter came fluttering to ask if they needed anything else, obviously unsure of how to interpret the three unfinished plates, one of the patrons missing and the other two obviously not eating.

“We’re fine, thank you,” Derek told them and they fluttered away again. With a short glance to the main doors, obviously determining that Rob Delgado was not about to storm back in, Derek turned in his chair so he faced her. “Do you want me to ask or back off?”

Joe had covered her face with her hand in thought, but now peered at him through her fingers. “Ask about what? Juvie?” At his slight nod, she shrugged. “I’ve told you I was in juvie before. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not sure if overhearing while you tried to twist Kate’s knee out of socket counts as being told,” Derek said in his neutral tone that might have been considered harsh if she didn’t know him. Joe frowned at that memory — she hadn’t twisted hard enough. “Never told me why.”

Lacking a wine glass all of a sudden, Joe grabbed the water instead. “Technically because I pulled the fire alarm at the Montefiore Medical Center.” She gulped down half the glass of water before continuing. “I pulled the fire alarm because I was currently breaking into their archives and wanted to buy time.” Now empty, she rolled the glass around in her hand. “I was breaking into their archives because I wanted to find my birth records.”

“Your mom,” Derek said, not even guessing as it was pretty obvious. She still shook her head.

“I wasn’t even looking for her back then. I just wanted a name, you know? I never even questioned that I didn’t have a mom when I was growing up. Pretty much everyone else on the block only had one parent, a lot of single moms, divorces, stuff like that. It wasn’t until I was seven or maybe eight that I realized that you’re still supposed to have two sets of grandparents. Aunts, uncles, cousins on both sides. And Dad wouldn’t even tell me her name.”

Staring out into the air, she did her best to avoid crying. The wine buzz was more obvious the longer she refrained from drinking. “No name, no pictures, no backstory — nothin’. And I was a kid and had a good imagination, so I had all of these scenarios for why he would hide it.”

As Derek still watched her without saying anything, she laughed bitterly. “You ever see the movie ‘Princess Diaries’? It’s about this ordinary girl that learns she’s the heir to the throne of some obscure little country in Europe.” The wine made it easier to talk and she just let it all out without overthinking it for once. “Suddenly her grandmother, the current queen, shows up and it’s, you know, the classic makeover scene and she has to learn all this stuff- it’s stupid, I know, and I wasn’t expecting to find out I was royalty, but by then I’d lost both my grandparents on Dad’s side and it was just the two of us in New York because Aunt Mel, Raf, and Scott had already moved to Cali years earlier and...”

“Anyway,” Joe blinked away the treacherous tears, “I found a name, probably fake,” she cast a weary look to the wine bottle out of her reach, “and also that she didn’t die in labor like my dad told me.”

That was the kicker, wasn’t it? How her life derailed completely.

Swallowing the heavy lump in her throat, she put the water glass back on the table just to have something to distract herself with. “Which meant that my dad had essentially lied to me every day for fifteen years because that’s what he told me had happened.”

“I know I wasn’t perfect,” she continued, staring at the table with their unfinished plates, “and that I did a lot of stupid shit for attention or whatever because he worked so much, but the hospital-stuff...” She shrugged with a sad shake of her head. “Could have been avoided if he’d just told me her goddamn name. Or just told me she was alive, because I’m not stupid, ya know? No way a single dad gets full custody unless there’s some stuff goin’ on with the mom. He’s a federal agent, but he’s not omnipotent. If she wanted to be in my life, she would’ve been.”

Realizing that she was definitely the culprit of the bad mood around the table, she rubbed her face again. “Is he comin’ back?”

“No,” Derek said softly after a few seconds’ concentration. “He’s still on his phone.”

Something about his tone made her look up at him. Neutral expression, but soft eyes and she hated seeing the pity in them.

“SSA?”

His hesitation became even more obvious and she narrowed her eyes.

“No? Who then?”

“San Francisco-office called him,” Derek said slowly as he studied her face. She could only imagine the angry frown lingering there, but at least she hadn’t actually cried yet.

“And?”

“And then he called someone else,” Derek relented with a sigh. Before she could ask who, he gave her a resigned look. As if he didn’t actually want to tell her, but also knew she would not let this go until he did. “He’s on his phone with his therapist.”

“Oh shit,” Joe blurted out and pushed her chair back from the table so she could lean forwards on her knees. She was seated closest to the window with Derek between her and the rest of the restaurant, but it would still look stupid if people were paying attention. Not very ladylike either in her dress, but she didn’t care. The anger had been replaced by sadness and now by guilt. All this because he’d started talking about _soccer?_

“Don’t tell me what he’s saying, I don’t want to-”

Derek shook his head. “I’m not listening to _him_. You okay?”

“I am really sorry for all of this,” she whispered in the direction of her own hands clasped in front of her. “I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea. I told him no twice and then...”

_then I just wanted an excuse to see you_. Which had turned into an opportunity to humiliate herself in front of him instead. Karma was a solid bitch.

“Maybe we’re lucky we don’t have to do this with your in-laws,” Derek said in a completely straight tone and Joe looked up at him in horror only to see a slight tilt to his mouth. He reached over to put his hand on top of both of hers. “Or do you want to have dinner with me and Peter?”

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” she whispered, unable to help the slightly breathless laugh at the really dark humor. It did not help with her guilt the slightest — here she was whining about her dad while Derek had lost literally his entire family. He would probably kill for a chance to even talk to his parents. “Derek, I’m-”

“Don’t apologize for that,” Derek said, quoting himself from their date. He squeezed her hands, the tingles going straight from his fingertips and up her arms like a reverse pain-siphoning effect. “It was a joke. At least I hope so; I can’t make any promises about Peter.”

“As much as I despise your uncle, I’m not sure I can picture anything going worse than this.”

Sick to her stomach, not sure if the wine or her own feelings was the culprit, she straightened back up in her chair. As Derek did not make any moves to pull away, she held his hand in her lap, soaking up the warmth and good feelings from just touching him.

“Thanks for not intervening. It’s enough that he’s angry with me, I still want him to like you and yes, I know how stupid that sounds.”

Derek cast another glance at the door before he scooted his chair a bit closer to her so that their knees touched when he leaned forward. As he’d done in the car, Derek rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb as he sighed. “Joe, he’s not angry with you.”

She only gave him a skeptical frown.

“There’s some anger, but...” Derek hesitated, probably realizing he shouldn’t tell her. He shrugged as if that would make it easier to digest. “Mostly he’s sad.” His hands tightened around hers. “Just like you.”

It took a lot to stop the tears. She bit her teeth together, closed her eyes, and focused only on Derek’s hands, his scent, and where his knee still touched hers. The restaurant kept churning on around them, but they were as relevant as the almost empty wine bottle.

Eventually, Derek sighed. “Like I said, not always an advantage. I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no, it’s fine,” she said after finding her voice. “I’m preaching honesty, I should be able to handle the truth.” Her eyes opened to look at Derek, the awkward bystander to her and her dad’s mess. “I should go talk to him. Right? Do you want to leave? I totally understand, I’m so, so sorry about all of this.”

“I’m not leaving unless you are. If you want to talk to him, it’s up to you.”

“Okay,” Joe breathed out and tightened her grip on his hand before managing to get up from her chair. As she automatically straightened out her dress, she winced as she looked at Derek. “Uhm, can I ask you to not-”

“I won’t.” As she must have looked skeptical, Derek sighed. “Even if you don’t trust me on anything else, trust me on this: I promise I won’t listen.” He gave her a small smile. “I’m on your side here, remember?”

They looked at each other for a few seconds before Joe whispered: “Thank you.”

Derek got up and let her past him with a small touch on her back. “He’s in the alley behind the restaurant. I’ll wait here.” As she passed him, he leaned down to the side of her ear and whispered: “ _Howl if you need me_.”

“Wise-ass,” she mumbled, but smiled at him to show her appreciation and forced her legs to move.

A major sense of deja vu came over her as she saw her dad in the alley, smoking a cigarillo as he had a personal vendetta against it while talking on the phone in a low voice. So close to summer, the warmer air gave no relief this time, but she still hugged herself automatically. She had no idea what she was going to say — apologize? Explain? Give him a chance to apologize?

The second he clicked off his phone and turned around, she knew what was going on.

“You’re leaving.” Not even a question. The expression on his face — part preoccupied, part apologetic — was one she was used to. Trying not to sound too vexed, she asked: “Now?”

“Your uncle called,” was his only explanation, but he heaved a great sigh and snuffed out his cigarillo. “They got a situation in San Francisco, they’re sendin’ a cab. I’m sorry, _mijita_ , you know I wouldn’t leave if it wasn’t-”

“Life or death,” Joe finished for him, the initial tension of coming out here in the first place deflating. She’d heard this before at least. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry ‘bout him,” her dad said and checked his watch. His brows pulled together as did his mouth — he both looked and sounded genuinely apologetic. When he spoke, the words came slow and unsure. “It’s not that you’re not,” he gestured in her direction, “the most important thing in my life, _mija_. You’ve always been and you’ll always be more important than any job-”

“Dad, are you dying?” The question blurted out before she could stop it and the tears she had fought to hold back inside the restaurant now threatened to make an appearance again. “Like, do you have cancer or a heart condition or something? Why are you talking like this? You haven’t called me _mijita_ since I was eight.”

To her surprise, her dad laughed. “Aw, baby, _mija_ , no.” He must have seen the genuine fear on her face as his features softened. “No, I’m just...I’m trying to fix things before it’s too late. A lot of things.”

“Why would it be too late? What _happened_ in Mexico, Dad?”

Shaking his head, he checked his watch again. Apparently, he still had time as he put both hands on his hips. The movement pushed his jacket back and she saw the contours of the gun-holster under his arm. “We lost a guy.”

“Oh shit,” Joe hissed and her face twisted in a grimace. “Dad, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well, you know, it happens. Sometimes the good guys don’t come out on top. He was, uh, one of the local ones. A good guy, helluva an agent. And he had a kid, a son, who he talked about non-stop. All the time, how proud he was of him. He talked about him as he was bleeding out too like it was literally the only thing he could think about and you know what he told me?”

Tears ran freely down her cheeks; she bit her teeth together and shook her head.

“He told me,” her dad swallowed, rubbed a hand over his chin, “he hadn’t seen him in ten years. They’d fallen out over, I dunno, something, not sure if even he remembered. All he remembered was that it wasn’t worth it. Biggest regret of his life, he begged me to tell this to his son.” Joe shivered when her dad looked at her, tears evident in his own eyes. “And not even twenty-four hours later I get the call that you’ve been shot.”

A chill ran through her chest, like phantom pain of scars long healed.

“ _You_ almost died, _Josefina_ ,” Dad said in an anguished tone. “You, not me.” He took a deep breath. “And I want to make things right and I don’t expect us to work things out right away, I don’t, but what happened in there just now? I’m sorry. That one was on me. I just wanted to,” he shook his head with a small scoff, “you know, I don’t know what I wanted.”

“Couldn’t you,” Joe wiped carefully around the eyes, not wanting to look like a raccoon, “just have changed the damned subject?” A sound between a laugh and a sob erupted. “Soccer, Dad? _Why_? Where did _that_ come from?”

Shaking his phone in his hand, he sighed again. “If I gotta be honest, and I got some advice to be honest just now, I wasn’t there for you like I was supposed to be after Tryon. Soccer’s all I know about your high school days.”

It had been something Alex had called him out on that New Year’s Even where everything went from bad to worse. It still didn’t make sense though and Joe shook her head. “You went to what, one game?”

“Yeah,” her dad said with a sad smile. “I did. But, uh, you remember Rita Sanchez? Emily’s mom? She used to tape the matches with that,” he held his hand up like he was holding a camera, “little Sony Handycam? After every game, when I got back in town, I paid her five bucks for a copy and then ten bucks not to tell you.”

“Oh my God,” Joe laughed, but it sounded more like a cry and her shoulders shook. “Are you serious? You asshole. You absolute asshole, why couldn’t you just have told me that, I don’t know,” her voice cracked and she openly cried, “eight years ago?”

Before she could think, her dad threw away his cigarillo and wrapped his arms around her. Already hugging herself, her arms were trapped between them, but she leaned her head on his shoulder as he enveloped her in a solid bearhug, stroking her hair carefully.

“I don’t know.” He sounded as tired as she felt. “I honestly don’t. We’re hardheaded people, _mija_. Both of us.” She could smell the cigarillo in the fabric of his jacket. “Why didn’t you tell me what you found at Montefiore?” His voice was muffled to the side of her head. “Why didn’t you tell me _that_ eight years ago?”

“Because I was so angry,” she admitted and knew her makeup would smudge against his shoulder. “And I knew you’d be angry too.”

Like he had been when he did find out. When Alex had screamed it in his face, on how Joe was slowly killing herself because of his lies. The memory chilled some of her sadness, but they were spared any deeper conversation on that subject.

A cab pulled up at the end of the alley, outside the restaurant.

Her dad’s sigh transferred into her and she closed her eyes as he released her. To her surprise, he planted a kiss on her forehead and she felt fifteen years old again. Only this time, he was leaving and not her.

“I’m sorry, _mijita,_ I gotta go.” His hands rested on her shoulders and she felt the tears dry on her cheeks. “Give me a sec, I gotta tell the driver to wait.”

As he hurried over to the cab, Joe ran a finger underneath both eyes, hoping to catch any fallout. All this crying — she was not cut out for these kinds of conversations. Her dad came back and wordlessly handed her both his handkerchief and his phone to use as a makeshift mirror and she tried to fix the most obvious damage.

“Take a few deep breaths.”

“Shut up.” She did as told though and realized her healing made the puffiness around her eyes go away faster than usual. Handing him back both the mascara-smudged handkerchief and his phone, she took another deep breath. “This isn’t enough, Dad, you realize that, right? Fixing things is gonna take more.”

He hesitated for a second before gesturing her closer. “I know, baby. Come on, let’s get you back inside.”

Short on time, he steered her back inside the restaurant where people glanced at them and quickly looked away. Already, Joe could see the signs of her dad’s pragmatism. Bigger fish to fry somewhere — Uncle Raf wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important and Joe knew she would have done the same in her dad’s position. Personal wasn’t the same as important, not always. Not when people were dying.

The table had been cleared at least and Derek somehow did not look out of place sitting alone in the crowded restaurant.

“Sorry, Derek. Duty calls and I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you two,” her dad said and shrugged on the coat hanging on the back of his chair. Already with his mind at work, he managed to give a big smile, as if the conversation earlier hadn’t happened. She saw sweat gather in his thinning hairline as he tried to take stock of the table and Derek before he extended his hand. “Really good to meet you, sorry this got cut short. Take care of my girl here, would you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Derek said as he rose to shake his hand with only a short questioning glance at Joe, who gave a half-shrug in return.

“Hope we get another opportunity,” her dad said in the quick voice of someone who’s just going through the motions. His eyes fell on her where she stood next to the table, not sure if she really wanted to sit down or just bolt out of there. “ _¿Puedo hablarte mañana, por favor? Hablaremos entonces.”_

He’d call her tomorrow to talk. Her eyebrows rose at both his words and the language. Aunt Mel was the only one he regularly talked to in Spanish.

_“Ta bien,_ ” she said and tried to smile a bit, “ _pero antes de hacer el ridiculo deberías saber que Derek habla español.”_ Fine, but before you make a fool of yourself, know that Derek speaks Spanish.

_“Really_?” her dad asked, still in Spanish, with a surprised smile at Derek. “ _Okay, then I am even more sorry I have to leave._ ” He reached over to pat Joe on the shoulder, recognizing her statement as a temporary peace-offering. “ _Please, stay, enjoy your evening. Mija, my card is with the waiter, everything is on me. Again, sorry!”_

The cab outside honked once, making the entire restaurant look towards the windows, but Special Agent Delgado seemingly didn’t notice. He waved over his shoulder, his head already in work-mode the second he turned around.

Deflating, Joe sank down in her dad’s chair opposite Derek and didn’t know if she wanted to laugh, cry or just disappear. Before either she or Derek could say anything, the distressed waiter returned to their table and asked if they wanted their desserts now. By the way they posed the question, it wasn’t the first time and Joe realized it was probably the kitchen antsy to finish up their service so they could start cleaning.

“Can I have a cappuccino as well, please?” Joe asked after Derek confirmed they would only need two desserts. The waiter flourished away with promises of a cappuccino for Joe and a regular coffee for Derek. Alone at their table, Joe inhaled through her nose to get as much of Derek’s scent as possible. “I’m so sor-”

“Stop apologizing.” Derek straightened up in his chair to lean over the table, laying out his hand palm up halfway over to her side. “Please.”

She found herself studying his face for any clues if he’d heard the heartbreaking conversation out in the alley. Even if he probably hadn’t, she would never know for sure. He was too good at keeping secrets to ever let anything slip. Eventually, she placed her hand in his and watched it almost disappear in his grip.

“You want me to ask or back off?” He accompanied his words by lightly rubbing her fingers. “Up to you.”

“I want you to be different,” she said as an answer, staring at their hands more than his face. The waiter came with their coffees and she thanked them on autopilot before finding the nerve to establish eye contact with Derek. “Different from him. I want you to not keep things from me, Derek. I can’t, I _literally_ can’t invest anything more into this if that’s gonna be the case. Do you get that?”

Eyes flickering to the side — more a sign of hesitance than deception — before he nodded while looking at her.

“Because just now,” Joe tapped her fingers into Derek’s palm, “my dad apologized and said he wanted to fix things and he told me _something_ , sure, but not all of it.” Joe looked at Derek’s blank face. “Which is the exact same thing you did earlier, when you apologized for not telling me everything, but then you didn’t really tell me anything.”

Diversion techniques came in many forms and even if her dad had been honest about Mexico, he had a whole list of other lies he’d told. Derek had told her about anchors, but not about Erica and Boyd.

With a sigh, Derek nodded again. “I’ve been taught to keep secrets my whole life.” Voice flat and neutral, no readable emotion in his face. “It’s how we’re raised. Hidden equals safe.”

“I’m not going to tell my dad about you. It’s not about that.”

“I know,” Derek said with a slight smile to her, “and I appreciate it and if it helps, I don’t think he’d be able to find Erica or Boyd even if you did.” Her eyes narrowed, but Derek wasn’t done. “I wasn’t lying when you asked what I found at the gas station. I didn’t find anything. Neither did Peter. Not even a trace of scent of anyone but Erica.” A brief pause. “ Only Alphas are strong enough to mask their scent like that.”

“So the Alphas took them?”

Derek tilted his head in something between a nod and a shrug. “Or they went willingly.”

Neither glanced up when the waiter arrived with their desserts. She watched Derek intently as his eyes unfocused slightly, but then he was back with her, apparently safe to continue.

“Everything points to Erica and Boyd still being alive and,” Derek picked up the fork to dig into the Italian coffee cake dessert, “Peter says we should be careful if they suddenly come back.”

It took her a few seconds to get what he meant. “You think they’re trying to turn them into moles?” At Derek’s shrug, Joe ignored her own dessert in favor of the cappuccino. “To what end? What’s their motive?”

“That’s the part we don’t know yet. We don’t know where they’re keeping them or if they’re even in California anymore. We’re still trying to find them,” he reassured her and she realized her chemosignals must have given her instant panic away, “but if they wanted to just intimidate us, they would have killed them already. So whatever it is, it’s something else.”

Both kept quiet — Joe wordlessly pushed her dessert over to his side in case he wanted it — and she sipped her cappuccino while running her fingertips over Derek’s rough palm.

“Thank you,” she said after a while, ready to return the favor. “Uhm, Dad got some stills from the CC-TV at the gas station, but it was too blurry to make out any faces or distinguishing features. One looked to have long dark hair. As far as I know, Dad hasn’t found anything else. I’ll tell you if he does.”

Derek nodded and did indeed eat her dessert too.

After paying with her father’s card and ensuring the waiter over and over again that everything _had_ been lovely, they finally trudged out into the fresh spring night. Another table had left at the same time and was standing outside the restaurant waiting for a taxi, laughing and smoking cigarettes.

“Sorry,” she said to Derek for the tenth time that evening as she reached up to shake her curls out as if airing out her hair would help with her thoughts. They walked lazily down the street with no particular direction in mind, Joe a few steps ahead of him. “I am so sorry for dragging you to this. I don’t know what I was thinking. Can this not count as a date?”

“At least your ex didn’t announce her wedding plans tonight,” Derek said with a wry smile and held his hand out to her. “I’m starting to think dress shirts are bad luck.”

“Definitely not,” Joe said quickly.

Trying not to read too much into it, she accepted his hand and let him pull her closer. Like at the reunion dinner, just touching him made things bearable. Was it getting easier to touch him now or had she just gotten used to it? The slight tingle, the intense warmth, the strange comfort it brought? If she had interpreted Derek (and Peter) correctly, their bond had grown stronger the more time they spent together. Surely it had a certain saturation point, but she was not sure if they had reached it yet.

Derek had only pulled her close enough for them to walk side-by-side and now she felt like a teenager again. Technically, they had barely made it to first base in the baseball-centric metaphor for sexual acts. Two kisses and holding hands — no, they had definitely not reached the saturation point of a relationship.

He seemed content to just wander the sparsely populated streets of downtown Beacon Hills only illuminated by the stars and streetlights. It struck her that he’d basically been hiding from the Argents since he came back to Beacon Hills and he might not have done this since _he_ was a teenager.

Above them, the moon was still a few days shy of full. She wondered how Jackson Whittemore, their impromptu love doctor, would fare. She wondered what would happen with Erica and Boyd, wherever they were, for their second full moon. She wondered how long Derek’s willpower would last him on the night of the full moon based on how he’d dug his claws into the wall earlier today. Probably not something she should think about with him right next to her.

“How does the pack bond work?” she asked, still looking at the moon. “Can you feel...”

“Not like you.” Derek tugged at her hand again so she came close enough for him to slip his arm around her waist, a move so familiar she found herself leaning into it. “I can’t feel their pain, I can’t smell them from a mile away, I can’t _feel_ the bond like I can with you.”

“You can smell me-”

“A slight exaggeration,” Derek said and squeezed his arm around her. “At least I think so. Guess it depends on how much you want me to smell you.”

“What does that mean?”

He cleared his throat. “Like at the rave.”

So close to him, it was hard to tilt her head enough to see his expression, but she thought she saw a smile. “Are you trying to distract me from the fact that I took you on the worst dinner in the history of time?”

“Maybe,” he admitted and now he definitely smiled. “Is it working?”

“Kinda. Next time I’ll just ask you out for coffee or something. Tonight was a mess. I’m sorry you had to see that. I promise I’m not usually such a bitch, I-”

“Joe, I _know_ you. I don’t know everything about you, but I know you. This doesn’t make me think any differently about you. I’m slightly concerned you were able to break into a hospital when you were in high school,” he squeezed her again as she laughed, “but if you’re worried about scaring me away-”

“I literally can’t? You’re stuck with me anyway?”

They had somehow reached an alley without streetlights and he stopped, guiding her so she stood in front of him. In the soft illumination of the night sky and the still visible main street, she studied his face like so many times before. Chiseled jawline, sharp cheekbones, perfectly sculpted eyebrows, and the shadow of the stubble she had come to appreciate so much instead of the constant attempt to be clean-shaven as when she first met him. There was something so unnervingly authentic about him sometimes.

She realized he was watching her in turn and her stomach tingled at the thought. It was easy to feel inferior compared to him, but the way his eyes moved over her features did not exactly signal disgust or resignation. Quite the opposite, if she had to be honest. Still, she would give a lot to peer into his mind like he seemingly did with hers. To hear exactly what he thought. There was no comparing him with Alex. Joe had long since accepted that Derek would be different than her. A man of few words. Like his movements, used only with purpose and when necessary. Alex, on the other hand, was good at expressing every thought that crept into her mind and could paint a picture of Joe with her words, a picture that admittedly made Joe feel wanted and attractive.

“There,” he said and she blinked at him, thrown off by the sudden introduction of his voice. His eyes narrowed as he smiled down at her. “That’s the exact moment you started overthinking things.”

As he did not look annoyed or smug, she shrugged in return. “My chemosignals?”

Derek shook his head. “Your eyes too.”

She hadn’t even noticed how both his hands were on her waist until he lifted one of them to brush back a wayward curl that had escaped earlier.

The tips of his fingers left a fire in their wake over her temple. His words left a fire in her very soul. “Joe,” he said slowly, still staring into her eyes, “I don’t feel like I’m stuck with you, in any way. And I think you’re beautiful, but I can’t explain why more than I can explain why a sunset’s beautiful. You just are.”

If her heart beat any harder or faster she worried it would give him tinnitus. Or that it would climb up through her chest so she could just give it physically to Derek for safekeeping. Metaphorically she supposed he already had it.

Had he really just said that? Was she dreaming? No, she realized, not even in her dreams was he this sweet.

“Is this part of the new honesty-package or another advice from Jackson?”

“Did you really need to bring up Jackson right now?”

“What, he doesn’t do it for you?” She faltered at Derek’s unimpressed expression and looked down. “Sorry. I just, uhm, you know,” she blew air out her mouth, “thank you?”

With her head bent, she only felt when Derek leaned down next to her ear and whispered: _“I’m being honest.”_

It was hard to tell what came first: the blush, the goosebumps, or the smile. When she finally looked up to see him still watching her, she didn’t try to hide her happiness. To be fair, he could probably smell it on her anyway.

“Can I- can I see your eyes?” she whispered, without really knowing why. Seeing them earlier today had made her curious.

If the request surprised him, he hid it well. Instead, he just closed his eyes for a fraction too long for it to be a normal blink. The red glow replacing the natural green made her breathless all over again. As much as she had been around the werewolves lately, she was still not used to seeing it up close. No natural explanation. No science to explain it.

She swallowed before asking: “Can I see your whole face?”

He cast a short glance to the end of the alleyway, but there was no one here. With his hearing, she supposed he would be hard to ambush anyway. The transformation took longer than usual, he might have slowed it down for her benefit. Sideburns sprouted from his cheeks; his whole skull shifted to make room for more teeth and a broader nose; forehead pulled together to remind of a snout; his ears grew long and pointed.

As she trailed her fingers over this slightly less familiar face, he remained completely still. So many questions, but they would have to wait. Now she just wanted to study him. This was the first time she had seen this part of him when there was no immediate threat to their lives. No Peter, no hunters, and no kanima. She wanted this, she realized. Time with him, like this. There was still the overhanging concerns about Erica and Boyd, Kate Argent on the loose, the mate-bond and its practicalities...

“I know,” she said before he could comment on it. “Overthinking.”

“Seen enough?” he asked and even his voice sounded more guttural in this form. Animalistic. It was a form designed for intimidation, but she could not find it in herself to be scared. If she paid attention, she could feel how his hands on her waist had moved to not scratch her with his claws. He would never hurt her.

It was not a form made for expressions either, but there was something almost self-conscious about the way he looked at her. As she studied him, he was studying her in return.

Had she seen enough? No. Never enough. Could spend the rest of her life looking at him, in either of his forms. He was beautiful.

“Mm. Thank you,” she said anyway.

The change back went faster, even though she could see the coarse hair of the sideburns pull back into his face. Instinctually, she tried to poke his cheeks to see if she could feel anything under there. Realistically there should be hair follicles or something.

“It’s not science,” Derek told her as he had probably understood exactly what she was doing. Or he was amused by her prodding. “Don’t try and force logic where it doesn’t belong.”

“There’s logic,” she said and stood on her toes to kiss him gently on the lips for a short second, loving how warm he felt as she pressed her whole body into his, “just a different kind.”

His arms around her tightened as the kiss deepened.

She quickly found herself hating that both of them had roommates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One long-ass dinner, ladies and gentlemen and everyone in between. 
> 
> I have mixed feelings about this chapter. Bittersweet tension, Derek as an awkward bystander to some family drama, some answers to questions posed long ago... and yet, I dunno, maybe I've just read it too many times and it stopped making sense. Maybe it's just my own daddy issues making it a hard read. I do not know.
> 
> So please let me know what you guys think! Thank you for reading - I promise we're soon back with some action beyond the relationship-drama.   
> And Joe, my girl, you gotta see your aunt and cousin soon - it's been so long! 
> 
> Hope you all are staying safe and healthy!   
> btw: Twitter finally growing a pair and disabling a certain account is ah-ma-zing!


	57. The Mother

Coffee dripped morosely onto the tarp-covered floor of the sheriff’s station.

Restorations were in full swing now and she had side-stepped one construction worker up in a ladder when she’d heard a fast pattern of running feet. As someone called her name, she turned around — because what else were you supposed to do? — which caused Stiles Stilinski to run smack into her. Not that he ran into her on purpose, his foot had caught in the tarp and he tripped headfirst into her chest.

It could have been worse, she supposed, because his flailing hand had been dangerously close to a sexual harassment claim. Instead of her chest, however, it found the cardboard tray of coffees and in his attempt to regain balance, he pushed the whole tray up, emptying the content over her torso.

For a few seconds they — she, Stiles, and the construction worker still on top of the ladder — just stared.

“Hot!” Joe hissed and dropped the cardboard tray with three now empty cups to the floor so she could pull her t-shirt away from her skin. The coffee probably held around 180 degrees Fahrenheit now after the short walk from the coffee shop and cooled rapidly just from being flung at her, but it scolded her skin like it had been boiling. “Really hot! Oh shit, crap, that burns!”

Panic-stricken, Stiles grabbed a clipboard from a nearby desk and fanned her frantically with it. “Aah, sorry, so sorry!”

In the midst of swearing, Joe cared less about modesty and more about not getting second-degree burns and she wrenched off her jacket and t-shirt in a swift movement. “Uuaa! Hot, hot, hot-”

The sudden on-rush of cold air when the wet fabric left her skin nearly burned as much as the coffee had in the first place. Apologizing, Stiles kept fanning her with the clipboard while she tried to blow air down her chest to alleviate the burns.

Of course, that was when Sheriff Stilinski and Agent Delgado walked into the station.

They all froze. Stiles with the clipboard mid-air, Joe only in jeans and a coffee-soaked bra with her fingers splayed in jazz hands, and the poor construction worker still up in the ladder.

“Everything okay here?” Sheriff Stilinski asked as if he didn’t really want to know the answer.

“It’s not what it looks like!” Joe and Stiles chorused and Joe only made a face when Stiles turned to her with a wink, obviously satisfied with the unified thinking. Winking was not what they needed right now.

“Joe was carrying coffee and you ran into her?” the Sheriff asked tiredly. In response, Stiles tilted his head to indicate that was kind of accurate and Joe just shifted her jazz hands into thumbs up. The Sheriff sighed and nodded at the construction worker. “You seen enough, buddy?”

Joe’s head shot up to see the construction worker hanging out from his ladder to get a better view of her. Thumbs-up turned to middle fingers up.

The Sheriff turned a bit sideways to address his companion. “Special _Agent_ Delgado, if you go ‘round back there should be a spare t-shirt for your _daughter.”_

The ladder shook as the worker snapped himself back.

“Let’s go, kid, _”_ her dad said, obviously concealing a grin to appear stern. He had both hands in his pockets. “Come on.”

With his hands up in surrender, Stiles still somehow managed to be more in the way than humanly possible when Joe picked up her wet clothes and went to follow her dad. Could be because Stiles was looking distinctly up at the ceiling instead of her and she rolled her eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Stiles, you’ve seen me in a bikini,” she muttered when passing him, dodging his spastic movements.

“Yeah, when I was twelve!” Stiles squeaked, referencing when Joe had just moved to Berkeley and took Scott and him to the water park in Concord. Not that he had been less spazzy then.

With a last glare to both the construction worker and Stiles, she trudged after her dad, whose shoulders shook from holding in laughter. The Sheriff just gave her a tired nod, obviously not the first half-naked female in distress he’d encountered. He admonished Stiles to pick his jaw up from the floor and go get a mop.

“You okay, kid?” her dad asked when they reached the locker rooms and she had adorned a fetching gray t-shirt with the Beacon County-logo. At least it smelled clean. “No burns?”

“No,” she bit out and groaned when she realized her wet bra would leave marks under the shirt. With her back to her dad, she slipped out of it and pulled it through the sleeve of the t-shirt. “Just soaked and smelling like espresso.”

“You love espresso.”

Joe made a face as she tested how obvious her new bra-less existence was. “Not as a perfume. Your card’s in my jacket, by the way.” She nodded towards where she’d slung the soaked garments and her dad went to pick it up while Joe hunted the locker room for a hairdryer to dry up her bra at least. “Used it for the coffee too, but-”

“We’ll go get new coffee, kid,” her dad commented as he managed to pry her card loose from the wet denim. “Looks like your phone’s survived at least. You got three missed calls from... _Lobito_?”

Realizing equality had not reached Beacon County Sheriff’s department and there was no hairdryer, Joe glanced up at the screen her dad held up.

“Oh, uhm, that’s Derek,” she said slowly. “It’s, uh, a nickname. A stupid one, he hates it. It’s because, uh-”

“Yeah, well, he’s callin’ again. Can I answer?” her dad asked and became temporarily deaf when she loudly told him no. “ _¡Hola, hola!_ Rob Delgado speaking. _¡Hey mi buen Derek! ¿Qué onda, cuate? ¿Con que no pudiste poner a prueba tu español la otra vez, eh? ¿Cómo has estado?”_

“Tell him I’m fine!” Joe yelled at her dad who’d wandered back into the hall, talking Spanish like he was working undercover as someone _way_ younger. He had just asked Derek the Spanish equivalent of _‘What’s up, dude?’_ for Christ’s sake and Joe could feel herself getting warm all over again at the second-hand embarrassment. Great that her dad was finally accepting his heritage, bad that he insisted on taking it out on Derek. She made a mental note to apologize later, her dad was trying _way_ too hard here.

Of course, Derek would have felt that coffee on her skin. She _definitely_ felt that. With no hairdryer and no extra bra in sight, Joe sighed and stole two band-aids from the medicine cabinet as impromptu nipple covers. It made things less obvious, if not completely inconspicuous. Joe was all about body positivity and free the nipple, but would have liked to ease more into it than this. Goddamnit, Stiles.

_“Josefina? No, no, she’s fine. A little mishap with some spilled coffee. We’re headin’ out to get some new ones, you wanna jo-”_

“Dad, no!” Joe yelled again, hoping Derek would hear. “I said no!”

“ _Ah, right, I see. Listen, sorry I had to leave so suddenly last night, it was nice meetin’ ya. Would love to get the chance to tell you exactly why the Knicks are superior to the Lakers in person.”_

Her dad walked slowly back into the locker room without a hurry. Joe rolled her eyes at him, even with the butterflies soaring from thinking about Derek. After the mildly disastrous dinner, it had turned out kind of nice, just walking slowly back to the laundromat while talking about mundane stuff. Apparently, Derek was not only a car nerd, but also a literary omnivore. Joe rarely read fiction, but could listen to Derek talk about it all night.

_“_ And if I ever come across someone lookin’ for vintage sportscar restorations, I’ll send ‘em your way. You wanna talk to Joe, she’s right here?”

“Give me the damn phone,” Joe hissed and snatched it from her dad’s hand. “Hi.”

_“You okay?”_

Hearing his voice made her feel more than okay and she was glad of the makeshift nipple covers. God, Delgado, you got it bad for this guy.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Joe said, turning her back on her dad who had begun to whistle innocently. If he saw the lovesick smile on her face she’d never live it down. “You?”

_“I’m fine.”_ It was hard to tell, but it sounded like he was smiling too. “ _Guess you don’t want me to join for coffee?”_

“Uh, no, don’t take it personally, it’s just that my clothes got soaked in the last coffee I bought and I’m currently without a bra at the sheriff’s station so I could do with as few witnesses as possible,” she muttered under her breath so her dad wouldn’t hear. The phone went so quiet she had to check the call was still active. “Derek? Still there?”

He cleared his throat. _“Yeah, I’m here.”_ A tingle went down her spine when she realized he sounded strained. _“And-”_ He groaned and that noise definitely caused a reaction in her body. “ _And now Jackson and Peter are heading up. I gotta go. Talk later.”_

Hanging up, she unconsciously pushed the phone into her heart. So many highlights from last night. Holding hands, him calling her beautiful, walking the streets at night- oh my God, she was sounding like a high school romance novel from the 50s. After the tiny kiss she’d given him in the alley, they had kissed good night as well outside the laundromat. He’d even asked her if that was okay and just that question alone made it more than okay. It had been a toe-curling, arms around his neck, his hands on her waist, standing on her tip-toes, open-mouthed kiss that left her warm in her entire body, so much that she almost floated upstairs.

Still well within PG-13 and she was beginning to worry if her body would be able to withstand it if they ever progressed. As Derek did not seem to mind the current pace, she was not going to rush into anything. There was a real possibility he would not be comfortable going further anytime soon because of past traumas, and she wanted him to be okay with everything they did. Besides, both of them had roommates with super hearing — you’d need more than a sock on the door handle.

It was surreal though, counting the number of kisses like she was in junior high, but she just wanted more. Good morning-kisses and good night-kisses and welcome back-kisses and I lov-

“Hey, kid, you okay?”

She snapped to attention when she realized she was still clutching the phone to her heart like a lovesick schoolgirl. Her dad was watching her with an expression eerily similar to Aunt Mel, with eyebrows raised and a secretive smirk.

“You gotta little,” he gestured to her chin, “drool right there.”

“Shut up,” Joe bit back and dropped the hand that she’d automatically used to check. Her frown only deepened when her dad laughed. Of all the things he was, at least he wasn’t overprotective when it came to her love interests. “Jesus, Dad, you look like shit.”

When she managed to stop thinking about Derek for two seconds, she was surprised she hadn’t noticed it before. Still in the same suit he’d worn to dinner last night, he had large bags under his eyes and a thick cover of gray stubble covering his jaw. It made a sandpaper-scratching noise when he rubbed his face tiredly.

“You know your uncle,” he said drily and found a plastic bag to stuff her wet clothes in, “he doesn’t call for nothin’. Spent all night negotiating a hostage-situation until the guy finally caved. Their office’s still two men down from a shooting earlier this year — sick leave, no funerals, thank God — and he knew I was nearby, so...”

“You okay?” she asked, noting how skeptical she sounded. He gave her a curt nod and then waved at her to get out of the locker rooms. Apparently, a deputy was waiting to be allowed in. “Uncle Raf?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re okay, kid, we got this one,” her dad said and put a hand on her back to steer her out of the station. Behind them, Stiles was still mopping up the coffee, but she thought he was trying to get her attention. “Sorry again I had to leave, you know I wouldn’t have unless it was important.”

“Dad, it’s fine,” she mumbled. Hard to compete with a hostage-situation. He’d called her this morning, asking her to pick up coffees to meet at him the station at noon. “You just got back? Did you sleep at all tonight?”

With a wry smile, he shook his head. “No, which is why we’re going back to get more coffee.” He shrugged off his jacket when they came outside and handed it to her. “Your slouchin’s making me uncomfortable. Wear it or not, kid, or go home and change. You know,” he got a wistful smile, “when I was younger-”

Joe groaned and put on the jacket. “I don’t want to hear about what women did in the good old days, Dad! I’m uncomfortable enough as it is.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Kid, I’m sorry about the dinner last night. We-”

“We’re hopeless,” she interjected as they pushed into the doors of the coffee shop. “I’d like to blame the restaurant for bad luck, but I think it’s just us.” A slight second of hesitation, before she added: “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too.”

As tempting as it was to blame him, she was equally at fault and the two fun-facts Derek disclosed still lingered in her mind. Dad had called his therapist and was more sad than angry when they argued — it was enough to take the edge off any sharp reply Joe wanted to lash out at him. It was the thing with Alex all over again. Just because Joe cut them out of her life didn’t mean they stopped living. And just because Joe tried to stop thinking about them, didn’t mean she stopped caring. Alex was one thing, but this was her _dad_.

“They’re out of oatmilk, kid,” her dad let her know when they were in front of the register. The barista behind the counter smiled apologetically while her dad waited for her to decide. “Soy, almond, or rice?”

Joe largely preferred oat because of the round flavor. Both soy and rice milk left it all kind of watery, but almond had an aftertaste that clashed with the cappuccino. “Can I get a double soy hazelnut latte instead?”

It was not until she sipped it she realized this had been what Kate brought her all the way back when Joe still didn’t believe in werewolves. There had been some red flags to Kate’s behavior even then, but Joe never would have suspected Kate to be a full-blown sociopath. Not sure what was worst — the fact that Joe had definitely been attracted to Kate at some point or the fact that Kate knew about it too.

The only consolation — and it was a small one — was that Kate had seemed to shift her fixation from Derek to Joe. It might be because she viewed Joe as an extension of Derek, but Joe was still convinced Kate would target Joe first if (when) she came back. Separate the mates and Joe was definitely the weakest link.

Erica and Boyd were one thing — they would _have_ to find them at some point — but Joe was not sure if Derek could fully move past everything until Kate was stopped. Could you ever move past something like he had been through? Again, Joe considered her dad. What would she have done if something like that happened to Dad, Aunt Mel, and Scott? Would she blame herself like Derek or go on a killing spree like Peter?

“Okay, kid, talk to me,” her dad said and she realized they had already returned to the station with her being lost in her own mind. Without going inside, he was in the midst of lighting up a cigarillo and peered at her through heavy-set eyes, obviously feeling the lack of sleep — a feeling she knew just as well. “Derek didn’t sound too upset and you didn’t look upset at all after talking with him, so as bad as dinner went — and again I’m sorry, all right? — I’m guessing it’s somethin’ else that’s got you lookin’ like you ate a lemon.”

When Joe didn’t say anything, because she was not sure where to even begin, her dad sighed.

“Raf asked about you. When you’re going on tour to the crime labs,” Joe had told her dad of Walker’s research, “you should drop by him. He said something about missing his sushi-buddy.”

It was funny how Joe had a better relationship with Scott’s dad than he did — and vice versa. Funny as in not really funny at all.

“I’m not sure I’m going,” Joe admitted slowly and noted how her dad angled his smoke away from her, seemingly without needing to think about it. “With Erica and Boyd still missing, it just feels like I can’t.”

Her dad knew her pretty well, as proven again by his next question: “Why all this guilt, kid?”

“She _told_ me she was leaving. They _were_ running away, that’s why I gave her your number in the first place, in case they got into trouble and-” Joe used the heel of her hand to rub at her eyes. “And I just know I should have done more to stop them.”

“What should you have done?” Her dad shrugged and took another drag of his cigarillo. “She’d made up her mind, right? And I assume you’re not her legal guardian — in that case, I’d want a word with whatever social worker approved of that arrangement — so it’s not your job to teach her what the world can be like. You can’t keep people from makin’ their own mistakes.” He glanced over at her. “No matter how much you care ‘bout them.”

Joe sighed and leaned against the outer wall of the sheriff’s station. She wondered if her dad might have thought a bit differently if he knew the whole story. She also wondered if they were still talking about Erica.

“You gotta prepare yourself that this might not have a happy ending,” her dad said slowly and reached over to rub her shoulder. “You might not like what you find.”

“Not that good at finding people anyway,” Joe muttered without thinking and saw the guilt pass over her dad’s face. “So I’ll cross that bridge if I ever get there.” Not in the mood to get into all of that, she asked instead: “How do you do this? This job? How do you not do what Uncle Raf did?”

Which had been the same thing that Alex did.

He kept quiet for some time, smoking his cigarillo while he thought. “You know what I always told ya, that you win some and you lose some. You just gotta let the wins weigh more than the losses. Sometimes, no matter how much you try, work, and want things to be okay, they still won’t. That’s life. And sometimes,” he sounded a tad more hopeful, “they will, because you made a difference, because you _actively_ tried to help and succeeded. It’s the same thing that keeps Mel goin’.”

“However,” he reached over to squeeze her shoulder again, “there’s also a reason you’re kept away from certain cases. There’s a reason my SSA’s doin’ everything she can to keep me away from the Argent-hunt. The personal cases,” he heaved a great sigh, “they’re the ones that consume you. You work them harder than anythin’ else, but your mind’s clouded, and you refuse to acknowledge that it _is_ just another case, one that doesn’t necessarily have a happy endin’.”

Joe nudged her toe into the pavement. “You can’t ask me to stop looking for Erica and Boyd.”

“I know and I’m not. But I can ask you to stop feeling guilty for keepin’ on livin’. That’s how you don’t get consumed. Ya gotta treat it as a job and ya gotta clock out sometimes.”

“Says the man with a seventy-hour average workweek.”

“Considerin’ you were pulling twenty-four-hour _workdays_ , I’m not fully sure what point you’re tryin’ to make there, _mija.”_

Knowing there was some truth to that, Joe ducked her head down to look at her shoes again. “I didn’t mean to make this your problem, Dad. That’s not why I gave her your number, I just felt I had to something and...”

“Joe, baby, this is my _job_.”

“But you’re not here because your SSA assigned you to the case, Dad. You’re here because you feel guilty too. Because this is my personal case. Right?” She saw him nod beside her and she sighed. “How long are they gonna let you stay here?”

“Last time I checked I’m allowed to spend my vacation days anyway I see fit.”

Joe groaned. “Dad... I’m pretty sure that not how this is supposed to work. In fact, I’m not entirely sure it’s not illegal in some way.”

“Something’s worth bendin’ the rules a little,” he quipped, but then sounded serious again. “My SSA gave me a few more days and then it depends on what we find. Blurred shapes from an outdated CCTV-system, unfortunately didn’t cut it, especially since we couldn’t even get an official ID on Erica.”

Neither made any move to go back inside, her dad smoking in silence.

Finally, she sighed. “Why are _you_ feeling guilty?”

“You mean besides the fact that my daughter was caught in a shootout,” he nodded towards the scaffolding outside the station, “and got gunned down by a high schooler with a Glock 22," something had caught in his throat as he gruffly cleared it, “and I couldn’t even come to see her in the hospital?”

“Yeah, well, you forgot the part where I was kidnapped and tortured by Kate Argent first.”

Joe tried to keep her poker face intact at his expression. They stared at each other for a second before they both laughed, although her dad was rolling his eyes at the same time.

“Dad, you know I suck at these kinds of talks. I swear to God, I’m fine. If anything, I had too many visitors at that hospital.”

“You’re tenacious, I’ll give you that.” Dad shook his head, but she could see the smile lingering. “Jesus Christ, kid.” Another gruff laugh as he snuffed out the last of his cigarillo. “And you’re asking me how I keep going? Hell, I’d been swamped in debriefs, group therapy, psych assessments, and all that other crap if I’d been through half the shit you’ve endured the last few months.” Now another concerned look. “You talked to anyone about it? Really talked, I mean, to someone on the outside?”

“Not really,” Joe admitted. She’d told bits and pieces here and there — most to Jimmy, now that she thought about it, and then with Derek and Aunt Mel on a respective second and third place.

With a nod, like he’d expected that, her dad straightened up. “How ‘bout we give that dinner another go, just you and me? Mel’s got the late shift and Scott’s workin’ overtime at the clinic. Why don’t you come over and I’ll make _asopao_ , just like Mrs. Diaz used to and we can talk. Both of us, all of it, and I promise, no soccer.”

She hesitated. “There is no way you’re gonna be able to make _asopao_ like Mrs. Diaz.”

“I’ll give it my best shot. Eh? Come on, whaddaya say?” Her dad scuffed his shoe into her sneaker to make her look up and he gave her a big smile. Unable to stop smiling back, she still rolled her eyes before she nodded. “There she is. Now, if you wanna go bury some of that guilt in work, I got a lot of traffic cam footage to comb through.”

“Like father, like daughter.”

The construction worker made it very obvious he wasn’t looking at her when they went back inside, which she saw her dad found hilarious. Of all the Latino father stereotypes, he did not fit the bill on that one.

No evidence remained of the coffee-mishap, but before Joe could follow her dad into the conference room, Stiles poked his head out of the interrogation room and tried to get her attention.

“ _Psst_.”

“Stiles, I am looking right at you,” Joe pointed out while her dad continued down the hall without noticing she had stopped. “What?”

Stiles tilted his head to make her come into the interrogation room and rolling her eyes, she did just that. It was just a small room without windows or any other furniture than a table and four chairs, somehow feeling smaller with the spazzy Stiles Stilinski practically buzzing in front of her.

“Hi!” he said with a wide, close-lipped smile. “Are you okay? Like, okay-okay, not just coffee-okay, but generally okay?” When she took more than a second to answer, he smiled even wider, his whole body doing some sort of gesture. “Just, you know, haven’t seen you since the whole thing with Kate and Gerard and Jackson and,” his eyebrows went up, like he was gauging her reaction, “Scott...?”

“I’m fine.”

“Like,” Stiles shrugged and held out his hands, palms up, “fine-fine or just regular fine or totally fine?” His face twisted into a worried frown. “With your dad in town and you moving out and not talking to Scott, I just, you know, wanted to check in!”

He ended his statement with a fraternal slap to her shoulder and a happy nod.

“Are _you_ okay, Stiles?” she asked, not sure whether or not she appreciated his concern. There was a good chance he was just on a mission from Scott to find how much of a grudge she still held.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine!” he said, again with too much conviction as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Just, two of my friends are missing and there’s a psycho mass-murderer on the loose and my dad is working himself half to death trying to solve all of this with half of his staff slaughtered by another psycho mass-murderer who also happened to shoot my best friend’s cousin, who’s no longer talking to said best friend.” Stiles gasped in a large breath. “So, yeah, fine.”

It reminded her that it had been less than a month since everything happened at the station. Less than two weeks since the kanima. Time had moved differently since Christmas — more events crammed into a few months than into the previous two years.

Joe studied the faint remnants of bruises on Stiles’ cheek. “Does the school have a mental health counselor? Psychologist? Someone you can talk to?”

“Uh, well, there’s a French teacher slash guidance counselor and Lydia says she’s got a master’s in psychology and like three hundred hours of supervised training, so...”

“And are you talking to her?”

“Yeah, after Matt it was sort of, uh, suggested in a way that meant it was mandatory. I’m also sort of talking to Lydia. She’s been kind of down after Allison left. And now Jackson’s leaving too and...”

“You’re friend-zoned?” Joe guessed and Stiles nodded.

“Oh yes. Definitely. Speaking of friend though,” Stiles for some godawful reason shot her a pair of finger guns, “are you going to talk to Scott?”

“I don’t know, is he gonna apologize?” she shot back with a raised eyebrow. No answer, finger guns wavering. Rolling her eyes, she studied Stiles’ nervous smile. “Did you know what he was doing?”

At that, his smile faded and he rubbed his neck, studying the floor more than her. “Uh, no. I don’t think anyone knew besides maybe Deaton. Which, you know, is disconcerting because Scott’s not usually good at keeping secrets. I mean, at least I don’t think he is, now he’s got me wondering if maybe he has this whole secret identity I don’t know anything about and-”

Worrisome, Joe thought as Stiles rattled on, if Scott hadn’t even confided in his best friend. And Aunt Mel said Joe was pushing people away? Scott was lucky Stiles was a loyal friend.

Scott was lucky Stiles had shown up at all. As devious as Scott’s plan had been, the shortsightedness made Joe’s insides tighten with anger all over again. If Jimmy hadn’t been there and if Stiles hadn’t shown up with Lydia, what would have stopped the kanima from tearing them all to shreds? Half-paralyzed Derek, gravely wounded Isaac, sedated Allison, or out-of-bullets Chris? Not half-crazy Joe, that’s for sure.

“-this whole thing with Allison, things would have gone completely different and,” Stiles waved his hand in front of her face, “you’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?”

“Sorry,” Joe said and rubbed her face. “Shit, sorry, Stiles. I didn’t, uh, sleep too much last night. Between school and Erica and Boyd missing, I don’t have enough hours in a day it feels like. I’m so ready to be done with this paper it’s ridiculous.”

After getting back to the apartment, she had buckled down on all the neglected schoolwork. She had been too wired from the dinner and subsequent kissing to even contemplate sleeping anyway. Now she told Stiles about the paper, the research project this summer, and tried to keep up with his sporadic questions about absolutely everything ever so loosely related to criminology. Stiles was a cop kid, just like her.

Both jumped when the door to the interrogation door swung open to reveal a tired-looking Sheriff Stilinski. He gave his son an exasperated look and Joe a worn smile.

“Your dad’s looking for you,” he informed her and then nodded at Stiles. “You’re with me. Come on.”

“I, uh, actually thought that maybe I could help Joe and Agent Delgado today?” Stiles pitched, using his hands to indicate Joe and a vague gesture of helping.

The Sheriff didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely not. Let’s go.” When Stiles did hesitate, the Sheriff sighed. “There is absolutely no way you’re weaseling your way into a federal investigation, Stiles. You said you wanted to hang out today, fine, but then you’re coming with me.”

Stiles sputtered in disbelief. “But Joe-”

“Is Rob’s kid and his responsibility. Also, not a minor. _Let’s go,_ Stiles.” The Sheriff left the door open as he retreated. “If you’re not in the car in two minutes I’m impounding the Jeep. Again.”

Joe and Stiles watched the Sheriff walk away. Stiles’ chest went up high as he sighed. “Yeah, so, my dad’s been kinda overprotective since the whole Hale house stuff,” a short shrug, “and after I witnessed that mechanic dying,” he nodded awkwardly, “and was caught here in the shootout,” Joe’s eyebrows rose as Stiles continued, “and then got kidnapped and beaten after the lacrosse game.”

“Not sure _over_ protective is the right word,” Joe said sarcastically, but without too much venom as she considered her own history and dad. Worst of all, the Sheriff only knew half of what Stiles had been through. “Can I ask you something? Why haven’t you told him what’s going on?”

“Because he’d want to do something about it,” Stiles said as he looked in the direction the Sheriff had gone, “and if he gets thrown into a brick wall, he’s not gonna get back up.” His slim shoulders rose as he shrugged theatrically and looked at her, obviously trying to lighten the mood. “And there’s a good chance he’ll just call me crazy and make me take a drug test.”

“Ha-ha.” Joe rolled her eyes, but watched Stiles’ otherwise animated face contort into a solemn expression. “Is it helping, talking to this guidance counselor?” In a standard Joe-tries-to-be-caring move, she patted his shoulder awkwardly. “You sure you’re doing okay?”

Before he could answer, the Sheriff’s voice echoed through the hallway: “ _Thirty seconds!”_

“Okay, I gotta go,” Stiles hurried to say. Apparently the Sheriff’s threat hadn’t been an empty one.

Joe’s eyebrows rose again as Stiles looked contemplative at her. “What?”

In some spastic movements, he opened up his arms, making a few false starts, gauging her expression before he seemed to make up his mind and enveloped her in a tight bearhug. All angles and lean muscles, he squeezed her across her upper back and she patted his shoulder awkwardly again, wondering where this was coming from.

“You okay, Stiles?”

“Yeah, I just, I- you know, I missed you,” Stiles stumbled through the statement, but sounded sincere. He made a weird noise and she felt his body freeze up a bit. “You’re- you’re not wearing a bra, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Okay,” he said hastily and untangled from her while rubbing the back of his neck. For some godforsaken reason, he clapped her shoulder in a fraternal manner. “Okay, uh,” he retracted his hand, “okay. Sorry.”

Still wearing her dad’s jacket, she tightened it around her chest to save him the trouble of averting his gaze everywhere else. “Don’t make this weird, Stiles.”

“What do you mean? I’m sooo not making this weird,” Stiles told the ceiling and she had a front view of how his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “Nothing weird about you not wearing a bra, it’s totally,” he coughed, “natural and I guess sort of my fault, which sounded way creepier than I intended it-”

The tension left her and she laughed at his stupid expression. “Stiles! Dude. Don’t.”

The Sheriff boomed: _“Stiles!”_

“I gotta, uh-” Stiles gestured to the door and almost tripped on his own feet on the way out. “Yeah, bye.”

The second he left, Joe opened the jacket to look down at her own chest. It _wasn’t_ that obvious, but she found herself wondering how Derek would react if she somehow managed to find an excuse to hug him. And on that warm and tingly thought, she made her way into her dad’s makeshift office and failed to see he wasn’t even in there.

Blinking her way out of the inappropriate daydream, she could hear him talking on his phone down the hall. His laptop was already set up, placed haphazardly on top of the large map with all the post-its, and she took his chair to make some headway with the traffic cam footage. Except it wasn’t traffic cam footage up on his screen.

It took her a few seconds to figure out what she was looking at. It was a close-up of a tree trunk with deep furrows in the bark. Joe went through the picture-series, seeing the same tree from different angles. They looked like claw marks, on either side of the trunk, as if someone had held onto it for dear life and been dragged backward. Joe could feel her insides grow cold.

“Mountain lion.”

Her dad’s sudden voice made her jump in her chair — he had come back inside the office and stood over her shoulder looking at the screen.

“Pretty cool, right?” Dad continued and gestured at the laptop. “One of the Sheriff’s guys found it when they searched the tree-lines around the gas station. Mountain lions use trees like their scratchin’ posts,” he held up his fingers, bending them slightly to look like a paw, “keeps their claws sharp.”

“Mountain lion,” Joe repeated breathlessly. Her gaze was dragged back to the screen. “Yeah, cool.”

Heart still hammering, she changed the file to the traffic cam footage and got to work. The second her dad got his next call and left the office to talk, she connected her phone to the laptop and imported the images. Easiest would have been forwarding them through e-mail, but that left a paper trail, one she could do without.

Those claw marks did not look like they were from a mountain lion.

After several hours of scanning the grainy pictures from the few traffic cams posted in Beacon Hills looking for anything out of the ordinary or anyone resembling Erica, Boyd, or the two blurry figures from the CC-TV, Joe could feel herself going crosseyed. Her dad had brought in a second laptop with the police logs for the days before and after Erica’s call to him, but he was more on the phone out in the hallway than he was in the office. Derek had said her dad’s supervising agent wanted him down to Orange County and she wondered if all the calls were related to that. He wasn’t sharing anything new with her related to _this_ case at least.

At some point, Sheriff Stilinski must have returned to the station, because he popped his head in to wish them a good night before leaving again. Joe groaned as she checked the time and stretched her stiff neck out, wondering briefly if Derek could feel that. Another day wasted.

“Gotta clock out at some point,” her dad commented from where he sat leaned back in his chair, scribbling in his small notebook. His phone rang again and now he groaned. “These guys are somet- oh.” He cut himself off as he answered. _“¿Qué quieres?”_ What do you want?

The rapid Spanish exchange that followed revealed the caller had been Aunt Mel. Mostly because it was only when they two talked to each other you could hear the full extent of the admittedly weird — to Joe’s ears at least — Argentine accent. It was the same way her Grandma had talked and it almost sounded Italian.

“Can you do me a favor?” her dad asked after he hung up. “Your aunt forgot her cell phone charger.” He held up his own with a critical glance. “She accused me of takin’ it, but I’m pretty sure this one’s mine. Anyway, can you swing by the hospital with it? I still need to go by the store to get chicken and some fresh cilantro.”

“You’re making enough for leftovers right?” Joe asked, but got up from the computer, rolling her neck around. Proper homecooked meals were a rarity in the McCall-household and Scott would at least appreciate it. As her dad confirmed he was, pre-occupied by packing up his own stuff, she took the charger. “I gotta go home and change first anyway.”

They agreed to meet up later and Joe walked back to the laundromat, not surprised to see Jimmy hunched over his computer. A short detour to her room to put on a bra and a normal t-shirt before she leaned over his shoulder to see his screen. It did not look like a blog-post, but rather some kind of code?

“You smell strongly of espresso,” he commented, not turning around to look at her. “Have your caffeine addiction finally done permanent damage?”

“Hello to you too,” Joe said and gave a brief recap of the coffee mishap. “What are you working on?”

“A script.”

She waited a beat for any more elaborate explanation, but it never came. “A computer script?”

“Yes, it’s not done yet,” Jimmy said and scooted his chair away from her. “You really do smell strongly of espresso.” A sour glance over his shoulder at her. “Did you want anything?”

In response, Joe held up her phone with the pictures of the tree trunk. “This was taken not far from that gas station where Erica made her call to Dad. Mountain lion?”

Jimmy immediately snatched the phone out of her hands and she could see him swipe through the photos, zooming in on the claw marks. “It could be, I suppose. Except,” Jimmy held his own hand out and claws extended from each fingertip, “cats and mountain lions will typically only scrape down vertically, not horizontally.”

“Werewolf?”

“Most likely, though I’m not an expert.” Jimmy turned in his chair again and did a quick search on the internet. “Says here that mountain lion scratches will be four to eight feet off the ground.”

Both looked at the picture on Joe’s phone again — the scratches were hardly two feet from the forest floor. Joe felt the churning of guilt in her stomach. So much for Derek’s theory of Erica and Boyd going willingly with the Alphas.

Jimmy did something else on Joe’s phone and made a contemplative noise.

“What?”

“Good thing you transferred the files themselves instead of taking a screenshot. There’s a geo-tag to these photos. It’s in code, but I’ll be able to crack it in a few hours. Another set of coordinates will help with my script.” Jimmy sighed at her confused look. “I’m working on extracting the most likely routes your two runaways would have taken. Hard math combined with your,” he gestured to her criminology-textbooks that took up half the desk, “soft theories.” An eyebrow rose on his face. “What? You thought I had stopped the search?”

“No, I just-” That was exactly what Joe had thought. “You never even met these kids.”

“No,” Jimmy said in agreement and changed his computer window to the script again. “But considering I’ve hit a dead-end at every attempt of obtaining more information on this Alpha pack, they do not seem like someone we should underestimate. Run along now, Delgado, you’re only hindering my process.”

Feeling thoroughly dismissed, Joe did just that. On her way to the hospital, she tried calling Derek with the new update, but only met a busy-signal. A text ticked in that he would call her later and Joe focused on finding Aunt Mel, immediately feeling guilty for not stopping somewhere to pick up some food for her.

“Room 215,” the busy nurse at the station told her after just glancing at Joe’s face. Well, Joe was a regular, so she didn’t question it and trudged up to the second level of the hospital and located the room in question. Vacant, according to the sign on the door, and Joe wandered in expecting to find Aunt Mel knee-deep in inventory.

Instead, she found Scott.

The only consolation was that he looked equally surprised to see her. As she spotted the phone-charger in his hand, she realized what was going on.

Joe swung around to the door, but it slammed shut before she reached it. Even she heard the lock slide in. “Oh come on! Aunt Mel! Are you serious?”

Aunt Mel’s stern face appeared in the small window in the door. She pointed her finger between Joe and Scott, mouthing the word-

“She says ‘talk’,” Scott supplied behind Joe. He groaned. “This was a setup, wasn’t it?”

“Ya think?” Joe rolled her eyes as Aunt Mel left them. For good measure, Joe tried the door handle, but it was thoroughly locked. “Jesus.”

“I can probably break through,” Scott said and Joe turned to look at him. His voice was flat and hard — this was a setup for both of them.

“Really, we’re going straight for the property damage?” Joe bit out as she got her phone out to call Aunt Mel. It went straight to voicemail. “Shit.” Not beaten yet, Joe tried something else.

“Who are you calling?”

“Hospital security.” Joe held her finger out to silence him. “Now shh. Hi, this is Joe Delgado. We’re locked in room 215 at Beacon Mem- _son of a bitch!”_ She glared at her phone. They hung up on her. “Okay, Aunt Mel’s covered her bases.” Now she glared at Scott. “Thought you were working overtime tonight?”

“I am,” Scott mumbled, having brought out his own phone. “Which is why I gotta call Deaton and tell him I’ll be late.”

Fuming, because she suspected her dad had been in on the ploy, Joe watched Scott as he called Deaton to explain the ‘situation’. She took stock of her cousin. He looked like shit. Unkempt hair getting a bit too long, oily skin around his nose, and dark circles under his eyes. Kind of like during Spring Break when Allison had stopped talking to him and Joe realized it was probably a repeat of the same now. Allison had literally left the country after all. It did nothing for Joe’s anger — it wasn’t hard to tell where Scott’s priorities and loyalties laid

“Is she listening to us?” Joe asked and leaned against the wall next to the door. “Aunt Mel?”

He shrugged. “How should I know?”

“Oh my God, you are a literal werewolf, Scott. Focus your hearing and listen for her heartbeat or something.”

“Derek teach you that?”

“Pretty sure he tried to teach _you_ at some point. Can’t you just do it?” She crossed her arms, making a point of waiting on him. With a roll of his eyes, he glared at the door. If possible, Scott looked even more stupid when he tried to concentrate. “Well?”

“I think she’s right outside.”

_“This is a low blow, Aunt Mel!”_ Joe called out loudly in the direction of the door. “I don’t have time for this, so can you please just open the door?” She thumped the door blade with the palm of her hand. “Hey!”

Scott ignored Joe’s outburst and let out a long breath. He took a few steps to the side, rubbing his hand through his hair. “You wanna talk?”

“No.”

“Shocker,” Scott mumbled and slumped down in the chair next to the empty hospital bed. “Let me know when you want me to break down the door.”

“Leave the poor door out of it, it’s not like this place isn’t underfunded already.”

Joe entertained the idea of calling Derek, but she suspected Aunt Mel would be able to persuade him that this was a necessary evil. After all, everyone seemed to think it was up to her to forgive Scott, regardless if Scott apologized or not. Sucked being the adult sometimes.

“Let me know when you’re ready to admit what you did was wrong,” Joe added to Scott and pushed her back firm against the wall, ready to wait both him and Aunt Mel out. Stubbornness ran in their family; she could do this all night. When Scott didn’t respond, Joe couldn’t help but follow up with: “You had _absolutely_ no right to do what you did-”

“Trying to keep you alive? To keep you from getting hurt? How is that wrong?”

“Okay, I am so incredibly sick and tired of you guys trying to keep me safe,” Joe snapped and pushed off the wall to accentuate her words with a pointed finger. “Every time you or Derek or anyone else tries to keep me safe, it backfires. You _lied_ to me, Scott! And you _know_ — I _told_ you what Dad did — you _know_ how much that hurt me. I can take a bullet, Scott, better than I thought even, but I can’t take you lying to me!”

“What was I supposed to do?” Scott asked, quoting himself from _that_ night and not getting up from his chair. “Do you know what Gerard did? Did Mom tell you that he broke into our house? That he used Jackson to strangle her half to death to make me follow his orders? That after we stole the Bestiary, he showed up here outside the hospital and stabbed me, threatening both you and Mom?”

Joe stared at Scott, her mind painting vivid images of his words. “He _what_? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because he knew about you and Derek!” Now Scott shot up, voice gaining volume. “He knew from the beginning and he said that either I helped him get what he wanted, or he’d go after you.”

“That doesn’t change anything.” Her own voice felt foreign in her mouth, dry and molded. Joe knew this now, that Kate and Gerard conspired from the start, that he knew what she knew. Things could have been different if Joe knew back then. “You should have told me, Scott, that was not your burden to bear, not your decisions to make.”

“What? So you could tell Derek and he’d go after Allison again?”

“Maybe if he had Erica and Boyd wouldn’t be missing!” Joe shouted before she could think it through. Scott’s jaw flexed, but she did not back down. “You know we found Erica’s cell-phone with an arrow through it? Do you have any idea how _many_ arrows were on the ground?”

“Derek was the one to bite them in the first place! Just like with Jackson! Jesus Christ, Joe, you said it yourself back in the locker room, remember? Derek doesn’t care if anyone gets hurt, he only cares about himself.”

“That’s not true,” Joe whispered, biting back tears the best she could.

“Then why would he kill Peter? Why would he take away _my only chance_ of a cure-”

“There is no cure, Scott! Are you-” Joe tore at her hair. “Oh my God, you’re such a child sometimes! If killing the one who bit you was a cure, don’t you think Kate would have gone after Jimmy? Don’t you think she would have torn the whole city to shreds looking for him instead of going after me? Derek killed Peter because he knew he had to. Because the only thing that would happen if you killed him, is that you would have become an Alpha instead of Derek. And-”

“Would that be so bad?” Scott protested weakly, arms flying out to the side. “I wouldn’t have bitten anyone! Not Isaac, not Erica, not Boyd, especially not Jackson, and then he wouldn’t have turned into a kanima and killed _so_ many people and-”

Joe made a loud noise of frustration. “Scott, do you know _how_ you become an Alpha? There’s only two ways — you inherit it or you steal it. Rumors spread, Scott, how many down-on-their-luck werewolves do you think would crawl into town if they heard there was a _sixteen_ years old Alpha in Beacon Hills, barely able to control his powers, without a pack to protect him? You wouldn’t have lasted a _week!_ Derek was protecting _you_!”

“Then why would he tell me there was a cure in the first place?”

_“I don’t know!”_ Joe yelled and messed up her hair again. “Because he’s an idiot with a minimum of social skills, probably? Because he needed your help to stop Peter and it was the only way to get you to listen? Because you were too busy giving the real enemy yeast infections from strawberry-flavored condoms? Jesus Christ, Scott, you’re lucky he didn’t do worse than lie to you. You made him the most wanted man in the state! You got him arrested for his _sister’s_ death! I’m not excusing what he did, but I can at least try to see his point of view.”

Scott fell completely silent. There was a hard edge to his mouth she did not usually see. “You think Allison’s the real enemy?”

“No,” Joe said and crossed her arms that had been waving around. Of course that would be the only thing he could focus on. “But I think her family is. You didn’t feel what I felt, Scott, when Kate had him. She was electrocuting him _over and over_ again. I would rather take a bullet to my chest a thousand times than to go through that again.”

“I know, you told me,” Scott said and rubbed his hair again, “and okay, maybe I shouldn’t have lied to you, but why should you get hurt because of _Derek_? It doesn’t make any sense!”

“No, you shouldn’t have lied to me! You took away my choice-”

“What choice?”

Her voice failed her for a few seconds, mouth opening and shutting without any sound. Eventually, she recovered.

“Scott, the mate-bond is like the bite, okay? Except you get to blame a delirious Peter Hale, I get to blame the stupid moon or universe or whatever. And I have a feeling that if someone came in here now, held you down, and injected you with what they called a cure, you’d feel pretty pissed off too. Like they took away your choice.”

“That’s different, Joe, you know it is. Okay, the bite sucks sometimes, but at least I get powers. Healing, strength-”

“Glowstick eyes and heightened senses, fine, whatever.” Joe shrugged, not sure how to explain exactly why she did not want the bond gone anymore. “I got healing too. I could’ve died from that gunshot wound if it wasn’t for it.”

He scoffed and his head rolled backward along with his eyes. “You wouldn’t have needed healing in the first place if it wasn’t for Derek. He’s the only reason Kate’s after you.”

“You don’t know that. Okay, you don’t! You don’t get to play the ‘what if’-game, because there’s _no way_ of knowing. I was knocking on Jimmy’s door before I even knew about any sort of connection to Derek. Hell, I was having fucking _coffee_ with Kate before I even knew about werewolves! And what if there wasn’t any bond and we still hooked up? What would you have done then? Locked me in a prisoner transport van for twenty-four hours and hoping for the best?”

Joe squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to cry. She was so done crying it was ridiculous.

“Scott, I love you like my _brother_ , but what you did made you no better than Peter or Gerard and I’m not sure you even see that yet. I haven’t even started on what you did to Derek or how I’m _terrified_ that you gave me those pills in the first place because you thought something could go wrong and Derek might die. But if you’re ready to apologize, or even begin to admit what you did was messed up, I’ll listen. Until then, I got nothing more to say to you.”

Without waiting for a reply, Joe went back to the door and slammed her hand against it twice.

_“Either let me out or I’m pulling the emergency cord!”_ she yelled, muttering under breath something about pulling the fire alarm. Sure enough, the door clicked open and Joe stalked outside. Scott never followed, which suited her fine.

Aunt Mel’s mouth was pulled in a tight frown where she held the door ajar. “Joe, can you hold on-”

“No!” Joe snapped and threw the phone-charger at Aunt Mel. “No, why are we like this? Why do we need to trick each other to do stuff? I _told_ you I’d talk to Scott when I was ready.”

“I’m just worried that if you keep pushing people away, you’re gonna end up alone,” Aunt Mel interrupted with infuriating calm. She glanced sideways in uncertainty. “And I still don’t understand what Scott did other than it was apparently very wrong and I’m sorry, I think I underestimated just how wrong it was.”

Joe snorted. “Really?”

“Joe,” Aunt Mel chastised with folded arms, “it’s not that I thought you moved out on a whim. It’s just that you can hold a grudge, just like the rest of this family.” Before Joe could even begin to answer that, Aunt Mel continued: “What exactly is a mate-bond?”

“Ask Scott!” Faced with Aunt Mel’s unimpressed frown, Joe faltered. It was hard to stay angry at Aunt Mel, who’d done so much for her already. “It’s, y’know, complicated and I’d rather not get into it right now. I’m late for dinner with Dad,” Aunt Mel’s eyebrows rose in honest surprise and Joe shrugged, “he’s making _asopao_ and I gotta get over there before he burns down the kitchen.”

“Wait, _my_ kitchen? Okay, sure, but-” Aunt Mel drew a deep breath. “Promise you’ll talk to me, please. Not right now, not tomorrow, but when you’re ready. Okay?”

“Fine,” Joe said and tore around to head for the exit. Everyone wanted to talk all of a sudden, like she did not have more important things to worry about. Like Erica and Boyd weren’t still missing, like Kate Argent hadn’t escaped to Mexico, like Scott hadn’t betrayed her and-

In the safety of her own car, she took five minutes to cry. Five minutes to just get it over with because it _hurt_. She’d read somewhere that the reason your stomach hurt when in deep emotional distress was because the body knew something was wrong, but it couldn’t pinpoint the location of the injury. And she wanted to call Derek, but he still hadn’t called her back and besides, he had his own set of problems with the full moon just a few days away and a new werewolf to train. And Jimmy was busy with the script and she’d just left the two people she thought she could depend on more than anyone back in that stupid hospital.

It was a sad day indeed, Joe thought and started the car, when she had to rely on her dad for moral support. Mood soured long before she reached her aunt’s house, it only helped marginally that she couldn’t smell smoke when she got out. In fact, when she locked herself in — she still had a house key — it did not smell like anything at all. No chicken, no tomatoes, no cilantro.

“Dad?” she called, as she heard him in the kitchen, and wandered into the living room. There were several plastic boxes on the table and her eyebrows rose. “Where the hell did you get sushi?”

“I called in a favor,” her dad said as he emerged from the kitchen, two beers in hand. Suit jacket off, his pants were rumpled like he’d taken a short power nap on the couch. She remembered he hadn’t slept all night. He handed her a beer and gestured for them to sit. “Raf owed me after interruptin’ last night. And let’s face it, I’d never be able to make _asopao_ like Mrs. Diaz anyway.”

Joe hadn’t had sushi since she moved to Beacon Hills, but the argument with Scott still lingered in her veins and she could feel her guard was still up. “Did you know?”

Her dad was unboxing the trays of sushi — mostly rolls, which showed that Uncle Raf had been the one placing the order. “Know what?” With a huff, Joe sat down on the couch and explained what had just happened. Dad let out a low whistle. “Would you believe me if I said no?”

“Not really.”

“I’m gonna say no anyway. Here ya go,” he handed her a pair of chopsticks, “but I did know she’s worried about you. What happened with you and Scott anyway?”

“He lied to me,” Joe said tersely, stabbing her chopsticks into the small container of soy sauce to mix out the wasabi. “About something important. Kind of a sore point with me.”

“Okay, we’re gettin’ into this claws out, huh?”

Joe nearly stabbed herself now with the chopsticks. “What?”

He raised an eyebrow at her spazziness. “Figure of speech, kid, relax. Can ya blame Mel? Even I know you wouldn’t have voluntarily talked to Scott before the next ice age rolled around. Christ’s sake, kid, you didn’t even call _me_ until you had no other choice.” Without dwelling on that, he continued: “She loves you, you know that. It’s comin’ from a good place.”

“Why can’t people just show their love for me with unbridled honesty?”

“Truth isn’t always pretty, kid.”

“Rather the ugly truth than a pretty lie.”

“That’s cute. Should put that on a bumper sticker. Come on, eat.”

Not hungry, not even for sushi, Joe picked at one of the rolls. “You said we were gonna talk, right? Then talk.” Losing her edge, she squirmed under the careful stare of her father. “What?”

“How you sleepin’ these days?”

“Oh come on-”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, kid. You’re my daughter and I’ll always think you’re the most beautiful girl in the world, but I gotta tell you, you’re lookin’ rough. Not enough food, not enough sleep, too much coffee, too much stress. You wanna work this missing person’s case with me? Great, you got talent and I appreciate the time with ya, but not if it’s gonna wear you down like this. So you eat and I’ll talk, how’s that sound?”

“Fine,” she grumbled, picked up a piece, and watched her dad expectantly, letting it hover in the air.

“What are ya, five years old? Want me to do the airplane-thing with ya? Jesus Christ,” he said and rolled his eyes while Joe finally popped the piece in her mouth. “Okay, so, as usual, all of this is confidential. We were on a three-week stakeout in the Golden Triangle down south. The local _federales_ and we have been tracking this illegal gun shipment originating from the Midwest and-”

She ate while listening to her dad re-telling his latest assignment. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what her dad _did_ in the FBI. He was a special agent, part of a Special Crimes Unit, but that was all she knew. He was called in for everything from serial killers to hostage situations to illegal gun trades. Since he obviously couldn’t tell her _all_ the confidential details, she had yet to find the common denominator. She had a feeling he was just good with people in the same way that Aunt Mel was, somehow only failing at it when it came to his own daughter.

She also got the feeling her dad told the story with as much emotional detachment as possible. Whoever this Mexican agent had been, the one they lost, he must have made an impression on her dad. From what she gathered, it sounded like her dad felt he still had unfinished business down there, but he mentioned something about Kate Argent making it impossible for him to get posted to Mexico anytime soon.

“Fearin’ I’ll go rogue agent on them. You ever seen _Taken_?”

Joe hadn’t, but he gave her the gist of the plot. This was the cue for her turn to talk and her dad seemed pleased about the mostly empty trays of sushi.

Choosing her words carefully, trying for the same kind of detachment, Joe told him what happened with Kate. She told him as much as possible, leaving out the crucial details, but the supernatural part wasn’t the worst anyway. The feeling of helplessness, of being tied up, gagged and subject to psychological torture — because it was the only real terminology that fit — while watching Jimmy on the ground, thinking he would die, unable to do anything about it... that was the worst part.

“Remember what I asked you when you moved to Berkeley?” Her dad had finished off his beer and nursed a second one with a deep furrow in his brow. Even if he had tried to remain calm when she talked about Kate, she could recognize the deep-set anger on his face. “About a gun? Any chance I can change your mind about that?”

She hesitated. “California’s not technically a stand-your-ground-state.”

“No, but there’s something called self-defense. It’s either that or I’m postin’ a twenty-four-hour guard outside your door. You still got a permit, right?”

And a shotgun, Joe thought, but didn’t say it out loud. Besides, her dad used to have her walk around New York with an illegal .22, so he wasn’t black-and-white when it came to gun laws like that. “Yeah.”

With a firm nod, her dad seemed to make a mental note of it. “I know this wasn’t easy, tellin’ me about it, but I promise you’ll feel better for it. Just like I can promise you we’ll catch this broad before she can ever touch you again. I swear on my life, _mijita._ ”

It was the same kind of anger she saw in Derek sometimes. Dormant and simmering with no easy outlet just yet. Joe just shrugged, still feeling cold in her bones from living through that night again. She thought of Stiles — their dads still didn’t know all of it.

Eventually, Dad took a deep breath, as if to steel himself. Checked his watch, muttered something about Scott coming home soon, got up to clear the table of sushi (Aunt Mel hated sushi and the smell of it), came back with a new beer and a resolute line to his mouth. He seemed nervous, and again, like with Derek, it wasn’t something she was used to seeing.

“You okay, Dad?”

“Hm?” He looked up at her, almost like he had zoned out for a second, before he took another deep breath. “Yeah, I’m okay. I, uh, I wanted to show you something.”

“Okay,” she said, thinking it was about the case, “what?”

Almost on auto-pilot, he patted his chest, only then realizing he wasn’t wearing his jacket. Excusing himself, muttering under his breath still, he got up to where it hung on the back of a kitchen chair. After some rustling inside the inner pockets, he brought out something, a small square object.

Tapping it against his hand, he stared at it with a mixture of emotions on his face. “Probably should have shown you a long time ago.”

It was a polaroid, Joe noticed, only seeing the back of it. She straightened up on the couch, breath hitching at the suspicion — no, at the hope — of what it was.

“I was gonna show it to you back at the diner, but... I lost my nerve, I guess.” He kept tapping it against his hand. “It’s the only one I got.”

It was hard to talk through the painful lump in her throat. “Is it...”

Without another word, he handed it to her. “Twenty years too late, but better than never, eh?”

Joe could only glance at it before she had to look away, pulling in a short and harsh gasp of breath. Looking up to the ceiling, trying to get the tears to stay back, to wait, to just hold on a little while longer so she could actually look at it. Blowing air out of her mouth, she steeled herself and took another look.

A polaroid picture, faded a bit with age. Definitely from the late 80s judging by her dad’s hair. He was not in the center of the picture though. That was a woman. In a hospital bed, holding a bundle of cloth where just a tiny baby hand peeked up from. A woman, with her skin tone, and her mouth, and her eyes. Exhausted, but smiling at whoever took the picture.

Another white woman with mousy brown hair stood on the opposite side of the bed, half of her out of the frame. That was all Joe could see before the tears flooded so hard she only saw blurred shapes. Hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to just exist. Joe, still holding the picture, put her elbows onto her knees and leaned into her hands, trying to get her breathing under control, forcing herself to take long inhales.

“Is it...?” She had to ask, had to know, and nearly broke down when she saw her dad having tears in his eyes as well from where he stood next to the couch. He nodded, but she already knew, didn’t she? Who else could it be, in a hospital bed, with Joe’s dad by her side, holding what had to be little baby Joe herself?

Still crying, she looked again at the picture and so many years of emotions just flooded back to her. The woman was pretty, with a darker skin-tone than her dad, and a large wide smile. Sharp pointed nose, not like Joe’s more button-nose she got from her dad. Straightened hair, but curly where the sweat had seeped into the strands.

Her mom. It had to be.

“Why-” Joe tried, but her voice failed, coming out as a sob instead and she pushed her tears in, not really wanting to cry, only wanting to stare at the picture for as long as she lived. Long breath, a silent hiss. “I didn’t think there was- why haven’t you shown me this before?”

She hadn’t even noticed that her dad had reached down to grasp her hand, squeezing it hard.

“Joe, there are some things I never wanted to tell you,” he mumbled, faltering, but gaining strength, still squeezing her hand. “Never could tell you. Cowardice, selfishness, call it what you want. But you’re right, you deserve to know. It’s the ugly truth, _mija,_ but I’ll tell it to you.”

Another deep sigh and Special Agent Rob Delgado, her dad, began to talk.

And Joe, for once, only listened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title: The Truth
> 
> Okay, I swear, we're back to some actual action in the next chapter. And oh my god, the first chapter in forever without any actual Derek (does over phone count?)
> 
> I don't know what's happening with the word-count in my chapters either. There's just so much to say and again, I've heard of killing my darlings, I just...don't. (And to be fair, if I wasn't lazy, I would have split this into a series, but, y'know, I *am* lazy...)
> 
> Anyway, I'm learning a lot about Spanish accents and slang for this story (I have no less than two people helping me make Rob sound as cringy as possible for this chapter). So I hope you Spanish-speaking people appreciate it at least <3
> 
> Thank you for reading as always. I'm pretty sure next chapter's gonna be the last one before season 3 starts. Please let me know what you think! Much love to you guys!


	58. The Trigger

Living with Jimmy meant that the hour of the day stopped mattering completely to Joe. At least in the McCall house, even with Aunt Mel working the strangest shift combination possible, Scott still had school to attend. This meant they sort of banded together to make the routines revolve around his schedule. Not with Jimmy.

Joe could come back in the early afternoon to a dark apartment, which meant he was asleep in his room, or wake up in the middle of the night to see him hard at work, pouring over news articles from around the world. Apparently, he spoke three languages and relied on his fans to translate the rest before sending the material over to him. 

Not sure if they were feeding each other’s bad habits, but it made for a less lonely existence at least.

Unfortunately, it also meant Jimmy was up working when she finally came home. Not the most socially adept, she guessed something in her scent gave her away as Jimmy took off his headphones and gave her a questioning glance when she entered.

“I saw a picture of my mom,” she said simply, hoping it would stave off any other questions. Without turning back, she went straight to her bedroom, falling face-first into the bed.

Maybe if she just kept her head down she would suffocate on her pillowcase. It beat trying to process...everything. God, she just wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear. This was supposed to have been cathartic, closure, and instead, she just felt numb and angry and stupid.

No, she didn’t feel anything, at least not if she tried hard enough.

It had started off as expected, as her therapist had gently coaxed her into realizing, that it was not her dad’s fault her mom wasn’t in her life — it was an active choice from her mother. She left them. Despite the happy smile in the polaroid, she had wanted nothing to do with Joe after the first few months. Dad called it postpartum mania, but they never got it diagnosed. The end result was the same. She left.

And when Joe’s dad tried to find her, he learned some things he wished he hadn’t. Some things that made him realize she should not be let anywhere near a child.

So he filed for full custody. Did everything by the book and made sure she had due chance to respond or fight him for it, so she could never fight him on it at a later time. Never happened anyway. Joe’s mom had made it abundantly clear she wanted nothing to do with him or Joe and at that point, he felt nothing but relief.

Then instead of explaining to a two-year-old that _Mama_ was a bad person, he told Joe her mom had died in labor. It was easier than to admit the truth. That her mom just didn’t want anything to do with them. And he never wanted Joe to have that hanging over her head; he never wanted her to doubt how much she mattered or was loved.

A soft knock on the door, but Joe did not raise her head or respond. It creaked open a few moments later anyway, a steaming cup followed by Jimmy back in his bathrobe.

“It’s decaf,” he said and put it on her nightstand. “I would have suggested chamomile for calming purposes, but...” Jimmy crouched down by her bed. “How are you faring?”

Joe recognized the cheap attempt of humor, but snorted either way. Her voice came muffled through the pillowcase and the mass of her own hair hanging over her face. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Do you need to talk about it?” he asked, uncharacteristically gentle. He paused and added: “Do you want me to call Derek?”

“No!”

She said it too fast, too hard and of course, Jimmy caught on.

He used his senses, smelled the air, and said: “You’ve already been there...”

Of course, she had already been there. Stupid as she was, she’d gone straight to his loft, pushing the button in the elevator without thinking, trying not to think, doing everything she could to stop thinking. Some sort of alarm sounded when she pulled the sliding door open and Derek, her beautiful and stoic Derek, looked up. He was in the middle of setting up the werewolf equivalent of a home security system just inside the doorway.

His face cleared at the sight of her, obviously catching on that something was not as it was supposed to be, her tear-streaked face probably a solid clue. She said something, couldn’t remember, maybe asking to talk in private, and he led her over to his bedroom. She heard him close the door, shutting everything out, everything but her thoughts that still churned on despite him, despite his scent.

“What’s wrong?” he had asked and she clutched the polaroid in her hand, wanting to show him, wanting to tell him everything. That was why she was there, to tell him, to talk to him, to make him understand so he could tell her it was not that bad and everything was going to be okay and it wasn’t her fault. Except they never talked like that, they never talked about feelings or anything deep; only practical, only superficial.

And her head was so full of noise and thoughts and she just wanted to make it stop and he stood in front of her with a worried frown, worried for her, waiting for her to make her stupid brain work and get the words out.

So instead of telling him, she tried to make the noise in her head shut up, for just a little while, to have it stop and be erased by the scent of him. Joe closed the small distance between them and kissed him.

She had to reach up to pull him down and he relented willingly, letting her open his mouth with hers, trying to get all of him at once. His scent, his taste, his heat — all of him. And her hands wrapped in his hair, tugging him even closer, closer, closer. This was what she wanted, right then, right there. He met her equally, pulling her tight to him by her waist, his large hands on the small of her back.

And for a while, it worked. Her mind stopped, it was only her and Derek.

It was not until she ran her hands up his torso, underneath his t-shirt, trying to get it off of him that she realized he was pulling away. His hands grabbed her wrists, forced them away from him, and his lips parted from her the last as if that pained him as much as it pained her.

“Joe, Joe, wait.”

She hardly heard him, trying to close the distance again, trying to feel him again. Kiss him again. Touch him again. Make the noise go away.

“Joe, stop!”

The harsh tone made her open her eyes. He still held her wrists away from them as she breathed heavily, still tasting him on her lips, and his lips were swollen as well, where she kissed him. But the look on his face was not of happiness or joy or lust, it was of-

The bubble burst.

“Oh my God,” Joe breathed and stepped back. He let go of her wrists and she covered her mouth with her hands. His hair and t-shirt ruffled and his face locked in confusion and anger and- what had she done? “Oh my God, Derek, I’m so sorry. I didn’t-”

She didn’t mean it? So why had she done it? Why had she tried to force him? _Him_ , whose track record with women was not exactly the best? Whose last sexual experience might very well have been forced by a lunatic not taking no for an answer, chaining him up in a basement, and doing who knows what. Like she had done with Joe, chaining her up in the cavern, running her hands over her again and again and again, except Joe could not make her stop, tied up, helpless and gagged. Joe almost retched at the thought of using him like that.

She was turning into Kate. No better than Kate. Kate Kate Kate.

Derek shrugged hastily to get his t-shirt fully back on, taking a step towards her, hand already out to calm her, but she pulled away now. “Joe, it’s okay, it’s not that-”

“I’m so sorry!” she gasped, now crying even harder, taking more steps away from him. The excuses flew past her lips as if that would make things okay. “I just wanted to make the noise stop, for just a little while, and I thought- I didn’t think- I didn’t.”

“Joe? Joe, wait.” Derek rushed to intercept her where her body moved on its own, wanting to leave, wanting to get out, wanting to curl into a ball of shame never to emerge into daylight ever again. “Joe, what’s wrong? What happened?”

But she just shook her head, too far gone to speak, too far gone to tell him. That her mom was a bad person and so was Joe apparently as she’d just tried to _use_ him. Just like Kate. Just like Peter. Just like Scott.

“Listen to me, Joe, it’s okay-”

“No, it’s not okay!” she bit out, the anguish crushing her voice into a shrill replicate of her own. She gestured to him: “I just thought- but I was wrong, like I’ve been wrong about absolutely everything all along and- and I’ve never made the right call, not once, and I’m so sorry!”

Unable to look at him, unable to take whatever angry expression he gave her, unable to even think about him, she turned and nearly ran back where she had come. Out to the hallway, into the elevator. He didn’t follow, just called her name.

“Joe!”

_“Joe?”_

Jimmy’s voice cut through her memory with Derek, who she intended to never see ever again if she could help it. God, what had she done? Even if he didn’t have hang-ups regarding physical contact, which he very well might have, she wasn’t there to kiss or have sex with him for any other reason than her own selfish frustration, using him as a distraction. Using him, like he didn’t deserve better. Like he wasn’t a person at all.

“I-I don’t wanna talk about it,” Joe whispered, curling up further in the bed. The look on his face when he broke off the kiss — the hurt and anger and confusion, she didn’t ever want to think about it. Her lips still felt swollen, but wrong. She felt wrong. Disgusting. No better than Kate.

Joe sat up to sip the coffee, hoping to get rid of the taste of herself, to numb her own mouth down. It scolded her tongue, but she deserved it. Except Derek didn’t and he’d probably felt that and-

She’d ruined everything.

And on top of it all, the news about her mother still lingered in the back of her head. Joe wanted to thump her skull against the wall just to make her mind stop, but couldn’t because Derek would feel that too and she’d done enough damage there already. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting her own thoughts, fighting to find another thing to focus on.

“Did you get anywhere with that geo-tag?” Work, distraction. “Your script.”

Jimmy kept quiet for a while, she could feel his eyes on her and she sipped the coffee intently, not looking up. Eventually, he sighed.

“I have the coordinates. Script is running, but the probability analysis will take a while,” Jimmy said and she felt the bed dip as he sat down near her feet. “What are your father’s current theories?”

Joe spoke directly into the half-empty coffee cup: “Human trafficking, random abduction, wrong place, and wrong time.”

Jimmy made a small noise of amusement. “It would indeed be interesting to see a human trafficker choose a werewolf as a victim of opportunity.” He sighed and now he leaned back on her bed, lying horizontally across it and her legs. “My script might not lead anywhere, Joe. Don’t get your hopes up.” A second of hesitation. “You really want to find them, huh?”

Them. Sometimes Joe had to remind herself that it wasn’t just Erica missing.

“I do. It just, I don’t know, Jimmy, it feels _wrong_ that she’s missing. It’s like this tight _twist_ inside of me that doesn’t let up. It feels like,” she faltered and searched for a wording, “like I’m missing a limb or something.”

A long silence followed. “Have you talked to Derek about this?”

Joe snorted, but it sounded halfway like a sob. “No. We don’t,” she shrugged, “talk like that. The deep stuff. We just scratch the surface. And not even that.”

But it wasn’t like she could claim ignorance — she knew what he’d been through. And she knew the feeling of helplessness and she had tried to take advantage of it and she hated herself for it.

Joe forced her mind back to the present. “You don’t have to either, Jimmy, my problems aren’t automatically yours.”

“You know, for the last five years, I’ve had a project,” Jimmy said conversationally and he shuffled as he put his arms under his head. “A mission and a plan. This book stuff? It feels like olds now, not news. Tracking down two missing werewolves and an Alpha pack? That feels important, especially if I can help a friend at the same time.” He sighed lightly and Joe felt his reassuring mass move on top of her legs. “Do you want to hear something sad to distract from your pain?”

“Okay.”

She doubted Jimmy could say anything that topped what her dad had dropped on her tonight. The contrast with the indescribable happiness at seeing a picture — an actual picture! — for the first time, filling in that blank hole that had evolved to look like Aunt Mel over the years and then learning that her mother had left, because of Joe. Her dad never said it outright, but it was there between the lines. They had been happy, before Joe. The pregnancy wasn’t planned, it was hard on her mom, she threw up every day for nine months — a lot of risk factors for postpartum psychosis and apparently it had made her snap.

Joe wondered if she had any genetic dispositions for manic behavior; if she could claim insanity for trying to force herself onto Derek.

No, stop. No more Derek, not now.

“ _My_ mother,” Jimmy began in that same tone of voice he had used when he told her about his suicide-attempt, that tone that indicated he had talked about it extensively in a safe setting, “the lovely prestigious Elisabeth Carter, was the one who suggested this so-called book-contract for me. It sounds like a good deal, yes? I know you are under the impression _they_ are to leave _me_ alone, but the fine-print states in no uncertain terms that it goes both ways. It’s my mother’s approach to life, I’m afraid, to pay herself out of problems. She could never fully look at me the same way again after what I did.”

Not knowing what to say, Joe shifted around on her bed so she could touch Jimmy’s shoulder in the dark.

“My _father_ is heavily medicated,” he continued in that neutral tone of his, “early-stage Alzheimers, a genetic condition I have hopefully cured myself of. He is happy to stay at home, go to homeowner’s association meetings, complain about drought killing his petunias,” Jimmy snorted at the thought, sounding more amused than bitter, “and my mom works a lot. I take after her, you see, personality-wise.” He sighed deeply, moving around so she felt him looking at her. “I don’t have many friends, Joe, by choice. I’m not good at keeping them anyway, but you-”

She sniffled and jolted a bit when Jimmy patted her hand.

“-you’re worth keeping. So I’ll help you and listen to you, Delgado, because that’s what friends do.”

Hoping to keep her mind fixated on Jimmy instead of how sick she felt with herself, Joe choked out: “Ride or die?”

“Let’s not get carried away.”

Another half-snort, half-sob. “Thank you for telling me. That’s so messed up, Jimmy. I’m sorry that happened to you.” She changed her grip to squeeze his hand, a pitiful display of sympathy. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re my friend.”

“Mm, the rest is between me and my therapist.” Jimmy adjusted his arm again, but didn’t push Joe’s hand away, which she appreciated. He wasn’t overly fond of physical contact, but she needed some right now. “Did it help?”

“A little,” she admitted.

“Are you gonna be able to get some sleep?”

“No.”

“Wanna try to do some work?”

“Yes.”

Joe opted for a shower first, hoping to scrub away the top layer of her skin and feel less disgusted with herself. When she emerged in a wifebeater and gray sweatpants she suspected might actually be Jimmy’s, the man in question was busy updating the large map on the wall with the new coordinates.

“We’re missing forty hours between the Argent captivity and the gas station phone call,” Jimmy said and handed her another cup of coffee, this one probably not decaf. “The known data points with geo-tag and timestamps are her last call to you,” he tapped the map where they found the cell-phone, “where Chris Argent let them go, presumably within minutes of us getting there,” he glanced at Joe for a reaction, but she had already carried that guilt for so long and shrugged, “and lastly her phone call to your father.”

With the coffee mug warming her hands, Joe just nodded to show she was paying attention.

“We have the claw marks here,” Jimmy tapped the map again, “without a timestamp. Based on the indentation depths,” which was a nice way of saying how desperate Erica must have been, “they happened after her phone call to your father. The interesting thing is,” Jimmy took a step sideways to allow Joe to see the full map, “they are on the opposite side of the gas station than expected.”

“She knew someone was after her at the gas station,” Joe mumbled and came closer to study the map. The claw marks were in the forest line that led to the Preserve with the Argent’s house on the other side. “She wouldn’t have gone back in the same direction she came from.”

“Which means she did _not_ come straight from the Argent’s basement to the gas station. That fits because it’s a relatively short distance. If you account for the average speed a werewolf can maintain comfortably, give or take twenty percent depending on adrenaline level or fatigue,” Joe had an image of Jimmy with a stopwatch in the forest, running around to time himself, “Erica should have been able to cross the forest in only a few hours. We’re missing forty.”

“You’re thinking she was held somewhere, got away, and was recaptured?” Joe asked and decided to skip creamer for her coffee, almost relishing how it burned down her throat. She hoped it would quench some of that coldness inside of her. “Or that she was hiding out before they snagged her?” A new image floated past her imagination. “Or did they toy with her, making her run in circles?”

Jimmy shrugged as he stepped back to survey the board. “Wolves typically wear down their prey. A hunt can last for days.”

They both kept quiet for a while. Joe tried to dispel the memory of Erica from the CC-TV footage, how desperate she must have been to go for the donation bucket. Was she caught because she made that phone call or did she make that phone call because she knew she’d be caught anyway? Twenty seconds. That was all she got. She had the time to give her name, tell him she was a friend of Joe’s, that she needed help, but she didn’t know where she was, and could he please help her?

“If they held her somewhere, can we figure out where based on your calculations?”

“We can,” Jimmy confirmed and got up again, uncapped a marker, and drew a large circle that mostly covered the north side of Beacon Hills. “And I have already run the crude numbers. Most likely, somewhere in this area. Used to be a suburb, mostly abandoned buildings now after the paper factory shut down.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover.” Joe sat down in the armchair, letting Jimmy do the writing and pinning. Another sip of coffee, not even tasting it on her burnt tongue. “How do we find them? I mean, if the Argents who literally did this for a living couldn’t find Derek when he was in relatively bad hiding right in this town for a couple of months...do we even stand a chance?”

“We might tonight. They’ll find it harder to lay low.”

Joe was about to ask why, but remembered. “The full moon.” A chill went through her when she realized one day’s difference would have made her assault on Derek downright cruel instead of stupid. Forcing him to lose control. “How are you gonna be holding up tonight?”

Jimmy gave a short dismissive shrug. “Oh, I’m not affected by the full moon.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I know language isn’t your strongest suit, but remind me, what does _Demi_ mean?”

“Half,” Joe answered automatically. Her mind connected the dots. “You’re affected by the _half_ -moon?”

“Mm, it’s a steeper price to pay considering it happens twice a month. Better payoff though. Why am I smelling a surge of anger in you now?”

“Because it was a half-moon during the reunion dinner!” Joe snapped, remembering only because she had worried Derek was affected by it during their drive to Berkeley. It hadn’t been the moon though. She suppressed that memory, focusing on Jimmy. “When you went out with Kelly! No wonder you acted like an ass.”

“I’ll admit the half-moon might have affected my pre-existing bias towards Derek, but I assure you, Kelly was in absolutely no danger. I took her back to her hotel without any incidents and then spent the rest of the night meditating in private.”

“You are so weird, Jimmy,” Joe muttered, but without much venom.

A sigh passed through her at seeing the sun creep over the neighboring building into the living room. Joe could feel the tug on her mind, the first sign of too little sleep. It had been a while, she had been careful the last few years, forcing herself to shut off her mind at times. No use now. The manic buzzing continued even though she tried to slump down in the chair, listening to Jimmy explain something akin to a plan.

Both the Alphas and the missing kids would be easier to find during the full moon. They’d be reckless, using half their focus on remaining in control at all times — Boyd and Erica might be out of control and difficult to subdue — and their urges would make it hard for them to resist a chase. Joe thought it sounded like a shit plan and if Derek found out she even contemplated leaving the apartment on the night of the full moon, she was dead.

Derek.

Nope. Not gonna go there, she thought and swallowed the heavy lump. Her treacherous mind was just that, treacherous, and prodded at thoughts that should be kept under lock and key. Like how she knew what she was doing all the time when going there, how she knew — or at least hoped — he would not be able to control himself if she just made the first move, made her wants explicit and-

Disgusting. She was as bad as Kate. The shotgun was in her room, but it wasn’t really Joe’s shotgun, was it? It was like Joe was morphing into Kate instead of a werewolf. Like Batman becoming what he feared the most. Or more like the Joker, mayb-

She jolted when Jimmy’s phone buzzed. Seeing the slight smile on his lips, she determined it was probably Kelly who had texted him good-morning and not Derek.

“Have you decided if you’re still doing the fieldwork? Kelly tried calling you. Wants me to remind you about the missing approval forms and says she’s flying north the day after tomorrow. She’s looking forward to seeing you.” Jimmy looked up from where he was typing an answer. “Where’s your phone?”

Picking at the upholstery of the armchair, Joe admitted: “I turned it off.”

“Because of Derek?”

“Mm.” Joe sighed and stretched out perpendicular to the way you were supposed to sit in an armchair. “If I don’t do the fieldwork, I’ll lose my position with Walker, but...”

Jimmy talked slowly, obviously trying to soften the blow. “Maybe some time away from Beacon Hills would do you good?”

Shaking her head, Joe got up to get more coffee. “Not without Erica.”

* * *

Out of everyone she had expected — or feared — when the buzzer for the main door downstairs rang, it hadn’t been Aunt Mel. Dressed in street clothes for once, and holding two paper cups of coffee almost as a shield when Joe trudged downstairs.

Aunt Mel gave her a tight-lipped smile with wide hopeful eyes as Joe pushed the door open and stepped outside. She offered one cup.“Double oatmilk mocha cappuccino, extra foam?”

“Uh, hi?”

“Sorry,” her aunt’s face split in an embarrassed grin and sighed, “hi. Sorry, I can’t remember the last time I had to order at a real coffee shop and to be honest, I’m still feeling the adrenaline. I think I got your order right, I have no idea what I got for myself, so that’ll be a fun little mystery to figure out.” She talked fast like she did when she was nervous and stressed. “So, uh, double oatmilk mocha cappuccino, extra foam?”

“Thanks,” Joe said with twisted brows, Aunt Mel’s awkward behavior making her nervous now. She numbly accepted the coffee. “Something wrong?”

“I am really, really, really, really sorry for last night,” Aunt Mel rushed to explain and it took Joe several seconds to remember everything that had happened _before_ Derek. “You’re right, it was a cheap shot, too soon and if I had had _any_ idea that Rob was finally gonna pull his head out of his ass and talk to you, I would’ve never,” she shook her head rapidly, “ _never_ tried to force you into an argument with Scott.” Aunt Mel let out a puff of air. “It got a little much for you last night, huh?”

Not sure where to look, Joe just nodded and let the door shut behind her as this was obviously going to take a while.

“Yeah, yeah,” Aunt Mel nodded alongside Joe in clear compassion, “did you get _any_ sleep last night?” Her face fell slightly at Joe’s half-hearted shrug. “Yeah, okay, I probably shouldn’t have brought you coffee, _but_ I did also,” she stuffed her hand into her pocket and brought out a small pill bottle, “bring you Zolpidem. So, coffee now, stay awake until sundown at least, then take one pill if you need it, try to get back into a good rhythm, you know the drill. It’s just, you’ve been doing so good for so long, I don’t want you to slip up again. Okay?”

“Okay,” Joe said and accepted the pill bottle. She guessed Scott hadn’t come clean to his mom about what he’d done to Joe. Hopefully, she could manage to fall asleep on her own and didn’t need to take any more pills. “Dad send you here?”

“Uh, no, but he did tell me what you guys talked about. _We_ don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, that’s a hundred percent up to you, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Uhm...” Aunt Mel hesitated and she took a hasty sip of her own coffee, making a face. “Okay, that was not, uh, anyway, Derek stopped by this morning.”

Joe couldn’t help herself. “Shit.”

“Don’t worry, your dad didn’t see him and he just wanted to know if I had talked to you,” Aunt Mel immediately tried to diffuse, “because he was worried. You turned off your phone?”

More nodding, Aunt Mel subconsciously copying the movement.

“Okay, he thought something had happened, but he didn’t know what. Said something that he couldn’t see you today? Because of the full moon? He also asked me to ask you to please, _please_ stay indoors tonight for the full moon and to warn you that things might get a little rough, but he had more help this time? I don’t know, really, what he was talking about, but I assume you do?”

With a heavy sigh, Joe nodded again and tried to _not_ think of Derek for five seconds so she could breathe. He had so many things to worry about and now Joe was wasting more of his time with her bullshit.

Aunt Mel’s face drew into a sad frown. “Was it bad?”

As Joe froze, wondering how Aunt Mel knew what she had done, if she could see it on her face somehow, Aunt Mel continued:

“Rob just said he told you the truth. Was it bad? Are you okay?”

“I’m not a hundred percent okay,” Joe admitted with a relieved sigh and realized she still hadn’t tried her coffee. She did and it was a perfect cappuccino, but tasted like nothing in her mouth. “But I’ll be fine. Eventually.”

“Again, you don’t have to tell me anything, I just- I know Rob, okay? And you and me, we talked about this before, that he should not have kept things from you no matter what reason he cooked up, but I can’t imagine him not telling you unless it was bad. So...was it?”

Letting out a slow breath, willing her tears to keep away for the time being, Joe nodded. Her dad had held her hand the entire time as he talked last night, even when she tried to pull away in disgust.

“My mom, uh, did some bad things. Leaving me and dad was actually not the worst one by far.”

“Oh honey,” Aunt Mel said and wrapped one arm around Joe’s shoulder in a side-hug. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine...” Aunt Mel pulled back and gave her a worried frown: “Do you want to talk about it or not? I’m fine either way. I can talk about my life, if you want, how there’s suddenly werewolves existing and my son is one and you’re dating one-”

Aunt Mel stopped; Joe’s face was not a good liar.

“I’m getting the sense you don’t really want to talk about Derek right now,” Aunt Mel said with another nervous smile. “Okay, uh, fine. I gotta get to work now, but how about we do another girl’s night soon? I’ll kick Scott out and it’ll be just the two of us, some wine, a bad romantic comedy we can make fun of, and all the tortilla chips and salsa we can eat? How’s that sound?”

“Doesn’t sound half-bad,” Joe mumbled, smiling despite everything. She was so, so lucky to have Aunt Mel in her life. “You know if Dad’s at the station?”

“Yeah,” Aunt Mel said slowly, with that same puzzled expression from yesterday when Joe had told her she was late for dinner with her dad. In a hopeful voice, she asked: “Yeah, he left at first light. Am I interpreting it correctly that you’re asking because you want to see him and not because you want to avoid him? Because, I gotta tell ya, that’s more progress than I expected after one night.”

With a scoff, Joe shook her head, hating to get Aunt Mel’s hopes up. “It’s a bit more complicated than that. He’s using his vacation days to help me look for Erica and,” Joe blew air out her mouth, “he’s getting absolutely nowhere because he doesn’t know everything. And I can’t tell him, either, it’s not that simple.”

Before she had been honoring Derek’s request out of respect, now she could add guilt on top of that. When did everything get so messed up?

With a promise to make an honest attempt to get back into a good sleep rhythm, Joe hugged Aunt Mel before she left. Pushing down all conflicted and confusing feelings, Joe let her weird roommate know she was heading out. From what she could gather of Jimmy’s lackluster goodbye, he was still working on improving the script if they were going to take advantage of the full moon tonight, narrow the scope somewhat.

But Derek had asked her to stay indoors tonight, which did not really make sense unless he knew more than what he told her. She hated that she was thinking like this. It was hard to tell if she was projecting her dad onto Derek or vice versa anymore and she wished she could sleep just to stop dealing with all the noise for a short while.

Dead ends. They kept hitting dead ends from every direction. Jimmy needed more data points, her dad needed the full story, Derek needed fewer distractions. Joe had no idea what she needed. She just wanted to _find_ Erica.

“Hey,” she said softly, knocking on the open door to her dad’s temporary office. After logging so many hours here lately the front desk had waved her through without protest. A surge of guilt flared at her dad’s relieved face — he’d probably tried to call her and it was well past noon now. “Sorry I’m late, I, uh, forgot to charge my phone.”

“Yeah, all right,” her dad said and she trudged inside the office, leaning on the wall instead of sitting down. His brows wrinkled as he studied her. “You get any sleep last night, kid?”

“Mmyes,” Joe said, lying through her teeth. But this was her dad who’d heard her lie before and she faltered. “Almost.”

“All right,” her dad repeated, as it would somehow make it true, and he pulled out a chair in front of his laptop. “Work?”

“Work.”

Grateful for his ability to recognize she did not come here to talk — after the talk-and-cry-session last night she did not have it in her for another round — Joe sank down in the chair and pulled up the remaining traffic cam footage.

Dull, tedious, repetitive work — exactly what she needed. It would probably not lead anywhere, but at least she felt like she was doing something.

Her dad disappeared out of the office for a short while. When he came back, a bottle of water and a sandwich wrap appeared in front of her on the table. She looked up at him a bit confused, but before she could ask, he leaned over and placed a kiss on the top of her head. A soft, tender, father-like gesture she did not know she had missed.

Joe closed her eyes and inhaled his smell of cigarillos and the same aftershave he’d used her whole life. Neither said anything and eventually Dad released her and patted her shoulder in affection.

“Thank you,” Joe mumbled, giving him a thin smile, hoping he caught on she was thanking him for more than the food. He nodded in return before focusing on the other laptop.

Several hours passed before either of them said anything, both managing to lose themselves in the work and for once, her dad’s cell phone remained silent. It was a slow day at the station as well and Joe vaguely remembered it was the weekend.

“You got plans tonight, kid?”

“Dad, I already ate the sandwich,” Joe gestured to the empty paper wrapper now on the table, “you don’t need to force-feed me dinner every night.”

“Going out with Derek?”

She forced herself not to react, but glanced over at him to check for any clues Aunt Mel had told him anything. Or worse, that Derek had stopped by here as well.

“No,” she said eventually when she deemed it safe.

“No? He’s not takin’ you out on some romantic star-gazing picnic? Full moon tonight,” a chill went down her spine, “and a clear sky...” Her dad trailed off, probably seeing how her shoulders rose up to her ears with each new word he uttered. “Uh, yeah, nevermind. I wasn’t thinkin’ dinner this time, unless you want some of course.” He rubbed his eyes as he put down the notebook. “I, uh, got ya somethin’, to make up for a few birthday and Christmas presents you missed.”

“Presents that I sent back,” Joe corrected and unconsciously mimicked him by rubbing her own eyes. She was just glad he’d stopped talking about Derek. “Dad, I’m still digesting everything from last night, I don’t- I don’t have it in me for another round of heart-to-heart right now. Half of me is still so angry with you for not telling me the truth in the first place, the other half is happy that you finally told me and I’m still not sure how to feel about _what_ you told me.” Joe blew air out of her mouth. “Just give me a sec to deal with things. You don’t need to bribe me, I’m-”

The words died in her mouth as her dad reached down to grab a small black hard case. From the size and the design, it looked like a handgun case. So it did not come as a surprise when it opened to reveal a sleek pistol tucked into some dark gray foam insert.

“The case is TSA-approved,” her dad explained slowly, showing her how to operate the heavy latches on the front. “Means it’s safe for air travel and it counts as the locked container necessary for legal transport by motor vehicles. This,” he held up the handgun, “is a Glock 19. It takes 9mm bullets, any sporting goods store in the country’s gonna carry 9mm bullets. The Glock is a classic for a reason. Well-made, accurate, extremely reliable.”

It was almost an exact copy of the gun Kate had used. The gun Joe had stolen from her, and Kate subsequently reclaimed.

“Want to take it for a test spin?”

Somehow, that ended up with them driving to the gun range. She remained quiet in the car, trying to sort out her mixed feelings. She _wanted_ a gun, but hated that she wanted one right now. The name _Kate Kate Kate_ went on repeat inside her skull and she hated that too. Up until January this year, Joe would not have considered herself a violent person. Not a pacifist by any means and she’d hit back if pushed too far, but there had been a time she had to utilize everything she had to pull the trigger even when Scott’s life was on the line.

At the range, it looked like her dad had called in another favor, as they were the only ones there. Either that or he’d paid off the owner. Either way, she donned the pair of earmuffs and safety glasses her dad gave her. Going through the motions as her dad showed her what made the Glock tick. How to load, how to chamber, how to unload — no manual safety lever, which her dad called a false sense of security anyway. He checked her stance — Joe made sure to not lock out her elbows — and asked her to aim at the cardboard cutout on the other side of the range.

It wasn’t a heavy gun, probably weighing the same as a large water bottle, and it fit nicely in the two-hand grip her dad had her using. And when she looked down the front and back sights, taking aim at the cardboard cutout, she could feel how easy it was to handle.

Except when she looked down the sights, her hands began to tremble.

Instead of the cardboard cutout, she saw everyone else. She saw Matt, smirking while aiming the gun at her, then at Scott, then at Derek. She saw Allison, wild-eyed with knives, Isaac already bleeding on the floor, Derek next. She saw Kate, swinging the shotgun around with a manic expression, not caring if it was Joe or Derek she hit.

And she saw herself in the same second she pulled the trigger — first at the Hale house, hitting Peter’s Alpha-form in the flank; at the pool where she landed a single hit on the kanima who really was a teenage boy; in the locker room, where ceiling and floor took the brunt of the damage instead of Peter; outside their house, where Derek managed to dodge a furious headshot; in the warehouse, a soft _fwop_ leaving Allison helpless.

Helpless, tied up, and gagged.

Joe’s entire body flinched when something clamped over her hands — her dad was coaxing the unloaded gun from her tight grip, whispering: “Okay, kid, it’s okay, come on.”

With a sharp gasp, she relented the weapon and now felt the wetness on her cheeks from silent tears. Her chest heaved to get enough oxygen and the second the gun left her hands, she became limp and fell against her dad’s chest.

“Okay, kid, that was too soon, I get it,” he murmured into her hair as he stroked it like she was ten years old again and scrubbed her knee on the pavement outside. “It’s okay, _mija_. Just breathe.”

“I’m sorry,” she croaked, but could feel him shaking his head. “I’m fu-”

“My fault, baby. I’m sorry, I didn’t think. It’s okay, it’s fine. You’ll get there. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

“Get off me,” she snapped and shoved herself away. Still closer to hyperventilating, she put a hand against the wall to steady herself. “Sorry.”

When her breathing turned to normal, she pushed the safety glasses up and tore off the earmuffs. The thin skin under her eyes burned as she wiped her face with the heel of her hand, feeling so goddamn _weak_ , and gestured to the gun back in its case. “That for Kate or my mom?”

“Josefina,” her dad sounded tired, “I didn’t tell you that last night to scare you. You wanted the truth, you got it. But do you think, even for a second, that I’d let you move cross-country if I thought you were in any kind of danger?”

“Guess not,” she mumbled, the fire dying as suddenly as it had erupted. If her mom never tried to find her in twenty-three years, it made no sense she should suddenly pop up now. Hell, Joe hadn’t even managed to find out what the woman looked like even when she was actively searching for her. Huffing, Joe crossed her arms. Her emotions were all over the place today. “So it’s for Kate then?”

“It’s for self-defense. Do we need to have the gun-talk again?”

“I hate the gun-talk.” The only thing worse than her dad’s gun-talk was her aunt’s sex-talks. Joe leaned against the side of the small booth where she had stood a few weeks ago with Chris Argent delivering perfect headshots by the dozen. It was almost like she was PMS-ing and she blamed the lack of sleep and excess caffeine. Forcing herself to calm down, she said: “I know it’s not a toy, Dad. And I know it’s a last resort only.”

“Normally yes,” her dad agreed with a concerned nod. She got the feeling he was keeping tabs on her tells, if she was going to break down again. “But if someone who’s come after you twice before comes after you again, you don’t try and talk ‘em down. You take ‘em down.”

“That the official standpoint of the Federal Bureau of Investigations?”

“It’s the heartfelt order of a father who has legitimately considered lockin’ up his daughter somewhere to keep her safe from the world. And since I’d have my work cut out for me persuadin’ you to change your name and go into hidin’, the gun’s what I got. As I said, anything to help you feel safe.”

Joe wanted to try again, but her father brushed it off with some vague comment on how it was getting dark soon. Not sure if he was trying to distract her or cheer her up, but he re-told old war stories from his and Uncle Raf’s days at the Academy on their way back. Most of Joe’s attention focused on the darkening sky and the bright glittering moon up there.

Her dad dropped her off at the laundromat. “Go catch some Z’s, kid. See ya in the mornin’.”

Feet, heart, and mind heavy, she trudged upstairs. As expected, Jimmy was up and seemed to have been waiting for her. In-between all the rest, she had nearly forgotten about his plan to check out the abandoned suburbs tonight.

“We can’t,” she said with a sigh and leaned her elbows on the kitchen island. “We can’t go out tonight. We _can’t_ rush into this without any reconnaissance, backup, or even a solid plan. It’s too risky and I am _not_ getting kidnapped again. I can’t do that to...” She broke off before saying the name because that still sent a twang of guilt into her stomach. “Sorry, Jimmy, but there’s too many unknown variables.”

Jimmy sat back on his computer chair. “I agree. I’m glad you came to that conclusion yourself.”

“Oh shut up.”

“Not to mention you’re practically going cross-eyed from trying to stay awake.” He had a point and she automatically cast a glance at the coffee machine, but Jimmy cleared his throat. “If you even think about it, I’ll crush it with my bare hands. Go to bed, Joe. The world’s still gonna be here tomorrow.”

“I’m just so worried about,” Joe huffed and rubbed her stinging eyelids, “everyone.”

Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Derek, Scott, Jackson — the list was long. Not to mention, this would be Kate’s first full moon as well, wherever or whatever she was. And if Joe had to be honest, she worried mostly about Derek, but also because he seemed to be worried about her too according to Aunt Mel’s testimony and that led to a whole train of uncomfortable thoughts because she hadn’t taken his feelings into considerations for a second when she rushed up there last night and-

“Well, I’m worried about _you_ , Delgado. Because _you_ ,” Jimmy got up from his chair and resorted to physically steering her towards her bedroom, “haven’t slept in at least thirty hours. You can either go voluntarily or,” his eyes flashed purple in the darkness, “I’ll stuff a sleeping pill down your throat.” There were canines present in his grin. “Don’t say I never gave you a choice.”

Before she could respond, he pushed her lightly into the room and shut the door behind her.

He had a point and she hated it.

The dark room felt empty and it left her alone with her thoughts. Fortunately, she had now been up for so long that her thoughts resembled a gooey mess and not coherent structured sentences. Okay, she knew the drill — if she wanted to sleep without pills, she needed to at least try.

Joe did not even undress, just got straight under the covers and tried to pass out from the exhaustion instead of letting her mind wander an inch.

It worked, somewhat, even if she woke sometime later to voices. Joe’s room was closest to the apartment door and she barely heard the conversation through the walls.

_“Hale. Do you know what time it is?”_

She realized she could see faint lines of sunshine pushing through the heavy curtains of her window. Dawn. It felt like she had slept one hour instead of ten.

_“Carter._ “Derek sounded impatient. “ _I’d ask if she was here, but I already know she is. How is she?”_

_“Fascinating. She’s sleeping. I’ll let her know you stopped by.”_ The sound of a door shutting, but stopping with a small bang. _“Remove your foot, Hale. I’m not waking a sleeping insomniac on your bidding.”_

_“Her phone’s been off for almost two days. Is she okay? What happened?”_

_“I’m sure she will tell you herself when she’s ready, just like_ you _are going to tell her_ everything _before I will have to do so myself. Not sure if it’s your self-obsession or if you’re too clouded with pheromones to recognize that she’s spiraling — and it’s partially your fault. She deserves the full truth.”_

_“You’re going to tell her what happened in the warehouse too?”_

_“I’m not sure you should be making threats about what happened in that warehouse. You’re underestimating her, Derek. The high school romance is sweet, but there are bigger things at stake here. We both know it and I’m not lying to her on your behalf.”_

_“You have the choice of letting me in,”_ there was a growl in Derek’s voice, “ _or I’m letting myself in.”_

A short laugh from Jimmy. _“I think you will find that more troublesome than you expect.”_

A small interlude, no one speaking.

_“Mountain ash. Really?”_

_“Custom-made. By now it should have occurred to you that I am much smarter than you. Now leave, Hale, before I make you leave. Tell your uncle I said hello.”_

By the sound of it, Derek did leave. Joe waited for a while, heart thumping hard in her chest, expecting him to suddenly crash through her bedroom window. Nothing. Grateful for Jimmy, her head slumped back on her pillow and she crashed down into restless sleep again.

She’d talk to Derek when she figured out what to say and how to apologize. He deserved better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, my name is alvfr and I like to write long depressing chapters for no reason. You guys didn't really think we'd find out about her mom so easily, did you?
> 
> (And sorry for the angst, guys, but Joe's been through some stuff and she's is definitely projecting her own trauma onto poor Derek. Thank goodness she's got a support system to help her.)
> 
> This is the first time I've fallen for the temptation to split a chapter in half, because it just became too long and choppy. To compensate, I'll upload the next chapter tomorrow :)
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think, your support fuels my frequent updates <3 Stay safe and healthy!


	59. The Red

No matter how long Joe stared at the notice from the LAPD (Los Angeles Police Department), it did not make sense. She watched her dad wrap up the map with the post-its and marks, folding it into a neat square that he placed in his briefcase. She had claimed a chair in his borrowed office and perched on it like a gargoyle, both feet up.

“So that’s it?” she asked, after finding her voice.

“Sorry, kid. Supervisor’s calling me off for the time being. We got what can possibly be a serial killer down in Orange County and he’s pickin’ up speed. Local office is begging for support.” He zipped up the briefcase with efficient movements. It had been a few days since the full moon, a few days Joe used to recuperate and do her college work before daring to come back into civilization. Her dad must have caught her despaired look and he sighed. “Nothin’ I can do. Description matches Erica to the tee.”

“Yeah, but...” Joe said, not knowing how to continue with the sentence. The notice from LAPD about picking up a young girl for petty theft _did_ match Erica, right down to the name the girl had given. Erica Reyes, blonde hair, brown eyes, five-seven, no priors. Skipped bail. It had to be fake, but how could she explain that to her dad? That the description missed a very vital part: partially shapeshifts to include sideburns, yellow eyes, and large fangs?

“We notified she’s a missin’ kid from Beacon,” her dad said as Joe never finished her sentence. “If she’s picked up again, she’ll be handed over to Beacon County.”

“Okay,” she said, wanting to argue, but knew she shouldn’t. This was good, right? For her dad to drop the case and go hunt for less dangerous people, like serial killers in Orange County? To stop chasing the impossible here in Beacon Hills?

Her dad sighed again and put his hands into his belt. “Look, kid, I’ll try to stop by the precinct that picked her up. See if they have anyone on the streets that might know where she’s holding up these days. But all things point to Erica doin’ what most runaway kids do. Hang out on the beach and enjoyin’ freedom for the time being. Maybe that phone call was just a prank after all.”

A nice dream, but just that, a dream.

“When are _you_ leavin’?” her dad asked, breaking her out of her thought process.

After a lot of consideration, she had decided to do the fieldwork. With the internet and a laptop, there was nothing to hinder her from keep looking for Erica even on the road. “Oh, uh, tomorrow I think.”

“Talk to Mel yet?”

“No, not yet,” Joe admitted. The girl’s night was on hold for now as Joe had tried to rid herself of distractions for a while. She planned to tell Aunt Mel everything, but wanted some time to prepare herself. “I’ll stop by when I get back, I’m only gone for a couple of weeks.”

“All right,” her dad said again as if he just said that enough, it would become true. “You look good, kid. Eight hours a night agrees with you.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Clearing her throat, she dug into her pocket for the polaroid and held it out to him. It was only that she was out of tears that prevented further crying at Dad’s softened face as he made no move to accept it. “You said you only had one, right?”

“Keep it.”

“Dad-”

“I don’t need that one,” her dad said and cracked a smile. He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. “I got this.”

Joe hesitated at putting the polaroid back into her pocket, but did so anyway — compartmentalizing the feelings connected with it for later — and leaned over to look at what her dad was trying to show. A smile came over her lips as well. “Oh, really? The pigtails and all, huh?”

“Yeah, it was a good look on ya.”

“It was the only ‘hairstyle’,” Joe used air quotes as she picked up the wallet to study the small picture closer, “you could pull off. What am I here, seven? Eight?”

“I dunno, how many teeth are ya missing?”

Joe snorted and tried to count. It was a school picture from probably second grade judging by the visible gap where one of her front teeth should have been. Tanned skin and a lot of freckles on her face, the frizz from her hair evident even from the small photo — her dad had had no idea how to tame her curls, even with Aunt Mel’s exasperated instructions. Without thinking, Joe took out the polaroid again to compare. It was the same smile, give or take a few teeth.

“What is she? Or was, whatever?” Joe asked and tried to sound casual. That night had ended in a lot of snot and tears, making it difficult for her to ask all the questions she had. “Latina? Afro-Latina??”

“Dunno. Mixed,” her dad said, obviously gauging Joe’s mental balance at the moment. “Not sure if she knew herself. Her Spanish was worse than yours though.”

“Hey, you’re the one who let me learn it on the block,” Joe mumbled absentmindedly, “instead of teaching me yourself.”

“ _Puelto Rico_ ,” her dad mimicked the distinct accent and Joe rolled her eyes as her dad laughed at his own imitation. “Your mom spoke French too, so I’m betting she was from one of the islands at least.”

“You don’t know where she’s from?”

“There was a lot of things I never learned about her and everythin’ I did was fake. Call it a whirlwind romance. Or gullibility, whatever floats your boat. She had me fooled for a good year.”

Joe nodded, still looking for comparisons. It was easier doing it on an old picture of herself than in the mirror right now. Second-grader Josie was both happy and clueless about what really existed in the world. Maybe this was even before she started asking questions, before Uncle Raf dubbed her _Nosy Josie_ , a nickname that somehow transferred even into the school setting.

“Listen, kid,” her dad leaned on the table, “I was thinkin’ I could come back up here when I’m done in OC. We can talk some more. Maybe,” he shrugged, “look into some family therapy. Get an outsider’s perspective, work out a few things.”

“Family therapy?” Joe repeated, distracted from the pictures. She smiled. “You gone soft on me, Dad?”

“Yeah, well, what can I say? Old age and all,” Dad said with a grin she mimicked. “I’m serious though. Think it’d be good for us. We used to be a team, Jos- Joe. I miss that.”

After a few moments of stunned silence, Joe recovered. “Yeah, okay. We can do that.” Still with the photos in her hands, she hesitated. “What did she _do_? Specifically? I mean, you said she killed someone, but was it self-defense or...” Her words faltered as her dad’s smile fell. “Not self-defense, huh? _Murder?_ And she never got caught?”

“Things were different back then. The investigation was botched from the beginning — they never even found the body. By the time I realized what was going on, it was too late. Far as I know, they never got enough evidence to make her a suspect. She went off the grid, case was buried, and I was just happy she was gone, to be honest.”

“Never resurfaced?”

“Not once in twenty years. She’s either dead or long gone, kid.”

“No wonder I never found anything,” Joe mumbled, feeling so stupid for the countless hours she had spent on that project. “Who- who did she kill?”

“ _Mija_... ”

“I’m not gonna go digging into this,” Joe said, at least hoping that was the truth. “I just, I dunno, I guess I’m looking for something to make it make sense.”

Dad kept quiet for some time. “When I get back, I’ll bring the old case files. You can see for yourself.” He held his hand up. “I know you got questions by the dozen, kid, but I don’t have all the answers. Parts of this don’t make sense. There’s a good chance we’ll never find out exactly what happened.”

“Maybe you got it wrong? Maybe she-” Joe faltered again at his expression. “Sorry, looking for redeemable qualities or something. I mean you loved her once, right? She wasn’t all bad?”

He had told her how they met, how they fell in love, how fast all had happened. That was the nice part of the story. It had gone south from there and the blank slate Joe had held on this pedestal for all this time had been filled in with the face of a cold-blooded killer. Alleged, anyway, but her dad was pretty positive about what had happened. Apparently, she had pretty much confessed to him, and he was more worried about keeping her away from Joe than to report her to the police.

Surreal did not even begin to cover how Joe felt about this. It still felt like a dream or a bad nightmare, not entirely real.

Like Kate, Dad was certain Joe’s mom had left the country when she left him and Joe. Good riddance.

“She wasn’t all bad,” her dad echoed Joe’s words back to her and winked. “She gave me you.”

“And she was _really_ pretty,” Joe commented, tapping the picture in her hand.

“Beautiful just like you.”

“Laying it on too thick here, Dad.” Knowing she would have to accept facts — both the truth about her mom and that her dad was now leaving town again, something she found she didn’t exactly look forward to like she normally did — she handed him back the wallet. “Do you think she was a spy or something?”

He snorted. “World’s not a movie. I’m not that kind of agent, kid.”

“You weren’t any kind of agent back then.” She glanced at the polaroid, grinning again. “That why you kept this picture? To prove you were cool once?” Instead of the crew-cut she had grown up with, her dad sported a long mane of dark hair reaching his shoulders. “Very Fabio.”

“I kept it,” her dad said and snatched it out of her hands to tap against the little bundle of cloth in the woman’s arms, “because of that. You.”

The glint in his eye told her he was being sentimental to rile her up. Joe took the picture back. “Whatever. Who’s this other chick?”

“Your mom’s friend. She hated my guts.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Don’t push it, kiddo.” The office was packed up and her dad handed her a cardboard box to carry before he picked up his backpack and briefcase. “Come on, walk with me.”

One arm around the box, she fiddled with the cords of the hooded sweatshirt she wore and followed her dad out of the temporary office at the Beacon County Sheriff’s Station. He smiled and waved at the deputies on his way out, joking that he hoped he wouldn’t be back here just yet.

Well into May now, the weather became increasingly warmer and her dad always ran hot-blooded, so he shrugged off his suit jacket en route to the rental vehicle.

“Dad, I’m...” Joe sighed. It was so difficult to talk lately. Like now that there wasn’t any immediate danger, she’d fell in some sort of dormant waiting-mode, running on less than half capacity. Her dad was in the midst of putting his briefcase in his car, but turned with an expectant frown on his face. The tan he had when getting here was not fading yet. Joe took a deep breath. “Dad, I’m really glad you told me the truth, but I need to ask you one more thing.”

“Okay?”

“Did you know?” she asked, biting her bottom lip as she watched her dad wince. “Before I got sent to Tryon, did you know what I found? Was that _why_ I was sent to Tryon?”

She hadn’t told him. Seething with anger, she’d barely talked to her dad after she found out her mother hadn’t died in labor. After she was released from juvie, she avoided him to the best of her abilities, going through the motions because she was still financially dependent on him. Working her ass off to graduate on time, she moved cross-country the first chance she got. It was Alex who called him out on it, both about his initial lie and the fact that he _should_ have realized what she found.

“I didn’t want to know,” her dad answered now and Joe realized it was complete honesty from his side. And that Alex had been at least partially right. “But a part of me knew. Things hasn’t been the same since and-” He shrugged desolately. “I know there’s no making up for lost time, kid, but I want to be there for you. As your father, as an agent, however you need me.”

Without really knowing how to respond, Joe gave him a nervous smile. “I think this is the longest we’ve gone without shouting at each other. It’s a new record. How much are you paying your therapist? You should double it.”

“ _Josefina_ ,” he said, the Spanish rolling off his tongue, and smiled. “If and when you’re ready to talk more, call me. Any hour of the day, I know you’re a night owl, just like your old man. We’ll talk, okay?” A heartbeat passed as he waited for her to answer and he pushed: _“¿De acuerdo?”_  
  


She smiled a bit and agreed. _“De acuerdo.”_

“All right,” he said again and nodded. He opened his arms for a hug, letting her make the decision, which she appreciated. Small steps. Rebuild slowly, from scratch, as her therapist said. Joe walked into his embrace and he kissed the top of her head again like she was eight years old and nothing bad had happened between them. It was nice. “Take care now, kid. And take care of your aunt!”

“I will.”

Joe watched him get in the car and waved him off as he drove, leaving her alone on the curb in front of the Sheriff’s station. Not for long though. As her dad’s station wagon disappeared around a corner, she dashed for her own car, heading for the apartment.

Jimmy was up, unexpectedly early, but unlike herself, he might not have slept all night.

“Oh good, you’re back,” he said when she finished locking up behind her. “I have a draft of an article I wanted to post, there are some strange happenings in Mexi- what is this?” She had handed him the notice from LAPD. “This must be fake, but is remarkably well done. Where did you get this?” His eyebrows were up high by the time she finished the explanation. “There is a serial killer in Orange County?”

“Oh my God, Jimmy, focus! Who has the motive and the means to pull something like this off?”

“Am I a suspect?”

“Well, you got some sort of police contact you still haven’t come clean about,” Joe pointed out. And some other stuff, but she wasn’t getting into that right now — she hadn’t told him she had overheard his little seance with Derek. “If this wasn’t you, and it’s obviously fake because I don’t think Erica would let herself be arrested for petty theft without putting up a hella more fight than the LAPD would expect, who’s trying to throw the Feds off their tracks?”

He tapped the notice with his hand and she knew what he was going to suggest even before he said it, judging by how he tried to watch her reaction. “Der-”

“Right? I’m not crazy?” Joe asked, cutting him off, not really interested in hearing the name. Easier to ignore for now. Wait for her to gather her thoughts and find out how she was going to apologize or explain or...whatever. “It’s got to be him?”

Him, who she still hadn’t seen since her disastrous attempt at distracting herself. Jimmy had divulged a little detail about the apartment, how he had it fitted to be essentially werewolf-proof from the outside unless you had the keys. The door was apparently made of some special kind of supernatural-repellent wood. It was very technical, so Joe couldn’t really follow. She was more concerned if it was Kate Argent-proof, but then again, she was a werewolf now, so that was probably the same thing. Bottom line, Derek Hale could not enter unless let in. Not that he had tried after that first night, correctly interpreting her radio silence to that she needed some space.

She still had the urge to go talk to him, but it was squashed by her mortification of having to see his face again. Before, when she thought of him, she just saw his handsome scowl, the simmering anger always present. Now, she only saw the expression he had when he had to physically break off the kiss. Ughhh, Delgado, focus!

A couple of weeks on the road doing Professor Walker’s work sounded good by now. If this was Derek’s work, if he wanted her dad — and by extent her — off the chase, he got what he wanted.

“Are you back?” Jimmy asked and she guessed she had zoned out, only now becoming aware that she paced the length of their desks. She nodded and he continued: “I was asking how things are faring between you? I am more than happy to deny him access to you, but you have yet to disclose what happened.”

“Things aren’t faring, Jimmy,” Joe muttered and went over to the coffee-machine, wondering how long the current coffee had been sitting in the pot. It smelled okay. Nothing a little creamer wouldn’t fix. “Things aren’t faring at all.”

“You must be the mate-pair that have resisted the bond for the longest in the history of time.” His comment came drily, not intended as anything more than an observation, but Joe did not have the mental capacity to consider any kind of ‘bond’ right now. “Makes you wonder how much your human side is obstructing the process.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll never know, so...” She ignored the pointed look he sent her. Tried to at least. “I’m not becoming a werewolf, Jimmy, stop looking at me like that.” Under her breath, she muttered: “Already got enough trouble controlling my impulses.”

Jimmy looked at her until she gave him the finger to make him stop. His lip twitched. “The Alpha Pack is a real thing though. Got word back from some of my associates-”

“Conspirators.”

“-and it is as the name suggests, a pack made up of Alphas. The Alpha of the Alpha Pack-”

“The Alpha-Alpha?”

“-is an individual by the name of Deucalion,” Jimmy finished, not bothering with her quips.

Joe kept quiet for a while, sipping her slightly rancid coffee. “Like, Greek Mythology Deucalion? Like, Greek Mythology’s version of Noah’s Ark’s Deucalion?”

In the legend, Deucalion was the son of Prometheus and along with his wife, Pyrrha, were the only survivors of the human race when Zeus decided to flood the entire world. Together they repopulated the world, but it was after consulting some Oracle, which did not fit with how the entire mankind had died already, but that was Greek Mythology for ya. Riddled with plot holes.

“I assume,” Jimmy said with a shrug. “Probably not a name he chose for himself. If you were going to go with Greek Mythology, there are far better names to be had. Lycaon, as an example. Apollo is also a good choice, he is the Lord of the Wolves.”

“I’d go with Fenrir.” Joe nodded in agreement; Deucalion seemed like a stupid name. “From the Norse Mythology. Swallow the sun and that whole shtick. Way cooler than getting cursed by Zeus. Everybody was getting cursed by Zeus.”

“True. Anyway, that is all I have been able to find out about this pack of Alphas. I got the impression that most didn’t want to talk about them and if they did, they only referenced rumors.”

“Super helpful.”

Jimmy sighed and turned back to his computer. “I tried my best. Are you leaving tomorrow? Kelly says she’s excited to see you again.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Joe said, giving up on her coffee and pouring it into the sink. “How are things, uh, faring between you two?”

“We have an established text-based communication for now and plans to have coffee the next time she is at Berkeley. I assume the rest you will find out tomorrow, as she will undoubtedly tell her side of the story. It goes without saying I will appreciate your discretion regarding my condition.”

“You make it sound like you have cancer. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna go around telling any of my college friends about werewolves.” Joe had both hands on her hips, thinking of how little she had prepared for the trip. “Shit, I have to get to Berkeley and sign those expense-forms.” And have a little chat with Professor Kane when she was there. “I’ll look over your article when I get back.”

Leaving Jimmy with his half-finished article about whatever was going on in Mexico, Joe trudged down to the apartment complex’ parking lot where her Ford stood these days.

“Shit.”

The word came unbidden and she could tell even from this distance how Derek raised his eyebrows at her exclamation. He leaned against her car like he had been there for a while, with crossed arms and sunglasses on. Even if the apartment was werewolf-proof, the street was not. She nearly turned on her heel and ran back upstairs, just seeing him at this distance making her stomach churn.

If she thought he had looked unimpressed with her before, this was a whole new level.

“Joe,” he called as she had frozen on the curb, not sure where to go or what to do. “Can we talk?”

“Can we not?”

Hugging herself and keeping her eyes locked downwards on the ground, she crossed over to her car. She went the long way around, keeping as much space between them as possible, and unlocked the driver's side.

Before she could open the door, Derek was by her side again and held it shut with his arm as he leaned against it, towering over her. He’d taken off his sunglasses. “I think we’re gonna have to, Joe.”

Head bent, she tried to focus on anything but the smell of him. She studied their shoes instead, her worn sneakers that had at one point been white and his black basketball shoes. A strange choice of footwear, but she supposed werewolves did not need that much arch support when running in the woods anyway.

“I’d really rather not,” Joe mumbled, not even blushing, just feeling her whole body prickling. Numb and overwhelmed at the same time. Seeing him, smelling him — it was too much.

He sighed, but did not move from his position, only folded his arms. “Joe, it’s not that I don’t,” Derek seemed to search for a word, “ _want_ you. I do, so much it’s...” Now the blush did come at record speed up her back, but she could not bring herself to look at him, to see his expression or his eyes. “So much I couldn’t take the chance of seeing you yesterday, during the full moon.”

It was hard to breathe and she had to fight for each word to get out. “Derek, this is so not about that-”

“You know I want this, Joe, and you know I anchor in anger to stay in control and I’m sorry that made it seem like I was rejecting you. But you were upset. Not thinking straight. I could smell the anxiety all over you.”

“Oh God,” Joe muttered and tried to look even further down, studying the frayed edges of her jeans. He was not telling her anything she didn’t already know. “That doesn’t make it okay. You get that, right? That it’s not an excuse for how I acted? For what I did?”

Which was how she had acted with Alex, back in the day, wasn’t it? A distraction from her own ever-spinning mind. The easiest way to find peace and then sleep.

“Joe...” His voice low and he uncrossed his arms, his fingers near hovering over her arm, but he dropped it without ever touching her. “I just didn’t want you to do anything you might regret. I didn’t want _that_ being a thing you’d regret. Ever. I can’t, remember?” A small intake of breath. “And Isaac was just up the stairs and that room is decidedly not soundproof yet.”

Joe could not even feel her own ears anymore, the heat detaching them from her head. She wouldn’t mind her whole head detaching itself from her body. It could just pop off for all she cared and roll under her car, so she would be spared the temptation of looking at him. She was not sure if her body felt several sizes too big or her clothes too small, but the effect was the same, her skin itched at his proximity.

“You want me to ask or back off? About what happened _before_ you came to the loft?” Derek crossed his arms again as if he couldn’t keep still. “Up to you.” When she kept quiet, he said: “Remind me what you said about communication again?”

She snorted in the direction of her own knees. “Yeah, uh, about that — what are you not telling me?” Without waiting for a reply, her turn now to anchor in anger, she pulled out the notice from the LAPD and finally managed to look at Derek while handing it over. “Great work, by the way. You got what you wanted. My dad’s been pulled off the case, he’s already left town.”

His bright eyes moved as he skimmed the text. “This wasn’t me.”

“Who else has motive? Who else has an interest in keeping the Feds away from werewolf-business? Of getting my dad to leave town?”

“Are you,” Derek’s brows pulled together softly, “upset he’s left?”

“Can you stop trying to tailor your responses to my goddamn chemosignals? Can’t you just answer me?”

He closed his eyes briefly as if resetting his mind and recalling her question. “The Alpha pack. Maybe your dad got too close.” A short glance to the notice. “Or maybe Erica really is down in LA.” Something must have given away her skepticism, either her face or her scent, as Derek sighed. “I didn’t do this.”

“Really?”

“Joe, I’ve never lied to you.”

“I have no way of knowing that,” Joe pointed out and crossed her own arms again. “So if it’s not this, there’s something else you’re not telling me. I overheard you talking to Jimmy.”

Derek cast a short dark glance in the direction of the second floor of the building.

“I’m not trying to keep things from you,” he started and Joe swore, because that was an admission of guilt from his side, “I just don’t know how to explain things in a way that makes sense to you.”

“Have you tried?” she challenged and watched his jaw flex. “Right. Okay, well, you got three weeks to figure it out.” She pulled on her door, but Derek’s mass kept it in place. He drew back and let her open it an inch. “We can talk when I get back.”

His hand slammed the door shut again. “Back from where?”

“I told you before. Fieldwork for Walker,” she said, not looking at him, rather at her car door. She tugged on the door handle again, but he didn’t budge. “California crime lab interviews.”

“Are you sure leaving is a good idea?”

“Can’t think of a better one right now.”

“I meant leaving Beacon Hills,” Derek explained with uncharacteristic patience. “It might not be safe.”

“Why not? Erica’s living the life in LA apparently.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. “Are you taking Jimmy with you?”

She finally looked up, only to scrunch her brows together. “If I’m _taking_ Jimmy with me? Derek, he’s my roommate, not an accessory.” He rolled his eyes and Joe anchored in the annoyance, feeling it flare to anger. “Did you not hear that I’m visiting ‘crime labs’? Most of the people working there are cops, it’ll be plenty safe.” It was a struggle to look at him, but she managed without her breath getting too shaky. “Now can you get off my door?”

With an excessive eye roll, he did and she opened the door fully and got in. When she tried to pull it shut, she found his hand yet again holding it in place as he leaned over her car.

“We have an instinct to seek each other out if we’re hurt.”

Joe paused at his words, peering up at him from the seat. It sounded like a fact and not a conversation starter.

“You’ve acted on it a few times already, so I thought you knew. It doesn’t differentiate what kind of hurt.” Derek’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but his face remained neutral otherwise. “If you’re confused _why_ you came to see me.”

“That makes sense,” Joe said slowly and pulled on her door again, “except I used to do the exact same thing to Alex.” She ignored both her own rush of newfound guilt and the tightening of his jaw. “Look, I wish I could claim that some supernatural force made me do it, but nope, it’s just me and my unresolved issues. And I’m not sure how to apologize yet, so I’m also taking three weeks to work that one out. Okay? We’ll talk then, I promise.”

“Joe, you don’t need to apologize.”

Hard to tell if it was her scent or her expression that made him roll his eyes.

“Can you at least turn your phone back on?” he asked tiredly and she was struck with that same sensation she had so many times before. How he kept running after her, keeping her safe because he felt like he had to. Not because he cared, but because he felt responsible.

“My phone is on,” she bit out and pulled the door so hard a normal person would get their fingers squashed. Derek was not a normal person and he withdrew his hand before her door slammed shut. Doing her very best at ignoring him, just like she did his text messages, she started the car and drove off. Not even looking at him in the rearview mirror. Well, she looked, but he was already gone by then.

Good job, Delgado. You are officially a mess. Claiming to need time to think and then spend all your time trying not to think. See the paradox here, Joe? Already compartmentalized most stuff about your mom, haven’t you? Not like Dad had said anything you didn’t know or suspect. Of course, your money was on drugs or something, that she was a junkie. Or she left for another man, another family. Not that she had straight-up killed someone. Although with the lack of details around that, there could still be drugs involved.

Three weeks without thinking about the supernatural would do her good. Give her perspective. And Kelly could definitely help her figure out what to say to Derek when she worked up the nerve to answer his texts.

* * *

“Derek stopped by.”

In the middle of deciding how many gray t-shirts to pack, Joe looked up at Jimmy who leaned against the doorframe of her room. She sat on the floor, stuffing relatively clean clothes into her bag. “What?”

Jimmy nodded and studied his hands. Sometimes it struck her how different he had become after the bite and how alike he was still. “He wanted to hear how I felt about you leaving, and I quote, without protection.”

“I’m guessing he wasn’t talking about condoms. And? How do you feel?” Joe asked while rolling her eyes, something Jimmy seemed to take some pleasure at.

She was in a sour mood after Berkeley. Neither Professor Walker nor Professor Kane was on campus today. She’d see Walker tomorrow, but after Kane had insisted they took the less-conventional-academics talks in her office, she hadn’t been able to reach the woman. The finals were coming up and probably took up most of her time, but it was bad timing for all the questions that had built up.

“I will admit I feel a bit uneasy about the prospect.”

“Oh, come on.”

“You know I will not agree with Hale unless necessary. If the Alpha Pack kidnapped his betas because they were his betas, who’s to say they won’t go after his mate next? Can you _please_ stop making that face, it is highly unattractive.”

Joe did not even try to clear her features. “How are they supposed to know I’m his _mate_ anyway?”

Maybe she had the werewolf-equivalent of a sign on her back. Doctor Deaton had said it was easy to tell when you knew what to look for. And Peter had obviously known almost before Derek did because of the police files delivered on her doorstep. Joe told this to Jimmy, who shrugged.

“To the trained eye, maybe. I’m not sure I would be able to tell if I didn’t know it beforehand. How you smell sweeter when you think of him — I swear, Delgado, I will stuff a pillowcase over your head if you keep sneering like that.” Not an empty threat and Joe ducked her head so her grumbling displeasure was not as obvious. “And that he will always turn his head in your direction even before you enter. He’s almost always masking his scent, but there are small clues in how he talks about and to you. So maybe it _is_ easy to tell if you know what to look for.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t,” Joe said, responding to the last part, trying to cover up the blush rising at his other comment. She hadn’t known that. Failing to fold a pair of leggings, because she was fumbling so much, she demanded: “Since when are you on his side anyway?”

Jimmy shrugged. “When it concerns your safety.”

“Okay, you see how that’s weird, right? Derek’s my uh, mate. He doesn’t have a choice but to worry and let’s face it, his backstory leaves him prone to be kind of overprotective.” And her backstory left her prone to being a bitch. “But you’re my _room_ mate, Jimmy.”

“And your friend.” He rolled his eyes. “Stop smiling like that.”

“Dude, I’m sorry, what kind of face do you want me to make?” A suspicion crept over her and she narrowed her eyes. “Are you just saying this so I’ll ask you to come along so you can meet Kelly? Hoho, stop making _that_ face, Jimmy-boy!”

He threw his head back and she saw how his Adam’s apple bobbed. “It is...a contributing factor, yes. As I already told you, my meeting with Kelly was by chance, but I rather like her. And as far as I can tell, she likes me as well. For more than just my new appearance, which is, I suppose, bittersweet as I did expend a lot of time, effort, and pain to look like this.”

“You ever gonna tell me all about that?”

“Oh, how could I ever try to explain old Celtic rituals to a post-grad in cultural anthropology?” Jimmy asked, effectively dodging the question and Joe rolled her eyes again. “Then it is settled? I will join you on your trip to Sacramento. If we can establish no one or nothing followed you out of Beacon, you can continue on your California-tour alone.”

“I’m only covering Northern Cali,” Joe mumbled, not seeing the use in arguing. Kelly was based in San Diego and only meeting Joe at the California Criminalistics Institute’s main office in Sacramento for the kick-off meeting. Who knew when she would be up here next time? Despite the initial red flags, Jimmy had proved to be nothing more than a sweetheart to both Kelly and Joe — it was a small favor to bring him along.

They left before dawn the next day, neither’s sleep schedule too synchronized with the sun to be bothered too much by the fact. A quick detour to the hospital to say bye to Aunt Mel, and they were on the road in her indefinable blue Ford Fiesta. Joe would need her car and Jimmy said something incredibly vague about a bus back to Beacon Hills. She suspected Kelly was going to Berkeley after the meeting and he hoped to catch a ride with her.

As they passed the Beacon Hills-sign, she bit her lip in thought. Looks like Derek would get his way after all: she would stop looking for Erica and Boyd and she wouldn’t leave Beacon Hills ‘unprotected’, which she wasn’t anyway. Joe put her hand under her seat to confirm the location of the shotgun.

How Jimmy was supposed to establish no one was following them while snoring in the passenger seat was beyond her, but Joe secretly appreciated the company. Jimmy got her. And he got her fear of Kate. Even as a fully shapeshifting Demi Alpha werewolf that had gone through weird ancient Celtic rituals, he was scared of Kate. Joe wasn’t sure if that thought comforted her or not. Validating was maybe the right word.

Eureka, Redding, Chico, Santa Rosa, Richmond, and Central Valley — it would be a busy few weeks. She hoped her car would be up for all the driving and that the university reimbursed her for the gas on the bi-weekly basis that Professor Walker promised. Joe scrunched up her nose at the thought of the ten-page questionnaire she wanted to be answered by the relevant technicians at the lab. Part of the analysis was noting down subject behavior when answering as well, so she hoped Kelly had done her job as a liaision; she would need a dedicated meeting room, supervisor approval, snacks as a reward for even showing up. It could’ve been worse, Joe supposed, criminologists often interviewed criminals.

As the sun crept over the horizon, the heat caused a mist to rise from the near-empty road. No traffic yet, just the occasional truck passing them, but Joe had to squint to make sure she stayed in her lane. The mist turned into fog and gave all the nearby trees a skeletal silhouette, making it far creepier than it should be in May.

Joe kept her foot on the gas pedal — this was a straight stretch of road. If she just could push past this fog, it’d be an easier drive from there. She remembered the existence of wild animals and eased up a little. Not that it helped, if the fog got any denser she would have to just stop the car. Leaning forwards, so she could keep an eye on the road markings to make sure she even stayed on the road, she kept driving a good bit under the speed limit.

“You’re slowing down.” Jimmy sounded groggy, but straightened up in the seat. “In California in the early spring, there are pale yellow mornings, when the mists burn slowly into day.” It sounded like a quote and he gave her a half-smile. “Robert Hass.”

“Right.” Contemporary poetry was never her thing. Or any kind of poetry. That sounded more like Derek’s deal, with all the books he read and referenced during their date. A date where she could forget almost everything about werewolves and near-death traumas and just focus on him. No wonder it seemed like a different life.

Aware of Jimmy’s eyes on her, she turned slowly to glance at him with a deadpan expression. “My scent?”

“Sweet like Californian wine.” He smiled, obviously still half asleep.

Joe rolled her eyes. “You’re so full of shit, Carter, I can’t-”

She cut off, as she swore she saw a shadow move alongside the road in the mist.

“You can’t?”

“Can’t even,” Joe finished, half her focus on the trees. Had to be a trick of the light, there was nothing there now. The mist cleared ahead of them and she picked up speed. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“You have my undivided attention.”

“Why can’t you just say yes like a normal person?”

“Was that the question? Because the answer is that I can smell the irritation instantly and it’s quite amusing.”

Glaring as much as she could while still driving, she huffed. “Yeah, okay, whatever. I overheard you talking with Derek the night of the full moon. Or the dawn after the night of the full- you know what I mean.” As Jimmy only raised his eyebrows politely, obviously waiting for a question, she sighed again. “What are you guys not telling me? What did he mean ‘what happened at the warehouse’?”

“Oh, that,” Jimmy said and stretched in his seat, proving that the car was not made for someone his size. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked before. It’s another sad tale, are you emotionally prepared for that?”

“We- we are talking about the warehouse when all that stuff with Jackson, Kate, and Gerard happened, right?” Joe asked uncertainly. “How much did I miss?”

“I suppose you were busy with being held at gunpoint,” Jimmy commented drily. He pulled in a deep breath.“And I was busy cowering in the corner. _That_ is what happened. For all this muscle, power, and strength I’ve gained lately, the second Kate Argent entered, I froze. Completely. Scared out of my fragile little mind of a half-raving madwoman with a shotgun.”

They let the confession marinate as Joe continued driving. With everything that had happened, Joe hadn’t thought about Jimmy before the kanima had her in a chokehold.

“Jimmy, she tortured you-”

“Oh, I know it’s a completely justifiable and understandable response,” Jimmy sounded completely unbothered, “but I am also allowed to feel ashamed of my lack of reaction as well. It was like I forgot I had all this power, that I was strong enough to take her down if I only could get myself to move, but I suppose the abuse she put me through gave her some kind of hold on me.”

Joe turned over the information in her mind to find an appropriate response. “I didn’t expect you to come to my rescue. You froze up, it happens.”

“You didn’t.”

“Yeah, but I...” She trailed off and blinked at the road in front of her. “I’m gonna go on a limb here and guess you haven’t exactly been in that kind of situation before, right? Have you _ever_ actually fought someone?”

He shifted a bit in his seat. “I’ve done extensive research.”

“Yeah, okay, but that’s not the same. There’s a reason first-responders have so much hands-on training. Theory only gets you so far. People react differently to stressful situations. And with you, I guess it’s double up because you’re more aware of your instincts and sometimes I guess the instincts go towards hiding instead of engaging. Bro, I’m not blaming you for anything.”

“No, I don’t expect you do, but Derek does, at least somewhat.” Jimmy sniffed, looking out the window at the bright morning sky. “But it might be because he froze up himself.”

Those words made Joe hesitate. It did not sound like Derek. “He was paralyzed from the venom, right?”

“You assume that. Have you asked him?”

No, she hadn’t. But if there was anything in this world that _could_ make Derek freeze up, it would be Kate. Especially Kate who he thought was dead. It was one thing that he knew she wasn’t, it was another thing to witness it. And maybe, a specific part of Joe’s brain added, Kate who had gone after Joe _again_ , this time on his watch. She recalled the difference between the sheriff’s station and the warehouse — he’d been paralyzed both times, but at the station, he had dug his claws into his thigh to push out the venom. At the warehouse, he’d just...stared. Ugh, they had a lot to talk about when she got back. She was not gonna let him harbor any more guilt on her behalf, it wasn’t healthy.

And Jimmy, she thought and glanced over at him where he had donned a pair of sunglasses, silent after asking his last question. He’d become a werewolf for power and strength, probably not expecting to feel weak ever again. It proved that the bite did not change someone’s personality. Scott had always tried to help people, even as a skinny asthmatic kid, the bite had just given him the right tools. Jimmy was still Jimmy. She had no doubt he would fight if provoked or attacked, but there’s that slight difference between defending yourself and actively attacking.

Had Derek blamed him? Maybe somewhat. Joe had a feeling it was a form of implicit bias from Derek’s side. Werewolves were strong and powerful, humans were weak and fragile. Jimmy was a werewolf, Joe was human. He probably just unconsciously expected more from Jimmy than Joe.

As much as she itched to ask about the other stuff Jimmy had hinted at — that Derek would have to tell her _everything_ at some point — she wanted to give Derek the chance to explain first. Although she had to admit, this whole forcing every single piece of information out of him was getting old.

“Are you sure this is the place?” Jimmy asked as they pulled over to a roadside diner and truck stop. “This is where your professor wanted to meet?”

Professor Walker had scheduled a brunch and preparation meeting before the kickoff in Sacramento. Joe checked her e-mail on the phone and the description of both diner and address matched. She shrugged. “Maybe they have really amazing milkshakes or something?”

“Then it must be a well-kept secret,” Jimmy mumbled and Joe could see his point.

Only a few other cars in the parking lot outside and no trucks at all. The building itself looked to be from the sixties maybe, slightly rundown and with old-school sun-faded signs — didn’t exactly match with Professor Walker’s elegant appearance. Joe would have expected some fancy coffee shop in downtown Sacramento and she was on the verge of calling Walker to make sure there wasn’t any misunderstanding when the Professor herself came out the main doors of the diner. She waved their way.

“Good morning, Miss Delgado,” Professor Walker said when Joe and Jimmy got out of the car. Her sharp eyes trailed Jimmy’s form with obvious disapproval. “Didn’t know you brought a chaperone.” She extended a hand. “Hello, Sarah Walker, I’m a professor at Berkeley.”

“James Carter.”

Squinting against the bright morning sun, Professor Walker checked her wristwatch and beckoned for them to join her inside. “As you are well aware, Miss Delgado, accommodation only includes a single room. If you want to upgrade to a double, you will have to pay the difference out of your own pocket.”

As Joe sputtered protests, she realized Professor Walker did not care either way.

Early in the morning, there weren’t that many other people in the diner. A cook and a waitress greeted them when they entered, but none of the other patrons glanced up. The handful of people in there looked deeply invested in their food, coffee, or newspaper. A pretty light-skinned black woman gave Joe a warm smile over the cup of coffee she nursed at the counter and Joe was too perplexed to return the sentiment. It might have been Jimmy she smiled at though.

Professor Walker led them over to a booth where a half-drunk cup of coffee revealed she had already been there for a while.

It quickly became apparent this was more a preparation meeting than a brunch as Walker methodically went over all the details they should have covered earlier if Joe hadn’t been so distracted by her own private investigation. They ate the standard breakfast-plate offered by the diner as they discussed practicalities — Jimmy quickly lost interest and spent most of the time on his phone.

After the waitress cleared their plates, she returned with some cups of coffee, where Jimmy was stuck with some generic tea brand.

At least it left the table free. Professor Walker also had a big briefcase with her that she now propped up — it contained the sound-recording equipment with the accompanying laptop Joe was going to use for the interviews.

“This is the microphone here, but it is designed to pick up an entire room and not just one speaker. The software will typewrite the speech to text, will have to go over for inaccuracies of course, but it color-codes different speakers. To the best of its abilities, of course, the technology is still not fool-proof.”

She had Joe set it up several times and then suggested they left it on as they talked so Joe could see how it worked in practice. Professor Walker kept checking the time, which was a bit strange as they still had hours until they were scheduled to meet Kelly and her superiors in Sacramento.

“Apologies,” Professor Walker said with a thin smile when she was caught checking her wristwatch again. “I am not too fond of leaving things to the last minute.”

At their side, the computer recorded and subsequently typed Professor Walker’s words. Yellow words on a black background.

“Yeah, uh, I’m sorry, I should have made the time to get all of this done earlier. It’s just been really busy. The last few weeks, or months, have been really busy. It’s been a lot to deal with, but I’m really grateful for this opportunity, Professor Walker. I promise I won’t let you down.”

The professor’s hard stare made Joe shift a bit uncomfortable in her seat. Eventually, Walker nodded, sleek hair bobbing along with her movement. “That is appreciated. Bridget always spoke highly of your prowess.” She turned to address Jimmy. “Mr. Carter, I am sorry for the inconvenience, but I need to discuss some academic details with Miss Delgado and the content is, for the time being, confidential. Is it too much hassle to ask you to wait in the car? I promise it won’t take long.”

Jimmy glanced at Joe first, but eventually nodded and stalked outside. From the window, Joe could see him settle into the passenger seat of the Ford, still texting on his phone.

Despite Professor Walker’s request, she initiated a round of small-talk first, and Joe could see the recording software typing down each word as they spoke it. Not perfectly, but it sure as hell beat listening through hours of recorded interviews and typing them for hand as Joe had done for her master’s thesis. Her words were in red.

It was nice to have the opportunity to get to know Professor Walker slightly better in a more relaxed setting than her office. When you got past the incredibly dry humor, she had that in-depth knowledge about the world that Joe had only encountered in college professors and Aunt Mel. Joe could see why Kelly sang her praises so often.

At one point, Joe let it slip that Jimmy was tagging along because of Kelly. It made Professor Walker’s face freeze in a tight, neutral expression.

“Oh,” she said and tucked the glossy hair behind her ear. It seemed almost like a nervous tick and she followed it up by checking her wristwatch again. “That is- Hm, okay, I am glad you told me. It would have complicated things if I didn’t know.”

At their side, the laptop continued to record the conversation and Joe found herself focusing on the fact that there was a lot more red than yellow.

“Professor?” Joe asked, not understanding the strange comments about Jimmy. “Complicated what?”

“Nothing.” Professor Walker smiled, but it looked strained. “I only assumed he was your man, not Miss Brooks. You saved me from making a social ‘faux pas’.” She took a sharp breath and gestured to the papers in front of Joe. “I trust you have had time to look over the questionnaire? Do you understand the reasoning behind each question?”

Even as they went back to the business at hand, Professor Walker kept checking her wristwatch. Joe looked at her phone to see what time it was and if they were running late, but was distracted by another unopened text from Derek. Aware that Professor Walker was still talking, Joe’s finger hovered over the cell-phone screen. Was he angry? Or worse, was he not angry? It would be easiest if he was angry, she could handle angry-Derek better than thoughtful-Derek.

“Miss Delgado?” Professor Walker realized she had lost her audience and tried to get her attention back. “ _Josefina?_ Are you alright?”

“Hm? Yes, uh, yeah, I’m fine,” Joe said and before she could overthink it, she opened the text from Derek. “Just a- just a text.”

Lobito: _Drive safe._

Oh yes, she could definitely handle angry-Derek better than sweet-Derek. Three weeks seemed a bit excessive now, to be honest. The other texts were just questions if they could talk and if she was okay. Three weeks was _definitely_ too long without talking. She could call him after the meeting in Sacramento.

“ _Josefina?”_

“Oh, shit, sorry.” Joe hastily put the phone on the table, face down as she realized she’d zoned out _again_ instead of listening to her mentor. “I’m sorry, I’m just, uh, sorry.”

The Professor gave her a knowing smile that was tinged with sadness for some reason. “Don’t worry, we have all been there. I was young once too, you know.” At Joe’s blank and slightly panicked look, Professor Walker tilted her head. “ _That_ was your man, wasn’t it? Derek Hale, right?”

“Yeah, it was...” Joe trailed off again, eyes narrowing. Had she _ever_ mentioned Derek to either Professor Walker? Or Kane for that matter? No. “How did you-”

_“Do you have what you need?”_

Joe looked up to the side of the table, expecting to see the middle-aged waitress from before. Instead, it was the woman who had smiled at Joe before — up close she was more than pretty, Joe realized, she was drop-dead gorgeous. Shiny pin-straight black hair, dressed immaculately in a pair of linen slacks and a white shirt she looked as out of place in the diner as Professor walker. Joe furrowed her brows — no way did this woman work here.

“Yes,” Professor Walker said to answer the woman’s question. “I think that would be sufficient. There is one out in the car as well.”

A chill went down Joe’s spine as she looked between the two women. Her eyes traveled the entire diner, finding it completely empty. Cook and waitress were nowhere to be seen.

Something was wrong, every instinct screamed at Joe to get out of there.

“He’s already taken care of.”

“What?” Joe snapped and tore herself around to stare out the window. The driver-side door of her car stood wide open, no sign of Jimmy. She turned around to look at the woman. “Wh-”

A cloud of yellow dust hit her in the face.

Coughing and sputtering, she tried to dislodge the tiny particles, but they got everywhere. Up her nose, in her eyes, down her throat. Waving her hand only seemed to add to the density and her eyes watered. For some reason, she thought of Christmas, which was a surefire sign she was losing it.

Fighting her way out of the booth, she found her legs giving away under her. Like the ketamine, her muscles were heavy and limp and she more or less sagged down to the floor instead of falling. Her cheek hit the cold tile, vision spinning around. Not again. She was _not_ getting kidnapped _again_.

“This was the best way, Sarah,” the mystery woman said somewhere above Joe.

Professor Walker sounded vexed beyond belief. Or scared. “We’re even now. I never want to hear from you again.”

“You do your part,” the words seesawed in and out of Joe’s mind, the smooth voice of the second woman making her dizzy, “and we’ll do ours.”

Not getting kidnapped. Not getting kidnapped. Not getting _fucking_ kidnapped. The words went on repeat inside Joe’s skull, everything she could think of and the sheer _anger_ at someone _trying_ to kidnap her _again_ fueled her muscles to move. She reached for her phone, but remembered it was still up on the table.

“I need your word,” said Professor Walker. “You’re going to leave me and my wife alone.”

Urging her muscles to _work_ , Joe clawed her hand up in front of her on the floor. If she could get to the car, to Jimmy, to the shotgun, to Derek, she would be fine. She would not be kidnapped. She was _not_ getting kidnapped.

“You have our word, Sarah. Remember, this is the easy way. No one else has to die.”

Joe continued to struggle over the tiled floors. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered how dirty it was, how many ketchup-stains and oil smears she was wiggling across. Didn’t matter. She was moving, she could see the door, she could get away.

“There is too much blood on your hands already for you to say that.” Professor Walker did not sound convinced and neither did Joe. Her head swam, vision blurring, but she was still moving. Professor Walker spoke softly now: “Do they know who she is? That she’s Rob Delgado’s daughter?”

Dad. A fact she could ponder later, now she just had to move. Arms were working best, but her legs had overcome the initial heaviness as well and she army-crawled towards the exit.

_“Don’t worry.”_

A third voice. Male, faint remnants of a British accent. It barely registered, along with Walker’s surprised gasp, as Joe forced herself to keep moving at a snail’s pace.

_“I know exactly whose daughter she is.”_

She became aware of a slight tapping noise on the tiled floor, moving closer, faster than she was able to slither with half her body still fighting whatever the hell had been in that dust.

“Have you gotten your herbs mixed up, Marin?” the man asked, sounding more amused than annoyed. “It would seem young Josefina here is resisting just as the Demi outside.”

“If I had known he was a Demi,” the mystery woman, obviously named Marin, answered in a calm voice, “I wouldn’t have used wolfsbane.” A shadow fell over her as the woman’s heels clicked on the floor. “It is curious though, why this one is resisting the mistletoe.”

A gentle hand pushed Joe onto her back where her eyes struggled to focus on the moving shapes. Her gaze landed on Professor Walker, who was clutching the laptop to her chest. Words slurred, she asked: “Wh- why?”

The full question was: _Why are you doing this and who are these people and oh my God you_ are _a lesbian and can you believe that Kyle has a better gaydar than me and what the hell is going on anyway and why is everyone always trying to kidnap me?_

Professor Walker looked down. She addressed the man who was still out of view from Joe. “Do I have your word you won’t kill her?”

On her back, Joe’s body still listened to that one incessant command going on repeat: Not getting kidnapped, not getting kidnapped, not getting kidnapped and she scooted backward.

The beautiful face of the woman named Marin came briefly into focus. It disappeared behind another cloud of dust, this one purple. Purple, like Jimmy’s eyes. Like wolfsbane.

Already weak, she had no chance of fighting it. She tried, fingertips clawing onto the tiled floor, grasping weakly for a holding point.

“Kill her?” The man sounded amused and another shadow came over her. “Why would I want to do that?” His face was a blur, but she caught sight of sandy blonde hair and a pair of glasses he now removed. “I’m not a simple psychopath, Sarah. I’m all about,” his eyes opened and Joe was helpless not looking into them, “new talent.”

Not getting kidnapped, Joe thought and tried to move. Her body didn’t listen. Not getting kidnapped. Joe only saw red. Not getting kidnapped. Red red red. Not getting kidnapped. Not Derek’s red, but still red.

She was not getting kidnapped.

Was not...kidnapped.

Not...

No.

Eyes rolling back into her skull, Joe fell beneath the heavy wave of unconsciousness. She still saw red.

Alpha red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun dun DUN!
> 
> How's that for a cliffhanger?   
> And to make matters worse, I'm taking a week off posting now, meaning the next update will be January 21st (and hopefully the US will still be standing by then).
> 
> Obviously, the Halegado-ship's gonna have to weather one more storm before it's smooth sailing.   
> Have patience with them, please, and trust that I (sort of) know what I'm doing here. (Also, Joe is embarrassed as hell if you couldn't tell and she's not really sure how to deal with it. Have patience with her especially.)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, guys, please let me know what you think! I love love love your thoughts, theories, and occasional questions <3  
> Stay safe and healthy!


	60. The Missing Moon

_Come on. Wake up, babe. Come on, there’s a good girl. Hello, there you are._

A sharp cry stuck in her throat as Joe jolted awake. No fuss, just straight from asleep to awake, scanning her surroundings wildly. Nothing. No Kate. Breathing at a rapid pace, she slumped back down, closing her eyes, trying to distill the fear that had awoken her in the first place. Nightmares. Nightmares upon nightmares.

And pain.

“Ugh,” she grunted and sat back up, wincing at every throbbing limb and joint. Like something had dropped her from high altitude into a pile of stones. That was where she laid anyway, in a small scree by the looks of it. Large groves in her bare arms where sharp rocks had dug in. “Ah!”

Her head hurt the most and she clutched her skull, trying to hold her brain in place, as she got up on weak legs. _Weak. Pathetic. You can barely stand._ Tripping and sliding down the old rockfall. Touching her face made her mind aware of another sensation: wet. Joe pulled her hand away to look at it, finding it covered in what she hoped was red paint.

No dice; it was blood. Of course it was blood.

A quick check confirmed that she was covered in it, hair matted and tangled with the dried substance, the remnants of her sweater soaked and still wet to the touch. Retching, she pulled at the heavy fabric to take it off, discarding it between the stones that had served as her bed for... how long? At least a little while. This left her in just a sports bra, but it was an improvement from the sweater. Joe squinted at the sun, barely making its way over the horizon. Dawn. Finally.

A more thorough search did not uncover any injuries unhealed. Splinters in her fingers though and she slowly picked them out with her teeth. No point risking getting them infected. No point wasting her healing capacity needlessly.

She needed to get somewhere. Joe nearly tripped onto her face at the thought. Somewhere. Where? Joe frowned at herself — mind heavy and sluggish. She had somewhere she was supposed to be. So she just needed to get there. Right?

First she had to figure out where she was in the first place. In a forest, obviously. A mixed-evergreen forest. Among the trees, she could recognize fir, oak, and a few laurels. Dense underbrush with hazel-

Hazel eyes. Large, wide hazel eyes; wide with fear. Memories flooded her brain too hard, too fast to handle and she stumbled over her feet, falling onto her ass. Like a spider, she crawled backward so she sat with her back against a tree, trying to breathe, trying to keep the noise down. Joe hugged her knees to her chest, making herself smaller.

What had she done? Oh my God. Oh no. That explained the splinters. Her hands shook as she looked at them, saw the blood, saw the now healed marks from the splinters and-

God, Erica. Where was Erica? Pressing her back against the tree, she looked around wildly, not daring to shout the name, not daring to shout at all. They could be out there. They probably were. They always were. Instead of spotting anyone else, she did spot a large branch, coated in blood. But no Erica. No sign of anyone but Joe.

Joe closed her eyes and prayed that was a good thing. No Jimmy either. That worried her more. Where _was_ she? Last night, they’d ran and ran and somehow ended up here and-

The pain. Derek’s pain. Hitting her like a trainwreck, making her lose her mind, literally and... God. Erica. What had she done?

Keeping in a whimper, she looked around again, scanning the treeline. Eyesight was as good as theirs at least. No sign of them. No sign of anything. Maybe they had lost her? Or they had wanted to lose her. Or they wanted to make her think they had lost her. Was this a test? Another one?

_Think, girl._

Stay calm. First priority, stay calm. Don’t let them see you be scared. Don’t show fear, don’t show anything. The stench of her blood-soaked leggings made her retch, almost throwing up. Okay. First priority, stay calm. _Panic is your enemy._ What did you do after staying calm? Find shelter seemed to press itself to the top of the list, remnants of old lectures by her dad — lip curling just at the thought. Shelter wouldn’t work, and it was warm — the still weak sun shining down between the mixed-evergreen trees and she might have to worry more about heat stroke than hypothermia. Next point on the list: water.

Don’t panic. If you panic, they’ll know. They’ll smell it.

She had to find Derek. This instinct was overpowering everything else. Stupid. Her hands flexed at the thought of him. Stay strong. But he was hurt. _Stupid_. She had no idea where he was. They were still out there though. Still waiting. This could be a trick. How many times before have they let you think you escaped?

_Don’t panic._

Birds singing, she realized. Sounds of insects. Maybe they weren’t here? They had had a plan, hadn’t they, and it had failed. Oh God, Erica...

Function. She had a function. She had to function.

Slowly, still expecting someone to leap out of the treeline, she crept forwards until she could stand. No sounds, not that she would hear them coming. Water. She had to find water, right? Any direction was as good as the other. Head west in the direction of the sun? Why not? Walk? No. Run, but don’t panic.

Focusing on moving, because thinking was proving hard, she glanced over her shoulder constantly. Humans liked to see patterns, trained to do it, and she saw faces and bodies in every shadow, line, and contour of the trees. When she heard the burble of a nearby stream, her mood lifted tentatively. Dropping to a crouch, she moved slowly, trying to stake out if there would be an ambush. Birds still singing.

Deeming it safe, she moved forwards. In the small creek she found, she got in to wipe off the blood, even dunking her whole head under to wash her hair somewhat. Blood had a tangent smell, made her easier to track, and it attracted flies anyway. The red color mixed into nothing in the clear water, dissolving, and getting carried away with the moving stream.

She drank until her stomach felt uncomfortably full. Not worried about parasites or getting sick, which she might have once.

By the stream, in the still strange light of dawn that hadn’t reached the whole forest yet, making everything seem less real, she heard something in the woods. Something moving. Joe froze first, waiting, confirming that it was getting closer to her. Branches creaking and twigs snapping. Fight or flight? Too weak to fight. Too weak to get away?

_Instincts. Listen to them._

She ran.

Faster now. Blindly, without direction, just moving as fast as she could, making as little noise as she could. Like last night. To gain speed, she headed for where the terrain sloped downwards. Navigating the slippery rocks, she made her way down a crevasse, as she could see what looked like gravel at the bottom. It was — she’d found a road.

It made her pause, for just a second. They’d never let her get to any sign of civilization like this. Scanning the treeline again, looking for eyes, she found nothing. No sound of anything following her. They were stealthy though. Follow the road? Too predictable.

Jumping into the ditch on the other side of the gravel road — she ran. Branches whipped her face and the occasional pinecone bore into the soles of her feet, but she ran, struggling to both keep her breath steady and to keep the balance fully on her side. Her pain, only hers. No sound of pursuit, but she would not be lulled into that false sense of security again. Never again. Only the sound of her breath and her feet hitting the ground at a high pace. Flashes from the night. Two sets of footsteps then, chasing each other.

Joe blinked her eyes shut, ridding herself of the memory. Keep running. Keep running!

The forest seemed to grow thicker. She pushed herself through, but when she caught onto a particularly heavy branch hitting her across her taut stomach, she vomited. Most of the water from before came back up. At least it was just water this time. No time to stop. The whole forest sounded alive with noises now, of someone following, of someone tracking her. Nothing sounded real, but she could not trust her own head anymore. Joe held her hand out in front of her, saw the shaking. Keep running.

Before she knew it, she dashed out onto another road. Asphalt concrete, the main road. Cars. Again, she stopped, amazed at the sight of headlights approaching her. Loud honking as the car had to swerve to avoid hitting her. Her bare feet slapped onto the pavement, already moving, leaving a pissed-off driver in her wake. Not safe. Keep running.

Dashed through the forest on the other side of the road, reached a fence, jumped it, in some backyard now, loud barking, but she was already over the other side before the dog ever caught up. Street, houses, people — familiar? No. Keep running.

Houses gave away to taller buildings; ugly square boxes littered with windows and the remnants of signs. Derelict and abandoned. Joe paused in a shadowy corner, hoping to catch her breath. Head span and vision blurred — she was running on fumes now. Hands shaking.

This was Beacon Hills’ warehouse district. She was in Beacon Hills.

A loud noise in the middle between a sob and a laugh burst through. She caught herself, now lowering onto her haunches, listening, holding her throbbing head in her hands. Had they heard? Were they here? Could she ever outrun them? If she was here, it was because they wanted her to be.

Something clanged nearby, like a metallic trashcan getting kicked over. Not worth finding out if it was them or just some kids. Joe took off again. Now at least with a direction. Heading downtown. No. No, wait, Joe, think! _Think, girl!_

If she led them to the apartment, if Jimmy was holed up there... She couldn’t. So where was she supposed to go? Hospital? No, she was too weak. Hospital and Sheriff’s station could wait, although she had no doubt in her mind she would be taken there eventually if they didn’t find her first. Her stomach churned just thinking about it. She didn’t even know what date it was, how long it had been, how much they must have worried...

Her chest heaved as she paused again, still clinging to the shadows of the buildings. It was still dark out, not fully morning, she had moved fast. Where was she going to go? Vision swam in front of her. When was the last time she slept? Stupid question, she didn’t even know what day it was. Not even the month. Summer? It was warm. Explained her dizziness. Dehydration and heatstroke.

Somehow, she kept moving, she kept running. Driven by instinct alone. Not even the thought of how this might be what they wanted could make her stop. What other choice was there?

Stumbling through a set of doors, Joe looked over her shoulder, but no one followed. Not yet anyway. They liked to take their time. If she could just find _him_ first, maybe they stood a chance? She staggered into the elevator, hitting the top floor button, and then falling onto her back while the doors closed. Every breath came with a fight.

It took what little she had left to get up when the doors opened again. Everything in her body fought to just close her eyes now, relax, convinced she was safe when she was not. Not yet. Would she ever be? The sliding door in front of her blurred, her hand scrabbling to even find the handle. Heavy to open and she clung to it when it did, muscles not holding her.

Legs were giving out now. They had been screaming since she woke up, but she ignored them — the brief reprieve in the elevator made it impossible now. An alarm started blaring when she opened the door, but no one attacked.

She called his name. No answer.

No one was here.

Hitting the large button in her wake — the alarm halted immediately — she stalked throughout the place to find him. No one was here. Instincts drove her to where his scent was strongest — a grayish-blue comforter laid spread haphazardly over white sheets.

Dimly aware of her wet clothes, she stripped out of them. They smelled wrong and she wanted to smell like _her_. For now it smelled like _him_ and she blinked against the rising sun throughout the window. Beacon Hills. She was _in_ Beacon Hills.

Where was he?

Question for another time. After sleep. When was the last time she slept? Did it count as sleeping what she had done those brief moments of unconsciousness before dawn?

Did it matter? A sensation of falling, but never hitting the floor. Soft bed. Was this a dream? Was she already asleep?

Her eyes shut on their own, no longer possible to stay open. Head filled with his scent. Safe.

* * *

Nothing hurt.

First coherent thought when she woke up again. Nothing hurt. No pain, no mysterious aches, no half-healed broken bones shifting to get back in place. Heavy muscles and heavy head, but nothing hurt. Some of that could be explained by the bed. This was an actual bed, not rocks or a blanket spread out onto marble. A soft bed. Warm. Dreamy.

Joe kept her eyes closed, breathing in through her nose. It smelled like him. Only the thought could make her cry. If this was a dream, she was not ready to wake up. It smelled so much like him.

She laid fully under the covers, but the warmth came more from the person lying behind her, clinging onto her with their arm around her. Their breath fanned over her neck with every exhale. Joe smiled gently. If she kept her eyes closed, she could pretend it was him a little longer. Just a little longer.

Despite herself, she turned slowly, like she had done so many times before in this dream.

Derek was asleep, eyes closed and the usual furrow between his brows smoothed out. He hadn’t woken at her shifting, still slept, lips slightly parted. A soft snore with every exhale. Joe took her time. Studying all his features. Thick stubble on his cheeks, dark eyebrows now relaxed, a little pale, like he needed the sleep.

And as always, she brought her hand out, unable to resist touching him. It tugged at her heart, knowing it always ended here — when she touched him. Touched him to find he wasn’t there after all, or at least someone else. Softly, slowly, gently, she placed her palm on his cheek, just feeling the beard under her fingertips, like thick black fur-

She froze as Derek put his hand over hers to keep it in place. Everything in her system shut down as he turned his head to kiss the inside of her wrist. Soft, chaste, but sending sparks through every nerve ending in her body. So vivid, it couldn’t be a dream.

“You’re here,” she said, voice raw and unused for so long. Almost accusing. He opened his eyes and even though confused, she could die happily at the memory of Derek opening his eyes from sleeping to look at her. At _her_.

His eyes closed drowsily and he kissed the inside of her wrist again — the electricity would have knocked her feet from under her, but she was already lying down. He shifted his hand to entwine his fingers with hers, holding their joint hands between them in the bed. Content. Breath caught in her throat as he mumbled: “So are you. Welcome back.”

Joe could not even breathe. This was better than she could have imagined. More and more things prodded at her senses, making her realize this might not actually be a dream. First, she was not naked. Also, she laid under the covers, while he laid fully clothed on top of them in a t-shirt and jeans and...socks. Which was not in tune with how her dreams usually went. And even in her dreams, even in her deepest fever-induced hallucinations, Derek hadn’t acted as sweet as he did now. She could not have imagined him kissing the inside of her wrist, his soft beard tickling the sensitive skin.

Socks. Had she _ever_ seen Derek without shoes?

And if her brain could function for half a second instead of drowning itself by the scent of him, she could have thought about it. She turned without letting go of his hand to look at the room — it was his bedroom in the loft. Derek’s loft. She’d come here this morning, hadn’t she?

“If I’d known sending you that text would have you half-naked in my bed less than twenty-four hours later,” Derek mumbled from somewhere behind her. He sounded tired, almost as exhausted as she felt, “I would’ve done that two months ago.”

His words made less sense than her thoughts. What had happened? The details were fuzzy. She had come here. Instincts driving her, both a burning need to see if he was okay and to seek safety with him. Strongest together.

“Your timing is impeccable as always,” Derek murmured into the pillow his head laid on. “Did you swim here? Your hair was wet.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said with his eyes closed and squeezed her hand, almost as a gentle persuasion to make her come closer. “If this is your apology, I’m accepting.”

“ _What_?”

She sat up, her mind too fuddled to deal with lying so close to him. The covers fell down, but she wore a soft t-shirt that had to be his. No bra though, even though she could have sworn she came in here in a pair of running tights and a sports-bra last night. Just wearing her underwear and the t-shirt, she shifted her naked legs under the covers. No, wait, she’d taken off her own clothes, right? So where did the t-shirt come from?

“Did you put this on me?”

“You wouldn’t wake up,” Derek said as an explanation, still lying fully down on his side. He sounded half-asleep. “Don’t worry, I kept my eyes closed.”

Like that was what she worried about. He’d seen her far worse anyway, at the hospital. Wet. Why was her hair wet? Swam from where? What?

“Hey. You okay?” Derek asked and she looked at him again. He had one eye open to watch her. “Did something happen?”

A loaded question. So much had happened. Something wasn’t right here. What happened last night? It was the full moon and-

“Oh my God!” she gasped, finally remembering, and turned to him in a heartbeat, pushing him so he laid on his back. “You-”

Her hands roamed his torso frantically, pushed up the t-shirt he wore, revealing nothing more than a flawless upper body, muscles rippling under her hands. No blood, no scratches, no wounds. It had felt like he’d been flayed alive, skin and flesh ripping from his bones over and over again.

Joe let out a sigh of relief. Short-lived, as she caught Derek’s raised eyebrow — he looked fully awake now — and realized her hands were still pushing his t-shirt up and touching his well-cut abdominal muscles.

Another set of memories flooded in and she retracted her hands as if burnt.

“Sorry. I thought...” She let the sentence drift off, still staring at him, but not because of his physique for once, but for the unscathed skin. Her breath shook. “It hurt so bad I thought you died.”

His eyes were still heavy with sleep, but grew darker as he grabbed her hand. She wondered if he felt the tingling in his skin too or if it was just her. Joe stopped breathing completely when he placed her palm back onto his bare stomach.

“Healed,” he said, but there was a challenging glint in his eye. As if giving her permission, if she dared. “It’s okay.”

Joe did not even think. Instincts had her trail her palm over his stomach, over his ribs and up to his chest, like she had just done out of panic, but now curiosity. Soft skin, light scratches of chest hair, intense heat. Utterly perfect. How many times had she imagined this? Dreamt of this?

“I thought the Alphas...” she said breathlessly, hand on his bare chest with his t-shirt still pushed up to his shoulders, feeling the reassuring movement and strong heartbeat.

His brows pulled together. “Alphas? How did you... Did you talk to Scott?”

“What? No, I came right here.” She blinked a bit, not sure of why she had come right here. There had been somewhere else she was supposed to go.

“Instinct,” Derek said, obviously recognizing her confusion. A bit more awake, he sat up, letting both her hand and his t-shirt fall down as he leaned against the wall. “It’s the bond, remember? If we’re hurt, we’ll look for each other.” His brows pulled together again, studying her face, looking for something. “I didn’t think you’d feel that or I wouldn’t have gone in there. You stopped taking the pills again?” He looked somewhat hopeful. “Because of the text?”

“What pills? Gone in where? What?”

“The mountain ash-pills,” Derek explained and just the name of that plant sent a chill down her spine.

“No, I... I told you, no more pills.” Joe pushed her matted curls away from her face, looking at the covers instead of him, trying to piece everything together. “Why-”

“I just assumed,” Derek said slowly and studied her face again. “Since I didn’t feel anything from you, not even...” His eyes seemed locked on her lips. “You’ve just been _that_ busy?”

Something was wrong. Her mind screamed at her to connect the dots, but she was so tired. How long had she slept? Automatically she looked down at her hands — no trembling. A while then.

“Hey,” Derek said again and ducked his head so he could look through her curtain of hair. “Something wrong?”

“This- this wasn’t how I thought this would go,” Joe admitted slowly, feeling the wrinkle form in her forehead when looking at him. The confession hung in the air, timid in its vulnerability. She had expected more.

“To my defense, I wasn’t expecting you back so soon,” he said in an easy tone and again, alarm bells clanged in her mind. His brows tilted upwards in fatigued amusement. “Or that I would have to fight Boyd and my thought-to-be-dead baby sister in a boiler room until sun-up.”

“W-what? You found them?” She felt like throwing up. Her breath hitched, mind flooding with the unbridled knowledge of where she _should_ have been. Boyd and Cora. She stared at him, trying to breathe. “Are they okay?”

_Are they alive? Please say yes, please say yes..._ Her eyes widened, waiting for the answer; if Erica had been bad outside of the vault, those two had to be insane.

“Yeah, they’re upstairs, healing.”

“Oh thank God.” She fell forward, hands tightly together at her forehead in almost a prayer. Her lungs felt close to collapsing and she gasped for breath. “Oh thank _God_ -”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Derek grabbed her around both arms and chest to keep her from flailing out of the bed. He rubbed her shoulder. “Are _you_ okay? Did something happen? Did you get into an accident, because of me? Because if you came here instead of going to the hospital, we gotta get you in there before Melissa comes looking.”

She hardly heard his words. Cora and Boyd were okay. They were okay. Derek was okay. Jimmy and... Erica? Oh God, Erica.

Joe untangled herself from Derek, looking at his concerned bright eyes — no wonder he was tired, full moon ended just a few hours ago. They both sat on top of the bed, her still half-covered in the sheets. She had to tell him what happened with Erica, what she’d done to Erica and maybe, maybe they still had time to find her and she could still be alive, right, if they just found her in time?

His hand came up to rest lightly against her temple and her eyes fluttered closed on their own. He tucked a strand of hair back. “You’re all over the place.”

He was talking about her signals and she knew they were; because she had no idea what was going on. _His_ scent for the first time in months had thrown her whole system for a spin. Out of control. Spiraling.

“What happened?”

Too much. Too much to say. In pure selfishness, not wanting to end this just yet, Joe found herself placing her hand on top of his, wanting to keep it against her skin. Never letting go, because when she told him, he’d push away in disgust and she just wanted a little while longer. “I missed you.”

She could feel how his fingers curled lightly, pulling her closer — or was she leaning in? Or both? His breath tickled her lips. “I miss-”

Their lips never met and Joe opened her eyes to see Derek focusing behind her. Looking at the door, brows coming together in slight puzzlement. “Peter?” His face cleared and he raised his voice: _“Isaac, no, wait-”_

Too late, apparently, as the door to Derek’s bedroom flew open and Isaac’s pale face appeared.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Isaac blurted at the sight of them, more tangled into each other than the sheets. Dressed in a thin white t-shirt and a scarf, Isaac covered his eyes with one hand, looking towards the ceiling for good measure. “Uhh, Peter’s here and-”

In a hurried movement, Derek flung the covers almost completely over Joe, concealing her bare legs. Not that it mattered, they were already both on their way out of the bed because now Joe could hear Peter’s angry yelling as well.

_“Derek!”_ he roared, sounding strained. “ _A little help here?”_

Dimly aware of her half-nakedness, but not really caring, she followed Derek out into the loft, not sure what to expect. It wasn’t just Peter. It was Peter struggling under the heavy bulk of a nearly unconscious Jimmy with Stiles by his side, of all people.

“Get him on the table. Isaac, move!” Derek ordered and it set everyone into motion.

“What’s wrong with him?” Isaac asked, but was already moving like an extension of Derek himself. “There’s no blo- oh, no, there it is. That is definitely blood.”

Stiles was doubling over where he held up Jimmy on the opposite side of Peter. “He is _really_ heavy if anyone wanted to know.” His eyes fell on her, widening dramatically and she stared back, not knowing what to say. He had grown his hair out, Joe realized, no longer a buzzcut. “ _Joe?_ When did you get back? And why are you not wearing pants?”

No time for that now. Instead of answering, Joe tried to get Jimmy’s attention. “Jimmy? Hey! Jimmy, are you with me?”

They cleared the dining room table while Derek and Isaac hefted Jimmy’s long body onto it. Deja vu, thought Joe, but Derek’s table was more than long enough to take all of Jimmy. His eyes were nearly rolling back into his head she found when pinching his eyelids open. Breaths coming in short wheezes, rapid and weak pulse, skin turning near blue. Frothy pink blood coming up his mouth.

“Punctured lung,” Joe said and ripped Jimmy’s shirt — an uncharacteristic band t-shirt from the seventies — off his chest. No evident damage on the surface, but she used her hands to check his rib cage and found it near collapsed. “Internal trauma.”

“Why isn’t he healing?” Isaac asked, on the other side of the table, biting on his thumbnail.

“An Alpha did this,” Derek said from next to Joe, watching her move her hands to survey the damage. He looked at Peter. “Where did you find him?”

“Stumbling through the woods,” Peter said with a shrug like that was the most natural thing in the world. After they took Jimmy off his shoulder, he had fetched a small towel from the kitchen to wipe himself off where Jimmy had coughed blood on his shirt. He frowned at the stains.

“Then I nearly ran them over when they both stumbled into the _middle_ of the road,” Stiles supplied, still catching his breath. “Seriously, Joe, _how_ are you here?”

Joe tried to ignore them, tried to ignore her own head too. Jimmy was hurt. Function. She had to function. “Most likely broken rib fractures have pierced through his lungs. If he can’t get enough oxygen, he might go brain dead.”

“Or his heart will stop,” Stiles commented from where he stood on the other side of the table, “and he will die. _Why_ are you not wearing pants?”

_“Uuh,”_ Jimmy wheezed and his hand was full of dirt as he grabbed Joe’s wrist. He pulled at her, forcing her closer. “ _Didn’t...get her. Gone.”_

“Her?” Isaac exclaimed, as all the werewolves probably heard Jimmy’s words. “That chick with the toenails? That’s who did this?”

Kali, thought Joe but didn’t say it. What she did say was: “Doesn’t matter who did it right now. We need to get him to a hospital!”

Cold, she thought as she pushed Jimmy’s sweaty hair away from his face. Pasty white skin. This was not good. And he didn’t get her. She was gone. Dead. Joe’d killed her. Focus, function — Jimmy was hurt. Alive, but hurt.

“And what are you gonna say when he starts healing right in the middle of surgery?”

Joe bit her teeth together, shouting to be heard over Jimmy’s labored breaths. “I don’t know, Stiles! But we need to secure respiratory function and I don’t see any ventilators nearby. I need suggestions more than I need arguments. Please.”

_“No...”_ Jimmy wheezed and Joe scoffed as she felt Jimmy’s taut skin over the sunken ribcage.

“Jimmy, I swear to God, if you try to waste breath saying ‘no hospital’, I will punch a hole through your other lung.” She frowned at the gurgling sound when he laughed. “Stiles, can you call Scott or Aunt Mel and let them know we’re coming?”

_That I’m back. That I’m okay. That I need them._

“Why? Where’s your phone?” He sounded suspicious and she just stared at him — _why_ would she have her phone?

It was Derek who barked: “Stiles!”

Stiles still hesitated for a second, but only a second before he nodded.

“Uh, Joe?”

She turned to face Isaac who offered her a bundle of gray cloth while making it very obvious he was looking at her face and nowhere else. It was a pair of sweatpants and she accepted them with a grateful nod, shrugging them on quickly. At her side, she could see Derek hastily putting on shoes.

“Okay, who has a car?” Joe asked and was about to lift Jimmy off the table herself before Derek caught on to what she was doing and took over.

“I do,” he said, ignoring Stiles’ hand that also waved in the air from where he was on the phone. Derek lifted the same-sized man off the table with relative ease, holding him under his knees and back. “Peter, stay here and make sure no one gets in.”

Peter scoffed and put his hands in the pockets of his coat. “Since when did I turn into your personal guard dog?” Catching the sight of Derek’s expression, he relented. “Fine.”

“Everyone else stays put.”

“What about...” Isaac gestured vaguely towards the spiral staircase and Joe’s heart gave a lurch, knowing who was up there. Instincts tried to tear her in half — she had to prioritize.

“Everyone stays put,” Derek repeated, putting pressure on each word.

Sounding out of breath, Stiles came back from his phone call. “Okay, she’s got a room, but is kinda stressed, especially after what happened with Isaac.”

“What happened with Isaac? Nevermind, tell me in the car, let’s go.”

Stiles raised his hand again. “Uh, do I also have to stay put or can I get Scott?”

“Don’t care!” Joe and Derek shouted at the same time as she ran in front of him to open the sliding doors. Jimmy’s breath came more and more shallow, they did not have time to spare. At the last possible second, Stiles jumped into the elevator with them, giving an apologetic smile.

“I’ll pick up Scott,” Stiles proclaimed and Joe nodded, keeping tabs on Jimmy’s condition. Scott. God, she missed Scott.

Instead of the Camaro she had expected, Derek led her to a retro-styled silver SUV. It was a tight fit to squeeze Jimmy in the space behind the seats and Joe nearly fell over with flashbacks from the night with Kate, when she lured Joe out into the woods. Derek glanced at her, probably sensing the surge in adrenaline, but there was no time.

Each jumped to their respective seats — he was driving of course and span out on the road in no time. Joe looked at her hands, gauging their steadiness. She was good. This was real. For now.

“Isaac found out where they held Boyd and my sister. The Alphas took him, he was rescued by some chick with a motorcycle, ended up in an accident,” Derek said, looking at the road where he seemed to run every single red light in existence. Motorcycle chick? Right. File away for later. “They took him to the hospital. The Alphas made another move to get him there, disguised as hospital personnel. If they show up now, you run.”

“Like hell I am,” Joe bit out, glancing at Jimmy in the backseat, the pink foam around his lips. If they showed up, she’d kill. No gun, no claws, no fangs be damned. She’d kill them with her bare hands.

“Damn it, Joe,” Derek spat and wrenched the wheel around. “They’re _Alphas_. I won’t be able to keep you safe. You can’t underestimate them!”

“You think _I_ don’t know that?” she snapped, tearing around to stare at him. Same alarm bells from before — something was _not_ right. How could he not realize she knew that? Of everyone, _she_ knew the Alphas better than any of them.

Before she could ask, Derek’s reckless driving slung her sideways in the seat as they pulled in at the back entrance of the hospital. Joe got out with Derek, helping him get the unconscious Jimmy out of the backseat.

Not even Jimmy’s shallow breathing could distract her from the swell of emotions at the sight of Aunt Mel, in lilac hospital scrubs, waving them inside frantically.

“Joe?” Aunt Mel looked confused. “When did you get here?”

What was _that_ kind of greeting? Not the reunion she had pictured.

“I-”

That was all she could utter before Aunt Mel focused on Jimmy. Joe shook it off, mirroring her aunt — focus on the task at hand. If they could do it, she could do it. More important things than reunions right now, even though it stung. _Focus. Function._

Her eyes fell to the cameras, although sparse in this part of the hospital, they were still there and Derek wasn’t exactly stealthy where he put Jimmy on a stretcher.

At that moment, the Jeep skidded to a halt next to Derek’s SUV and Joe nearly keeled over when Scott jumped out. He looked good, uninjured, maybe a little tired. She had lost all sense of time, but he probably still felt the after-effects of the full moon too.

For a while, they just stared at each other and she focused on minute details; the uneven jawline; the few strands of hair drooping into his face; the American flag on the arm of his faded denim jacket. She would recognize the jacket anywhere — it used to be her dad’s and she had planned to give it to Scott for his birthday.

“Joe?” he asked, face open and confused. “When did you get back? What happened with Jimmy? What-”

Not thinking, she threw herself around his neck, hugging him like her life depended on it. It took him by surprise, but he remained steady and carefully put his arms around her in return. Five seconds. She counted them. Five seconds she could just hug her big stupid cousin.

“You okay?” he asked when she pulled back and she shook her head — she was obviously not okay — but there wasn’t enough time. Behind them, Aunt Mel and Derek were wheeling Jimmy inside.

“Stiles,” Joe said and grabbed his jacket with a bit more force than planned as he nearly doubled back. She nodded to the cameras. “The guards take a half-hour break once each shift. Can you get into the watchroom and delete our footage?”

He looked positively delighted at the prospect.

One less problem, thought Joe, one less problem on a long list. Long long list. Jimmy hadn’t gotten her. Damn it. _Damn it damn it damn it._ One thing at a time. Help those who can be helped. She ran down after Aunt Mel and the others where they wheeled Jimmy into the closest room.

“What’s wrong with him?” Aunt Mel demanded to know, her nurse-voice in place as she set up the tracheal intubation-kit. Derek wisely stayed back, arms crossed over his chest, out of the way. Scott hovered near the door, keeping watch — the Isaac-incident must have spooked them. Good. Okay, that made the lackluster welcome more understandable.

Joe found her voice, temporarily gone at the sight of Jimmy lying unmoving in the hospital bed. “Collapsed lung. Possible bone fragments still piercing the tissue.”

Aunt Mel nodded and went to inject some kind of anesthesia into Jimmy’s arm. She let her hand go briefly over Jimmy’s chest and looked up. “Joe, his whole rib cage is collapsed.”

“I know, I know, I-” Joe squeezed her hands over her mouth. “He’ll heal, it will just take time.” If he could keep breathing, he’d keep healing. If he stopped, he died — just like Erica. Joe swallowed thickly, trying to keep breathing herself. “Give him air, please.”

“If his broken ribs keep pushing into his lung,” Aunt Mel talked as she inserted the flexible tube down Jimmy’s throat, using some sort of device to hold his mouth open, “we might just be blowing air into his chest cavity. How long will it take for him to heal?” She was looking at Derek.

“Hard to say,” Derek admitted with a harsh sigh. Not unkind, something soft in his voice when he addressed Aunt Mel. “Could be minutes, could be hours.”

“He doesn’t have hours.” Aunt Mel looked at both of them now, her and Derek, while her hands kept working, kept putting the tube down his throat. Normally they used cameras to ensure no damage to the vocal cords, but Joe guessed Aunt Mel banked on Jimmy’s healing to take care of that in case of an accident.

“Surgery?” Joe suggested and Aunt Mel shook her head in despair.

“Joe, I can’t- I can lose my job just by doing this. After the whole Isaac-fiasco, I can’t take that kind of risk. And if I call down the cardiothoracic surgeon and he heals before she even gets here, that’s-”

Joe took a shuddering breath. “We just need to get the bone fragments out of the lung, right? Not even repair the damage, just get the bones out.”

“No, no, no,” Aunt Mel said quickly, getting where Joe was going with this. Breathing tube in place, she taped the apparatus to Jimmy’s face. “Are you absolutely out of your mind? The risks-”

“Are limited because he’ll heal. If we can keep him breathing long enough.”

Aunt Mel tore off her rubber gloves with a smack, depositing them into the trashcan in the corner. “Joe, I am a _nurse_. I’m a good nurse, but still just a nurse. I’m not a surgeon!”

“Hold out your hands,” Joe demanded, ignoring the panicked looks of both Scott and Derek as they got now what she planned. Aunt Mel did with a tight twist to her mouth and Joe stepped forwards, making Aunt Mel look down. “Steady, right? Dead steady.”

“This is insane,” Aunt Mel repeated, but Joe recognized the look in her eye. The look that said if they didn’t do anything, someone might die. And that did not sit right with her.

“Healers,” Joe said, ignoring the rush of guilt and shame in her own stomach, just focusing on Aunt Mel. “Right? Please, Aunt Mel.”

“Mom,” Scott said from his place at the door. They both turned to look at him and he nodded. “You can do this.”

Aunt Mel’s breath shook. “I can not believe I’m agreeing with this. Okay. Um, we have to find a surgery hall that’s-”

“Morgue,” Joe said and winced at the shocked expressions. “Look, there’s gonna be a lot of blood and it’s stainless steel. Easy to clean. And, you know, they have scalpels.”

Blinking slowly, Aunt Mel put her hand on Joe’s shoulder and squeezed. She sounded half sarcastic and half in awe. “Welcome back, Joe. How was San Diego?”

It was a rhetorical question, sparing Joe the trouble of asking what the hell San Diego had to do with anything — more alarm bells in her head, _ding ding ding_ on repeat _—_ and they immediately started moving to get Jimmy over to the morgue. The hospital corridors were basically deserted as they wheeled Jimmy and the ventilator connected to him into the morgue.

“If someone finds us, we’re gonna have some serious explaining to do,” Aunt Mel commented drily as she donned the long backward coats used by surgeons and coroners alike. Even if Joe insisted that infection risks were low — Jimmy’s healing would take care of that, she hoped — Aunt Mel insisted to go through the whole ordeal.

They had put Jimmy on one of the autopsy tables, the ones with a convenient drain for the blood and bodily fluids. A corpse laid under a blanket on a trolly nearby. Stainless steel and plastic, all dead materials. Fitting for a morgue. Scott excused himself to stand watch and Derek looked like he wanted to leave as well, but Joe asked him to stay.

“Are you in shape to take some of the pain?” she asked while shrugging on her own surgical coat. She put a mask on, just in case there was blood spatter. When Derek hesitated, she added: “You can say no. It’s okay.”

He was already rolling up his sleeves. “I’ll try.”

“Good, because I can’t give him more anesthesia,” Aunt Mel said and laid out a set of scalpels. Even if her voice shook, her gloved hands didn’t. She had on a pair of goggles as well, also used by coroners when they cut through the breastbone during autopsies. “Are we doing this?”

“We’re doing this,” Joe insisted and took the cloth from Aunt Mel’s hands, ready to dab away the blood. “Come on, Aunt Mel, you can do this. Please.”

Saying a small prayer in Spanish under her breath, Aunt Mel felt around Jimmy’s ribcage — he made tiny wheezing sounds, but Derek had his palms around his other arm. Black veins running up. Joe’s gaze flickered to Derek’s face; he had taken a lot of damage last night. His strength was reduced.

Good thing Derek was the strongest person she had ever met. And he was smarter than Scott, he’d know when to stop, a tricky balance to find.

Aunt Mel gave instructions, curt and precise, and Joe did the best she could to assist. She wondered if Aunt Mel noticed her switches to Spanish, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was to remove the broken ribs from Jimmy’s lung. First they had to deflate the rest of the chest cavity, whatever that meant, and Joe just closed off her brain and followed Aunt Mel’s lead.

There was a lot of blood and a lot of whispered exclamations from Joe. Also prayers. The only reason Aunt Mel wasn’t a surgeon, Joe deduced, was because she was too good a nurse. When Aunt Mel had opened up Jimmy’s chest so they could see the broken ribs, Joe dabbed the blood away at regular intervals, hoping to hell Jimmy would start healing before he died of anemia as well.

“Oh my God,” Aunt Mel whispered, both in English and Spanish, as she pulled on the broken rib to get it out of his lung that still inflated and deflated with the help of the intubation. Her voice turned from whispered to shrill. “Ohhh, what is happening? What is-”

Joe peered over and wished she hadn’t. As Aunt Mel got the bone piece out of the lung, his ribs immediately started shifting, trying to mend themselves. Healing. Finally. The process was, unfortunately, disgusting and Aunt Mel made vocal expressions about the fact.

A grunt made her look up. Derek, already pale, was now near see-through. Thick angry black veins pulsed up his forearms and he gritted his teeth, swaying.

“Derek, let go,” Joe said, but he shook his head. “Derek...”

Nostrils flared, he bit out: “Just hurry.”

“Okay, okay, okay, I got it, one more,” Aunt Mel whispered somewhere underneath her mask. “Oh, this is weird, oh my God, oh no.”

At least Joe could agree. It was one thing seeing a small cut patch itself together, but to see Jimmy’s lung tissue rebuild itself was just on a whole new level. They pushed through, Joe looking at both Jimmy and Derek in turn, gauging who was faring the worst. Aunt Mel closed off the large gash with tape, listening to Joe’s insistence that it would patch itself together eventually without need for stitches.

“There,” Aunt Mel said and took her hands off Jimmy, afraid of disturbing anything else now. Eyes wide behind the blood-spattered goggles, she took a step back. “It’s done.”

And of course, that’s when Derek decided to collapse.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Joe rushed over to his side before he crashed to the floor.

Not caring about the blood on her, she managed to catch him at the chest before he slumped down. Heavy, sure, but the sheer size almost forced her to sit down with him. Swearing, she propped him up against the table Jimmy laid on and wrenched off her gloves, mask, and coat, stuffing it all in the bio-hazard waste container.

“Is he okay?” Aunt Mel called from where she scrubbed her hands.

Joe knelt down next to Derek, barely awake. His eyes fluttered when she wiped away a few strands of hair on his forehead. “ _Are_ you okay?”

The last time she saw him like this was when Deaton had patched up Scott and Derek had inhaled a good dose of wolfsbane mist. Same soft face. He nodded and she felt her own lungs threaten to collapse at the large sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” she said, earnest as she could be, still with her palm on his forehead. A slight pull to his lips, almost a smile. She’d take it. A lot of things pushed their way to the front of her mind, a lot of things she wanted to say. She had planned to say.

Unfortunately, Stiles decided to reappear and took in the heavy blood splatter and used scalpels. “Oh my God! What are you doing, re-making the Texas Chainsaw Massacre?” He spasmed as the drain gurgled with blood when Aunt Mel opened the tap. “Jees-sus!”

And then he passed out, Scott barely making it in time to catch him.

* * *

It took them some time to clean everything up, especially after Stiles managed to douse everyone with the hose (he blamed dizziness after his fainting spell). Aunt Mel wiped frantically at the table, removing all traces and disinfecting at the same time. She left to get Jimmy a new set of clothes as the rest wheeled him back into the first room. Joe helped Derek up and deposited him in a chair by Jimmy’s bed, even though he looked like he needed his own bed. Like her, he was running on fumes.

“Can you go back to the loft and check on the others?” Joe asked Scott, pulling him aside and keeping her voice soft. Even if Peter and Isaac looked to be somewhat up to par, she did not like leaving Cora and Boyd unprotected like that. Scott gave her a confused look, but nodded.

“Yeah, okay.” He still looked concerned, but before he left, he pulled her into a tight hug and whispered: “I’m sorry, you know. I promised I’d tell you in person first thing, so...”

Joe hugged him back — so tight she could hear him grunting in slight pain. “I’m sorry too. We’ll talk later.” They had _a lot_ to talk about. “Now go, please.”

“I’m glad you’re back. I love you,” he said and it took her by surprise, even though he had said it before, sometimes excessively as a younger child. This was still not what she had expected, but closer at least. Maybe they’d have time — later.

At a loss for words, she squeezed him again, wondering when he had grown so much. She was supposed to worry about him, not the other way around. Things had changed. They had changed.

After he and Stiles left, Joe took a look at the unconscious pair in the room and promptly fell to her knees by the door. She leaned against it, both for balance and also to get a warning if Aunt Mel returned. No tears. Not now. No room for tears. They — Derek and Jimmy — needed her to function right now. They all needed her to function. And she needed them. That’s how packs worked, right?

Derek did not stir. He sat slumped in the chair, head resting on his chest, breathing evenly. So did Jimmy, although his breathing was still helped by the ventilator. Ten seconds, Joe thought. Ten seconds and you get up. Ten seconds and you get up and you _function_. She counted to ten, slowly, in her mind. And then she got up.

Most dysfunctional pack in history, she thought and made her way to Jimmy’s bed first. The gauze laid tight and bright red over the surgery incision, but when she touched it she found it to be moving and shifting underneath her fingertips. Healing.

One eye on Derek, who still slept, she whispered to Jimmy: “I’m sorry.”

He did not stir. Not yet. Anesthesia or blood loss keeping him unconscious, forcing him to rest and heal. Joe let her fingertips go down to Jimmy’s arm. She winced at the sensation of pain pushing through his skin into her, grimacing at the sight of the black veins pulling into her flesh, into her system. Running on fumes, but she could take some of it. Jimmy’s breaths came a little easier, at least for a little while.

It was the least she could do, considering how she had literally punched a hole through his ribcage last night.

* * *

Eventually, Aunt Mel returned with a set of hospital green scrubs for Jimmy. She beckoned Joe out into the hallway and Joe felt the heaviness in her legs when following. No sense of time, no sense of order — it was probably less than eight hours since she first woke up in the forest. The Preserve. The realization almost made her laugh. In the fucking Preserve.

“You sure know how to make an entrance,” Aunt Mel said after softly closing the door to the two sleeping werewolves inside. Whatever Joe had expected, it was not Aunt Mel’s stern frown and crossed arms as she turned to face Joe. “Well? Do you have something you want to say to me?”

“W-what?”

Something was wrong something was wrong something was wrong.

Aunt Mel’s eyebrows were up high, looking unimpressed. “An apology, for starters? An explanation would be better.”

Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.

“Look,” Aunt Mel seemed to take pity on Joe’s frozen panic, “I get that you needed some time-out because of the thing with your dad, the missing kids, Scott, Derek — I get that, totally fine.” _Ding ding ding. “_ But I’ve been worried sick about you! That you don’t want to talk to Rob or Scott or Derek, that’s fine, but I want a real explanation to what I did to warrant that same treatment? Okay? If you’re not too _busy_ right now?”

Something about the way she said the word ‘busy’ made the alarm bells grow to ear-deafening volume in Joe’s head. Her mouth opened and shut, trying and failing to get any words out at all.

“Because you’ve been too _busy_ for three months straight and you could at least have come up with a better excuse if you didn’t want to talk to me. Again, you’re an adult, you’re entitled to your privacy, but I was this,” Aunt Mel held her fingers tightly together, “close to reporting you missing and if Scott hadn’t talked to that professor of yours, I would have and how embarrassing would that have been, huh?”

Professor. Walker. Professor Walker.

_“You do your part,” the woman named Marin said to Walker, “and we’ll do ours.”_

Her part.

Oh, God. They don’t know, Joe realized and it nearly broke her right there on the spot. They don’t know. _Ding ding ding._ They don’t know. _Ding ding ding ding ding._ The alarm bells rose to loud gonging in her mind, her subconscious putting its back into making her realize _what was happening!_ They - don’t - know.

Aunt Mel was still talking, but Joe didn’t hear her anymore. They didn’t know. They _didn’t_ know. And Aunt Mel was _angry_ with her because of it and they didn’t even know. All this and they didn’t even know. How was that even possible? How could they not know?

The puzzle pieces clanged into place as she watched Aunt Mel’s mouth move, never pulling into a smile, still explaining to Joe how this was not okay and she could not just show up here out of the blue without even calling first and okay, there were mitigating circumstances because something obviously had happened to Jimmy and what had happened to Jimmy anyway and did this have something to do with those guys who came after Isaac and-

And Joe became the third person to collapse in the hospital since they got there. Not fainting, not passing out, just keeling over, stumbling into a free chair in the hallway.

“Okay, yeah, that might have been a little harsh,” Aunt Mel said breathlessly as she helped Joe sit up straight. Her hands — hands that had patched up Joe countless of times — went on autopilot to check Joe’s vital signs. They were fine. Physically, she was fine. “And your friend almost died less than an hour ago, so I should probably have shown a bit more tact, sorry, sweetheart, chalk it up to stress. I just, if you wanted this to be a surprise, you kind of missed the mark big-time.”

How was she going to tell them? So many words and explanations pushed themselves into the forefront of Joe’s brain, but... _they hadn’t even known!_ It explained so much — although not _how_ they didn’t know, but _that_ they didn’t know because they were just slightly happy to see her, not relieved, not overjoyed, more confused now that she thought of it and...

They hadn’t known. All this time, all this pain, all this mess — and they hadn’t known. _Why_ hadn’t they known? _How?_ She had to figure it out. He was always ten steps ahead, she had to figure it out.

“Joe,” Aunt Mel said from where she crouched on the floor in front of Joe who stared blindly at her, “I was worried. Bottom line. I’m glad you’re back, but please don’t do that again.”

And instead of saying what she should have said, Joe whispered: “I won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Do not take any medical advice from this fic. Like at all. 
> 
> If this chapter is confusing, it's because Joe is a tiny little bit confused herself. 
> 
> Also, I know it's early, but it's technically Jan 21st in Norway and I'm just so buzzed from the inauguration I wanted to celebrate. Congratulations, USA! Amanda Gorman is my new idol, she was breathtaking in so many ways.
> 
> Thank you for reading, guys, kudos to you for sticking with this story for so long. We're starting the final arc and we're aiming for a happy ending <3  
> Please let me know what you think of this chapter!
> 
> Side-note: If you want a little throwback to good ol' days, I uploaded Chapter 1 from Derek's POV in the oneshot-collection called "The Realist" (as chapter 4, just to make it confusing), so check that out if you want.


	61. The Returned II

_Ah, there she is, the True Mate._

Numb, tired, and hurt, Joe found herself just staring at Derek when she slipped back into the hospital room after talking with Aunt Mel.

He hadn’t known.

No change in either his or Jimmy’s condition. Both completely out cold. Scott had told her what happened as they cleaned the morgue earlier — Derek had locked himself into the boiler room of the high school to hold off Cora and Boyd, to stop them from tearing apart a teacher or something. Instead, they tried to tear apart Derek.

Just the memory had her pull the t-shirt away from her own skin. It had felt like she was butchered alive. At least the little she could remember before everything went into a white-hot rage.

_He hadn’t known._

With conflicting emotions, she continued to watch him. It was not fair someone should look that good while exhausted and asleep. His t-shirt had splotches of red on it after Joe caught him with her blood-stained gloves. Thick black hair in disarrayed spikes on his head, more stubble coming in even after they woke up...together. No matter what happened, she could live a while on that memory. Of the kiss on the inside of her wrist, gentle as a butterfly landing.

She wanted to touch him. Every instinct craved it. Touch him, feel him, smell him, taste him. Looking at her own hands, she flexed them. Washed them several times already, but still felt the blood coating them. Things had gone wrong last night. Really wrong. Did not want to touch him with these hands. Dirty hands.

As absolutely perfect as the first moments after waking up had been, there had been something missing. Now she knew what. He didn’t know. She had no idea _how_ he didn’t know, but he obviously didn’t. How was she going to tell him? Hadn’t she spent countless moments in endless guilt for how her absence must affect him? How he was undoubtedly blaming himself? Again, like he was always shouldering the blame for everything that happened?

_He hadn’t known._

And, if she was being honest, wasn’t the realization that they hadn’t even _noticed_ she was gone burning a scream into her lungs that threatened to escape?

Derek stirred when Aunt Mel popped back in with a small bundle of clothes and a pair of sneakers for Joe. After she was done lecturing Joe, she had offered to get her a bra and some shoes, asking something about if things had improved between Joe and Derek.

“Listen, I gotta get back to work, but I’ve called in a favor from the nurse’s station that I’m the only one responding to the emergency cord in here, okay? Okay.”

And with that, Aunt Mel slipped back out. Joe locked the door behind her.

Dead tired, Joe realized as she met Derek’s heavy-lidded eyes. He was not up to speed yet. The room filled with the sound of Jimmy’s assisted breathing while Joe just held the clothes in her hands, still numb from the previous realization. Derek didn’t know. And the second she told him, he’d lose that soft friendly expression in his eyes when looking at her. He’d know how bad things were, how bad things would get.

If they didn’t know, it was because the Alphas had gone to great lengths to keep them from knowing. Why? To what end? What was Deucalion’s endgame? He was always ten steps ahead and Joe needed to figure out how to play the game. She needed Jimmy, but he was still unconscious. She hoped he would be human when waking up.

A modesty screen sat next to Jimmy’s bed, but she didn’t bother with it. Jimmy was out, Derek’s eyes drooping shut again and they had both seen all of her at one point or another. With her back to them, because she wasn’t going to force them to watch her either, she pulled the t-shirt over her head. Muscles ached, but just from expenditure, not damage.

The bra was her size — she and Aunt Mel wore the same size in most things — and Joe slipped on the conservative wireless bra with as much sex-appeal as a toilet brush. Work bra, Joe thought, but it gave the support her modest assets needed. Pulling the t-shirt back on and taking her matted curls out from where they stuck in the collar, she felt watched.

Sure enough, Derek had not drifted back to sleep and was watching her when she turned around. Tired expression, nothing dark or enticing. Mostly worried. Angry? If he had thought she had taken mountain ash-pills since she left Beacon Hills, that was understandable. The thought was almost enough to make her cry. Almost. Hadn’t cried in a long time now.

She wanted to touch him so bad. And it was selfish, but she could allow herself to be selfish for just a few minutes more, right? As Joe passed him on the way to the other chair, she ran her hand over his cheek, over the stubble growing more into a beard. It was meant as a fleeting caress, but he caught her hand and subsequently halted her movement.

Confusion, anger, tenderness — somehow his face seemed to hold all of that at once. “What happened last night?”

He deserved to know and Joe swore she was going to tell him, but the words that came out were: “I don’t know.”

Because the second she told him, it was over, and couldn’t she please just have this a while longer? This peace and resemblance of normalcy? She doubted the motive from keeping her friends and family in the dark was so she could return without drama, but it was her motive right now for not telling him. If she could have these moments until she figured out _why_ and _how..._

He regarded her, but she was not lying outright and he was tired, so he eventually nodded. “We still need to talk, Joe.”

That had her drop her hand from his face and she bent down to put on socks and sneakers, avoiding his eyes. “I know.”

He _didn’t_ know.

“It’s been three months.”

So _how_ didn’t he know?

“I know,” she said, which was true because he just told her and now she _did_ know. It was almost like she thought she had slipped into an alternate dimension. How could she have been gone for three months and no one had noticed? Why had no one sounded the alarm? Joe knew she was good at cutting people off, but not _that_ good. Right?

Had they _really_ thought she left them? Just like that? Did they _really_ think she cared so little about them? That hurt worse, she realized. That hurt _a lot_.

“That’s it?” Derek asked, eyebrows raised in slight anger. “You know?”

Too many unknowns, too many variables — Joe was losing the game. She risked a glance at Derek. “I’m sorry?” It sounded like a question and she realigned her mind. “I’m sorry. For...everything. I messed up.”

An understatement so wild it could be considered sacrilege.

She sighed as she watched Jimmy, still completely out cold. Because of her. Everything because of her. “You okay, Derek?”

He didn’t answer. His face drawn in a frown, he also watched Jimmy now, whose intubated chest moved up and down with the sound of the machine. “What was he doing in the woods?”

She shrugged, which was not an answer and she hated herself for it. She _had_ to tell him. She _had_ to tell him everything, but was that what the Alphas wanted? Or did they want her _not_ to tell him? This game...she hated it. A game with changing rules and endless repetitions. Every plan, every tactic, every move they had pulled — everything failed.

Derek glanced over at her. He knew something wasn’t right, he just didn’t know what yet. “If the Alphas came after Jimmy, they might come after you too. You might be in danger.”

“Yeah,” Joe said, watching Derek watching Jimmy again. He didn’t even know half of it. He didn’t even know _any_ of it. “I know.”

* * *

_Like I told you, I’m all about finding and developing new talent._

A loud scraping noise as Joe’s body spasmed involuntarily and she opened her eyes. Noise just from the chair moving on the linoleum floor. Blinking to get her eyes open, she sat up. Must have dozed off. Shaking off the voice and sleep, she found herself staring straight into the scrutinizing eyes of Cora Hale.

“Jesus Christ,” Joe muttered and pulled away from her questioning gaze. That was a lot to stomach when just waking up. “Personal space, Baby Hale.”

“What?”

As she blinked, the eyes grew brighter and turned out to be Derek’s. Accompanied with a raised brow, as usual.

“Did you just call me ‘baby’?”

She shook her head. Cora’s eyes were brown, Derek’s green, but apparently similar enough for her to get confused. They were in the hospital — her mind had taken her back to the vault. “No. Sorry, I just...” Joe rubbed her face and blinked again. “Sorry.”

Glancing over at the bed, she nearly fell off the chair. Empty.

“Where is he?” she asked and got up, already heading for the door. The intubation tube laid next to the bed, disconnected, and with pink blood splotches. No sign of Jimmy. “Derek, where _is_ he?” She got out, peered down either side of the hallway, feeling the blood rush start to her head, the tightening in her chest. “Where-”

“Melissa took him to the showers.” Derek gave her a worried glance, one she probably earned, and gently pulled her back into the room. “He was covered in blood and antibacterial gel —complained about the smell.”

“He woke up? Why didn’t you wake me?” she demanded, chest still heaving with hard-earned breaths. “Was he healed? Was he-”

_fit for fight?_

“Partially,” Derek said slowly and closed the door after glancing out of it. “He’s right down the hall.”

Joe nodded, even though she didn’t mean it. It wasn’t okay. “You can hear them?”

His mouth tightened, but he nodded. Thank God. If Derek could hear them, they were okay. Joe rubbed her face with both hands, ran it through the matted strands of hair, leaning back to get more air into her lungs. It almost felt like it was her lung that collapsed now. Her rib cage caving in after a desperate, angry strike.

“Joe-”

Derek reached out for her, but she involuntarily flinched away. Hard. Too hard. The flicker of worry in his eyes as he dropped the arm and Joe swallowed. He couldn’t know. He had no way of knowing. And still, in his face, she saw understanding. Her chemosignals, probably. He could smell how nervous she was.

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly and hugged herself, wishing it was him, knowing it couldn’t be. “Sorry, I’m just jumpy.”

He kept his distance, but nodded. Looked worried. Not a look she liked.

Eventually, Jimmy returned and Joe could breathe a little easier when she saw him walking on his own. Wincing with each step, hard of breath, but at least walking even with Aunt Mel hovering nearby, ready to catch him if he fell. Light brown hair wet on top of his head, jaw flexed — he’d gotten rid of the beard a while back. Aunt Mel had put him in the hospital scrubs and he looked like an orderly.

“Can either of you make him turn it off?” Aunt Mel asked with a desperate smile, gesturing to her own eyes. “Makes for an awkward icebreaker, if you know what I mean.”

Grumbling, Jimmy looked up — his eyes glowed purple. “As much as I approve of the effect, talking about me in the third person will not improve matters.” He sat down on the bed, aided by Aunt Mel and Joe. “My body is still on high alert, hence the eyes.”

“What happened to you?” Derek asked. He’d gone back to vigilant and watchful, standing with crossed arms in front of the bed.

“I got between an Alpha and its prey,” Jimmy said easily, although he did grit his teeth and glance at Joe, who tried to ignore him the best she could. She did not worry about Jimmy outing her just yet, he hoarded information like gold. “This time, it proved less fatal.”

Now Derek shifted his alert gaze to Joe. “They attacked you both?”

She shook her head. They hadn’t. Derek gave an uncertain nod — he knew _something_ was wrong now — but refocused on Jimmy.

“Okay, can you lay back for a sec? I gotta check your bandages,” Aunt Mel told Jimmy, not caring about the staring competition between him and Derek. “Joe, a hand please.”

Keeping an eye on Jimmy in case he lashed out — he had every reason to be angry — Joe stepped forward to help him lay down on the bed. His purple eyes were even more disconcerting than Derek’s, especially at this proximity, and he met her stare evenly. He was not happy, but that might be because Aunt Mel had lifted the gauze of his chest and prodded the surrounding flesh.

“It’s not a hundred percent there,” Aunt Mel admitted. “But it’s a lot better. How is your breathing?”

“Strained,” Jimmy bit out and lowered the t-shirt back to cover himself. The glow disappeared as he blinked slowly. “It will take days before I am fully up to speed.”

Joe bit her lip, forgetting Derek should have been able to feel it. They did not have days.

“But you will heal, right?” Aunt Mel took off her gloves and gave another nervous smile. “Not to kick anyone out here, but if you’re staying, I have to admit you as a patient.”

“He can stay at the loft-”

“No!” Joe and Jimmy chorused and then glanced at each other. Jimmy took over. “Just take me to my apartment. It will be safer.”

Joe could feel Derek’s eyes bore into her again. She looked at Jimmy before nodding. “Apartment is safe. I’ll go with you.”

As they were filing out to leave, Jimmy and Derek glaring daggers at each other already, Aunt Mel pulled Joe aside for a quick hug, one that Joe clung to like a lifeline for a little longer than necessary.

“Not really how I pictured your welcome home-party,” Aunt Mel said with a short laugh and Joe tried to fake a smile to go with it. _She didn’t know. They didn’t know._ “But we have to talk. I’m sorry, I know you hate those kinds of talks, but you owe me a good explanation and I want to hear everything. Including how you spent two months in San Diego without getting a real tan. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen you this pale before. You’ve really been busy, huh?”

Joe’s smile grew stiffer. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” Aunt Mel tilted her head, making sure to get eye contact. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

* * *

_Trust me, I have a good eye for such things._

It was an awkward car ride to the apartment. It seemed like Derek cut every corner he could and every time, Jimmy let out a soft wheeze as his body contracted in the backseat. Joe just rested her head on the passenger-side window, looking at Beacon Hills zoom past. Nothing had changed. A sobering realization that she could be out of the equation for several months and the world moved on without her. Derek moved on without her.

She could feel him glancing over at her, concern written all over his face in a font she suspected only she could read. With Jimmy in the car, she was at least spared the awkward conversation.

Despite the tender moments with Derek at the loft, she could feel the anger seep into her system at the thought of several months where he hadn’t even tried to look for her. That he didn’t even know she was missing. It threatened to suffocate her. _They hadn’t known._ And they still did not know.

Three long months gone and she could really only remember two if she tried. Joe touched the back of her neck, an old reflex, but there were no scars. Healed.

What had he been doing for the last months? Not biting any other self-deprecating teenagers by the looks of it, but that might be because Beacon Hills was all out of those. Not building his pack, not gathering strength. Unless... Now she glanced over at him. More muscles. Stronger? Preparing for a fight? Did he know something?

“Feels weird to be back here,” Joe murmured when they pulled up outside the laundromat because someone had to say _something._ Everything looked the same, except for the posters on the laundromat wall that had changed to include the summer concerts and events that she and Jimmy had missed. It had been _months_.

Parking on the curb, Derek left the car running. Obviously not staying, which was a relief on its own, because she really needed to talk to Jimmy. She got out as Derek did, and pulled the passenger seat forward to let Jimmy out. His eyes still glowed and Joe glanced around, but there was no one to see. This time of the day, downtown Beacon Hills was empty.

Making sure Jimmy saw her movements, she leaned in to help him out.

Derek came around the car and nearly rolling his eyes, put his arm around Jimmy to help him walk before Joe could issue a warning.

“Get off me!” Jimmy spat and pushed Derek with more force than strictly necessary. His teeth gritted as Derek heeded his request, eyebrows coming up in surprise. “I can walk just fine, Hale.”

They watched Jimmy force himself to the front doors, fumbling with keys they had pulled out of his old clothes.

“Sorry, he’s...” Joe cleared her throat, not sure how to explain right now. “Sorry.”

Without thinking, she went to follow Jimmy, but Derek carefully held his arm out — not touching her — to have her pause.

“We still need to talk,” he reminded her and when he was sure she wasn’t going anywhere, he crossed his arms and leaned on the side of his car. “What happened with Jimmy? How did he end up in the woods? When did you get to the loft?”

Too many loose ends. He deserved answers, but she feared it would break them both. Separate them for good. _Everything breaks under enough pressure._

“Can we talk later?” she asked, trying to remember the person she had been before. “I’m way overdue for a shower. You’re being polite, but I know you can smell me pretty well.”

“I like how you smell, Joe,” Derek said with a tilt to his head, but no discernable emotion in his voice. Listening for lies on her end, but she wasn’t telling any. “Last time you said we’d talk later, you left town. And you said three weeks, not three months.”

_Three_ months. Three _months_. _Three months._ So many questions. Why hadn’t he called? Why did no one look for her? How did _no one_ realize something was wrong? It all felt like some kind of prank or a hidden camera-skit. Scott, Aunt Mel, Derek, Dad... she needed more answers before she could get angry. Because she _wanted_ to get angry.

And she was lucky he was tired because he was understandably pissed off. Everything made more sense now, even if it didn’t.

“Can you give me three hours?” Joe asked and her heart ached at the tired huff, a sharp exhale from his nose as he looked so unimpressed with her that she wanted to die. “Please?”

She had missed him _so much_ and he thought she had been traipsing around in San Diego all this time. Had she been that angry with him when she left? He had thought she’d gone back to the _goddamn_ mountain ash-pills, so maybe. He hadn’t been angry when they woke up today, but he had mentioned something about accepting her apology. Probably thought that was her motivation for climbing into his bed, which was humiliating on its own, but not a point she could focus on right now.

If she could tell him the truth the right way, maybe the fallout wouldn’t be so bad? Maybe she could help him? Maybe they _could_ get through it?

Again, all the things she wanted to say to him pressed themselves against her mouth. All the things she promised she would tell him if she got out alive. All the things he deserved to know. And yet, she swallowed them, buried them. Daydreams and fairytales. He hadn’t even known she was gone.

“Where’s your car?”

Stuck in her own mind, she realized Derek was scanning the laundromat’s parking lot. It was a good question. She had no idea. But it wasn’t here where he had expected it to be.

“Professor Walker probably has it,” Joe tried and hated that she was bluffing. It was close enough to the perceived truth that he would not pick up on the lie. If nothing else, the last three months had taught her how to lie to werewolves. It did make her feel awful though, so she sighed deeply. “Um, thank you, again, for helping Jimmy. I know you’re not his biggest fan, so...”

Instead of answering, Derek tilted his head at her again. “You okay? You want me to stay?”

No matter what she answered now, it would be a lie. She desperately wanted him to stay and at the same time, she needed to talk to Jimmy first. Needed him to make it make sense.

Shaking her head, and without thinking, Joe stepped forwards and looped her arms around Derek’s neck to hug him. Served both as a distraction from his question and a way to get her instincts to stop nagging her.

His body stiffened at first, surprised, but it molded to fit hers and his arms squeezed around her waist. Warm and safe and she had missed him so much. Joe leaned her head into his neck, the strongest source of his smell, and resisted the temptation to bite her lip when it filled her mind. She had missed his smell.

Except... Her brows furrowed from the mixed signals to her brain. His scent had a weird lingering aftertaste if that made sense. Almost tainted, like her.

“Thank you,” she said again and pulled away, letting his burning hands slip from her waist to his sides as she looked everywhere but his face. “I should get up there in case he passed out on the stairs or something. No, it’s okay, I got it.” She gestured to indicate Derek should get in his car. “I’ll see you later.”

He nodded, but she felt his eyes on her as she powerwalked into the apartment building where Jimmy had propped the front door open. Joe made sure the door closed behind her properly. It felt like it was over, but _they_ were still out there. She could be playing right into their hands for all she knew.

The floorboards squeaked as she trudged up the stairs, down the hall, and into the apartment. For some reason her heart pounded in her chest — she was still on high alert, even if her eyes didn’t glow like Jimmy’s.

An intense sensation of deja vu came over her as she saw Jimmy sitting in his usual spot by his computer. The machine was off though and Jimmy was just staring into thin air, looking as lost as she felt.

Locking up behind her, Joe took a few tentative steps into the apartment and hopped up on the kitchen island. Neither said anything, but she recognized the look on Jimmy’s face that he was using more than his human senses.

“He’s gone,” he said eventually, probably meaning Derek. Joe nodded and again, just let her focus drift over the familiar layout of the place. It didn’t feel real.

Simultaneously, she and Jimmy looked at each other with blank faces. For a while, they just stared. Having the chance to breathe and think, Joe found herself not really wanting to.

“I don’t-” Jimmy cleared his throat and tried again. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a plan fail at literally every step.”

He shifted around to accommodate his still-healing wounds. The plan. Joe had almost forgotten about it until now. They’d had a plan and Jimmy was right, it _had_ failed. Even if they were out, if Cora and Boyd were out, it had failed.

Not sure what to say, Joe kept quiet and looked out the windows at Beacon Hills.

Eventually, Jimmy asked: “What the hell happened to you last night?”

Joe filled him in; what she remembered, what she had been told, and everything that had gone wrong. She stopped when Jimmy let out a low, rumbling growl.

“Sorry,” he said when he caught himself and she saw his jaw shift as the canines retracted. “The good news is that Cora and Boyd are, presumably, safe.” Both looked down — those were the only good news. He cleared his throat again. “At least the boiler room explains why you lost it. And why you left me in the woods earlier. Thank you for that, by the way.”

She recalled the rustling that had spurred her hasty getaway from the creek. “Shit. That was you. Sorry, I was-”

“Terrified, I know, you reeked off it. Unfortunately, I lacked the lung capacity to call your name.” No point in correcting him, Joe had accepted that she would ‘reek’ occasionally to werewolf-noses. In an uncharacteristic gentle voice, he asked: “Do you remember _everything_ that happened?”

A scream blocked her throat, so Joe only nodded. Complete silence reigned in the apartment, apart from the slight buzzing of the refrigerator still running.

“Do you,” Jimmy hesitated, “feel different?”

“No.” Trying to keep a neutral tone, she said: “Thank you for, you know, trying to stop me.” Her mind conjured up images she pushed down again, images of yellow eyes fading to hazel and then to nothing. “And sorry for, you know, trying to kill you for trying to stop me.”

He hesitated again. “I know a few things about losing control, Delgado. You should not harbor any guilt on my behalf. Thank _you_ for taking me to the hospital instead of performing field surgery on me yourself as I’m sure you would have.”

After a moment of silence, enhanced by the weird feeling of being in the apartment, Jimmy sighed. “This wasn’t your fault, Joe.”

“Then whose was it?”

“The ones who set you up in the first place.” Both waited as Jimmy got his mouth back under control, as another snarl had erupted. “Have you told Derek what happened?”

An unbidden harsh laugh came from Joe. “No.”

More silence, Joe just trying to come to terms with this new reality. Now the three previous months felt like a dream — or a bad nightmare. Not entirely real. Or was it this that wasn’t real?

“Joe?”

“No,” she repeated. “They don’t-” Joe had to force herself to talk in a normal volume. It was surreal to be back here. Downright surreal. “They don’t even know where we’ve been.” She explained it as best she could and he listened. “I don’t know how, but there’s no way they know what happened.”

At least she hoped not. She waited for a reaction from Jimmy, ready to coax him back if he went too feral, but he let out a long sigh instead.

“I see,” Jimmy said and slipped off his chair onto the floor to lie down.

“You see?” Joe snapped, pressing down on that scream now permanently lodged in her throat.

“Well,” he said patiently as he addressed the ceiling, “we know no one would be looking for me. But it does seem strange no one looked for you.”

“Strange,” she repeated, voice shaking. “Strange? That’s it? _Strange_?”

“If you give me a few hours I promise you I will approach the problem with utmost rationality. As of now,” he winced and his shifting indicated he found it hard to relax, “I am not entirely sure I can get back on my feet unassisted so I will lie on the floor for a while,” he groaned “and wallow in misery.”

Unable to sit still anymore, Joe hopped off the counter. Her eyes fell on a few coffee mugs in the sink, half-filled with brownish water. Everything seemed too normal and it was freaking her out. “Are you sure this place is safe?”

He made a noise of contentment. “Probably the most werewolf-proof place in town after the vet clinic.” Volume grew as he snapped: “ _No, wait, don’t-_ ”

Still feeling the prickling in the back of her neck, Joe had opened the fridge to distract herself. They had been gone for three months. The food had waited patiently for their return and decided to undergo mutation in the meantime.

It reeked of rotten eggs and mold.

Gagging, Joe slammed the door shut and she could hear Jimmy retching on the floor. If that smelled bad to her nose, it must have overpowered him completely.

“Sorry! Are you,” Joe put her arm over her face as she gagged again, “okay?”

Jimmy, coughing and crawling away on the floor, retched again. “ _Fine_.”

Waving her hand in front of her, Joe hurried to put on the exhaust fan, hoping it would help.

“Are you gonna vomit?” she asked, feeling the urge herself, but Jimmy was too busy coughing to answer. “Do any of these windows open?”

“N-no.”

“What is the point of windows you can’t open?!”

“They open, but it’ll-” Another retch. “It’ll break the seal,” Jimmy croaked from the other side of the room.

“So it’s either werewolves or vomit?”

They stared at each other, Jimmy on the floor with his eyes watering and Joe with her collar pulled over her nose. Complete silence for a few seconds, before they both burst out laughing.

It was not funny. It was not funny _at all_ and it was that kind of desperate laughter where the only alternative was crying. Joe could still feel it in her chest, the intense sobbing threatening to escape, the scream at the absurdity of it all. Was this _real?_

Their laughing echoed in the apartment and Joe slid down to the floor next to Jimmy under the wall where the map of Beacon Hills still hung, plotted with the runaway betas’ last movements.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, still laughing, and Jimmy just shook his head, still coughing

The laughter died out into a tense silence, only punctured by Jimmy’s labored breathing and the still-running exhaust fan.

“I have to go back there,” Joe eventually said. There was nothing left in her, nothing but numbness and despair. Jimmy’s purple eyes glowed in the growing darkness of the room. “I have to go back to the loft.”

“Tomorrow.” Jimmy adjusted himself again. “You should sleep first. Rest. Fresh perspective.”

“You think I’m gonna lose it?” Joe challenged, hearing the bite in her tone. She shook her head, trying to clear it. “I have to check on Cora and,” she gasped for air, letting it out slowly, “somehow tell them. Everything. Or do I not tell them? What do the Alphas expect me to do? _What_ does he want?”

“Doesn’t matter what you do. He’s a master strategist with decades of experience. We don’t even know his real age. Whatever you choose to do, he will have a mitigation to account for it.” His words sent a chill down Joe’s spine. “I’m still not entirely sure we’re out because we wanted it or he did.”

Her voice felt raw. “I played right into their hands last night.” Glaring at her trembling hands, she flexed them, hoping to convince her body they weren’t covered in blood. “She trusted me, Jimmy, and I failed her.”

“We both failed her.” A groan of discomfort as he sat up against the wall. “And for the record, I think we’re both going to lose it sooner or later.” He hesitated. “Do you want to cry?”

She did, but the absurdity of the question made her laugh instead. “I gotta go to the loft.”

“Tomorrow,” he repeated. “We have been gone for nearly three months, what does a day’s difference make?”

“Maybe nothing,” she admitted and pushed herself off the floor as she pushed all the bad thoughts away. “But we both know I won’t be able to sleep anyway. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m three months overdue for a real shower.”

Reluctantly, Jimmy let her help him to his bedroom so he could pass out in his bed instead of on the floor.

The bathroom was still messy from when they left. Down to the toothpaste laying with the cap open and an empty toilet paper roll sitting on top of the trashcan instead of in it. Surreal. Looked the same, felt different.

She stripped slowly out of Derek’s clothes — they didn’t smell like him anyway, just of her rancid sweat. The fact that he had managed to hug her with his enhanced sense of smell proved their mate bond more than anything.

Joe paused in front of the mirror, showing her from the hips up, nude. Prodding her stomach, the newfound baby abs, how taut it laid over her hip bones. No burgers the last few months and it showed. The second Jimmy was up and running, they were definitely ordering take-out. Her hair had gotten long too, so that it covered her breasts when she stood upright. Apart from that, she looked the same.

With a wry grin to her reflection, she leaned forwards and bared her teeth, pushing up her lip to check for canines. Nope. Nothing. She made a growling face at the mirror, but laughed at how stupid she looked. The laughter turned into sobs. Gripping the edges of the sink, she leaned forwards, wanting to smash her head into the mirror. Her chest ached as she tried to hold it in; no use worrying Jimmy, no use being a crybaby.

She looked the same!

She looked exactly the same as the girl who’d wandered out into the hallway one night and found a strange man there talking about Scott. Exactly the same as the girl who had chased what she believed was a murderer around town, uncovering conspiracies and accidentally discovering werewolves. Exactly the same as the girl who’d thrown herself headfirst into the fight against kanimas and werewolf hunters. As the girl who’d tried _so_ hard to find Erica and Boyd.

Well, she found them. Haha. Ha.

Joe didn’t feel the same. She didn’t feel like Joe.

Her eyes fell to a pair of scissors Jimmy used to trim his beard, back when he still had one. She glanced back at herself in the mirror. One hand gripped her curls, the other reached for the scissors.

* * *

_You know, losing my sight enhanced my other senses..._

“I’m not saying you’re not entitled to a little self-realization haircut,” Jimmy said as he came out of the bathroom after she was done, “I just wish you didn’t do it over the sink. There is hair _everywhere_ , Delgado.”

With a growl, he held up his toothbrush as Exhibit A. His healing must have accelerated from when he slept, he seemed to be feeling a bit better. Or she had spent longer in the bathroom than anticipated.

At the sight of her pulling on a pair of jeans, Jimmy rolled his eyes. “What is it with girls and thinking getting bangs will be life-changing?”

Joe inhaled deeply, trying to prepare herself for going back to the loft. “Sorry.”

His voice came from the bathroom again. _“This is disgusting.”_

Drama queen, she thought, as she did get most of her hair out of the bathroom. She’d cut off probably twelve inches of her thick dark curls, leaving it just below her jawline, and then proceeded to give herself bangs. So there had been _a lot_ of hair in the bathroom. The bangs turned out better than the last time she tried the same in juvie, where she ended up looking like Courtney Cox in Scream 3.

_“I give up. I’m getting the vacuum. You owe me a new toothbrush.”_

She didn’t pay him attention, just picked up a pair of her own sneakers from the back of her closet. In the midst of putting them on, she heard Jimmy come up behind her. It occurred to her that Jimmy was making noise when he moved and she wondered if he did it for her benefit.

“You don’t have to do this today,” he pointed out from where he lingered in the doorway to Joe’s room. “It will drain you completely.”

“I have to tell him before Cora or Boyd,” Joe offered as an explanation. Both her and Jimmy’s eyes flickered down to Joe’s hands — they were not steady, but not downright trembling either. “And I want to know _how_ this could happen. I _need_ to know.”

She needed to know there was some sort of explanation. She needed it to make sense.

* * *

_...and there is something just underneath the surface with you._

The second she stepped into the loft, she knew this was going to go south.

First of all, Scott and Stiles were still there, just like _Peter_ was. That meant no chance of a quiet, private conversation with Derek where she could lay out everything in the gentlest possible way.

All of them, including Isaac, stood around the table where she could see dried spots of blood after Jimmy’s short visit. All of them gave her a strange look. Alarm bells started going off at once. Had they figured it out? Was she too late? Did they already hate her?

“Hey,” she said, shrinking under the joint scrutiny, and she scanned the room for other occupants. No Cora, no Boyd. “What’s going on?”

Why did Derek look mad? He had a tightness to his jaw she hadn’t seen for a while — well, she hadn’t seen any of him for a while — but this was reminiscent of how he looked in the locker room when Joe had accused him of being a failure.

Hard to tell if it was his anger she felt or if it was her own, but she felt herself bristle in response. _He_ had no right to be angry with _her_.

“Really?” Stiles questioned, also looking annoyed. “You couldn’t just have said you were on your way?”

Phone in his hand, she realized. It was a clue.

“Nice hair,” Derek said and his voice was _sharp_. His arms were folded and he had his body turned halfway away from her at the table. “You have time for a haircut, but not to unblock my number?”

Oh, he was pissed off. Her blood boiled in her own veins and she met his glare evenly. Another clue, she thought, about his number. She narrowed her eyes, about to reply, but Scott cut in front of her.

“Are you okay?” Even he sounded a bit vexed, but doing his best to hide it. “Did Jimmy tell you what happened? Was it the Alphas?”

She shook her head — it was an answer to all his questions.

At least Scott caught on that something was not quite right — Derek too busy sulking by the windows — and he tilted his head, brows pulling together in puzzlement. “Did you drive all night? Only, you have this look in your eyes you only get when you don’t sleep and I haven’t seen you like that since before you broke up with-”

Scott cut himself off, maybe because of her expression or he sensed Derek’s increasingly building anger.

Alex? Was that another clue? She couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped — had Derek thought she had run away to be with _Alex?_ Was Alex in on it as well? If Professor Walker could betray her, who’s to say Alex couldn’t too? Or Kelly? Or Kyle or Maddy anyone else she had ever met in her life? Could she trust anyone?

The laugh died in her throat when she noticed what was on the table. Blueprints. For Beacon Hills First National Bank. The name caught her attention because she remembered the case; it had been shut down after a robbery a few years back.

Abandoned bank. Bank vault. Vault.

Not even considering her audience, she stepped up and traced the drawings, finding _the_ vault easily. Beacon Hills. They had kept them _in_ Beacon Hills this whole _fucking_ time. Her veins filled with ice at the thought — so close and so far away all this time.

The vault. Scott had only told her bits and pieces to fill her in earlier, that they somehow got Cora and Boyd out of the vault.

“How did you get in?” she asked carefully, looking for more clues.

The walls were at least two feet thick and made of solid moonstone, the door even thicker; bank vaults were known for being hard to break into. And where had the Alphas been in the meantime? Ennis and the twins had taken Joe and Erica out to the abandoned mall — she shuddered at the memory — but Deucalion and Kali would still have been at the bank.

“Derek, uh, punched through the wall,” Isaac supplied. She was aware he was watching her carefully, more perceptive than Scott, and less distracted than Derek.

Derek had punched through the wall. The thought went on repeat inside her skull.

“Really?” she said, feeling her heartbeat intensify at the thought. Her glare met Derek’s as she tried to keep breathing. So many things had gone wrong last night. “You punched through the _wall_? You didn’t see the sign?”

At least Derek had the foresight to be confused instead of lash out. “What sign?”

“The sign that spelled _trap_?” She wasn’t even aware of how her palm slammed onto the table. “The sign that said it might not be such a good idea to break the seal _during the full moon?_ To release two moonstarved werewolves _during the full moon?_ ” Her voice rose in volume as Derek’s eyes widened. “Did you do _absolutely_ no reconnaissance? Did _no_ _one_ consider _why_ they kept them in there in the first place? For several months?”

Peter raised a hand lazily. “I did.”

“Shut up,” Joe barked, not in the mood for him at all. Her glare trained on Derek as she saw how his nostrils flared in badly suppressed anger. “They could have killed someone!”

Or worse, he could have killed _them_.

To her surprise, it was Stiles who snapped back first: “Well, maybe if you hadn’t been too _busy_ being _busy_ all over California and been here to help, we would have had time to do better reconnaissance!”

Busy. There was that word again.

“So I hope you had a nice vacation! Want to know what you’ve missed?” Stiles listed on his fingers with harsh movements. “Animals are going crazy and committing mass-suicide all over the place! There’s an Alpha pack in town and they’re sacrificing virgins-”

“They’re _what?”_

Stiles’ eyes bugged out of his head. “Are you serious? Are you on drugs or something? How could you not remember that when I called to tell you literally less than twelve hours ago?”

“You talked to me?” Joe asked slowly, head reeling from the important bits of information that made no sense yet and anger burning at all the pieces that did. “Really?

“Yes, that is what people usually do when they answer the phone. Talk.”

Scott’s brows furrowed. “You okay, Joe?”

Twelve hours ago she would have been fast asleep in Derek’s bed and she realized Derek had reached the same conclusion based on his suspicious frown.

“No,” she answered Scott before she tilted her head at Stiles. “Are you sure? You talked to me? Not a text, not a voice mail, you talked?”

“Dude, I called you less than ten minutes before you got here!” Stiles’ gaze shifted slightly to Derek behind her and his voice came in a rushed tone: “Only because you, uh, apparently blocked Derek’s number. But yes, we _talked_ then too.”

The phone — a definite clue. Who had her phone? Professor Walker? Her heart hammered almost up in her throat now. “Are you sure you have the right number?”

“Yes!”

“Are you-”

“Oh my God, okay, fine, I’ll prove it. _If I’m sure_ -” Stiles sputtered and fought to get his phone back out of pocket. He recited the number out loud as he punched it in — should she worry he had it memorized? — put the phone on speaker, and showed her the screen with a triumphant look.

They all heard the rings on his end.

Scott’s face wrinkled in confusion — nothing rang in the loft. “Is your phone on silent?”

“ _Hello?”_

It felt like a layer of ice coated Joe’s organs. They all heard the voice picking up on the other end. They all heard _Joe’s_ voice picking up on the other end. Joe — the _real_ Joe — stared at the screen showing the caller-ID — her name, her number — and the active call ticking along.

The whole room froze as she held up a finger, not wanting anyone to reply.

How was this possible?

_“Hello?”_ Not-Joe repeated. “ _Look, I told you I’m really busy right now.”_ Sound of typing on a keyboard. “ _Can’t you send me a text or something? I gotta go. Bye.”_

It sounded _exactly_ like Joe.

“Call it again,” Joe ordered, cutting in front of everyone else who wanted to say something. Stiles just stared at her, wide-eyed and perplexed. She became aware of Derek coming up behind her, touching her back gently, probably sensing her rising panic. Or panicking himself and needing some reassurance this was not some strange dream. _“Call it again!”_

“Okay, okay.” He hurried and re-dialed. This time it rang two times.

_“I’m serious, Stiles. Text me. I don’t have time to talk,”_ Not-Joe spat before she — presumably a she — hung up.

Joe’s mouth was dry. “Again.”

This time they didn’t pick up.

No one said anything. Everyone either stared at the phone in Stiles’ hand or at Joe.

“Who was that?” Scott eventually asked. “Did someone steal your phone?”

“Someone who sounded _exactly_ like you?” Stiles added.

Joe shook her head, unable to answer, because she had no idea. She found herself turning to Derek, saw the confusion and raw anger on his face, saw how it was replaced with concern the second his eyes met hers. He shook his head too, almost like he did not want to believe, his hand still on the small of her back.

And Joe began to laugh. It was _not_ funny. It was not funny _at all_ and she laughed so tears sprang, so her stomach began to ache, so much that she doubled over, stumbling backward until she met the reassuring bulk of Derek’s chest and she was dimly aware of how he grabbed her and held her so she wouldn’t outright collapse when her legs buckled.

It was the shrill, desperate laugh as before, a hair’s width away from sobbing and through the blur of her tearful eyes she could see how Stiles rubbed his head, Scott’s mouth hanging open, Peter’s head tilted to the side and Isaac’s eyes widening with realization. She was glad she couldn’t see Derek’s expression, because she could _feel_ his anger. He knew. Now he knew.

“You- you haven’t been in San Diego, have you?” Stiles eventually asked, his hand holding the phone dropping down.

Through the breathless idiotic giggles, she shook her head and forced out: “No. Didn’t even make it to Sacramento.”

Now Scott looked at her, his eyes — so much like hers, at least she used to think so — open and wide, lined with panic. It was like he was seeing her for the first time, noticing all the little differences she had seen in the mirror: pale skin, drawn face, wild eyes. “Then where have you been?”

“The vault,” Derek answered for her, his voice flat and dead, even if his arms tightened around her. Like she would disappear if he did not actively hold her. Claws extended slightly on his hands, pricking into her arms without piercing skin. He was probably not aware of it, practically vibrating with rage. “She’s been in the vault.”

At least someone managed to connect the dots.

And the fact that he knew did not make anything easier. It was just the beginning.

Just the thought made Joe’s laughter turn into sobs and she could feel tears stain Derek’s shirt as he continued to hold her up. She cried into his chest, like at the clinic so many months ago. Ugly, open-mouthed, desperate crying. This was not how she had planned to tell them.

_What was going on? Was this even real?_

With a weak nod, Scott stumbled back and sat down on the steps, looking more battle-worn than someone his age should be able to.

Peter tilted his head while watching her with a contemplative smirk on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand we're back. Sorry for the confusing last chapter, guys. Not sure how many answers you got in this one, but hopefully things make sense as we go along. There are few easy answers in life and definitely not in this story. On the plus side, you can always count on getting an extra helping of new questions! 😊
> 
> It is currently 2 AM here in Norway and I apologize for the weird updating-hours, but I'm not sure how much it affects anyone, since we're all in different time-zones.
> 
> Anywho...Thank you for reading as always, please let me know what you think! Stay safe and healthy, guys 💗


	62. The First Beta II

_Something waiting for the right, hm, motivation to emerge._

The blame-game started almost immediately. Before Joe could fully wipe the tears from her eyes, she was acting as a physical barrier between Scott and Derek.

“You knew about the Alpha pack for _months_ and you didn’t tell me!” Scott shouted at Derek. “Did you know they took Joe as well?!”

“Of course I didn’t know! _You_ told _me_ this was just the way Joe was!” Derek retaliated immediately, held back by Joe’s hand on his chest. “That she just needed time! How was I supposed to know something was wrong?!”

“You can literally feel her pain!”

“I thought she was taking the pills! The same pills you tricked her into taking in the first place!”

Joe could feel Derek’s heartbeat under her palm as he moved forward — he could crush her arm like dry wood if he wanted, he was held back by pure symbolism.

“Hey!” Joe snapped, putting her other arm up to make sure Scott didn’t make things worse by initiating a brawl. “Do you know what’s gonna get better if you two fight right now? Absolutely nothing!”

She looked between the two of them, also noting how Isaac had risen from his chair, ready to intervene.

“Also, why are you guys angry when I’m the one who’s been locked up for three months _without anyone even noticing?”_

That made both hotheads take a step back, but they were still glaring more at each other than looking at her. It was _infuriating._

“Guys, guys!” Stiles said, hands up with one of them still holding the phone. “Maybe we should worry more about the fact that Joe has an evil doppelganger-”

“That wasn’t her,” Derek snapped and Joe got the feeling he was seconds away from glowing red eyes. His nostrils flared again. “It was similar, but not identical. It wasn’t her.”

“Dude, it sounded exactly like Joe.”

Even Joe had to agree, but she watched Derek carefully in case he was losing control, almost like she had done with Jimmy for the last month or so.

“I know Joe’s voice! That wasn’t her.” His glare never wavered from Scott. “And you’d hear that too if you had _any_ idea on how to use your senses! If you’d spent a fraction of your time _practicing_ instead of pining over your hunter ex-girlfriend all summer!”

Scott flew forward, only stopped by Isaac pulling on his jacket. “Maybe I’d practice if I knew we were under attack! If I had any idea Joe was in any kind of danger! Danger she’s only in because of you!”

“ _Hey!”_ Joe yelled to drown out the snarls and shouting. Her hand pushed against Derek’s chest, she could feel his strong heartbeat under her palm. “No fighting, guys, are you _serious_?” She forced herself to take a deep breath, to regain some calm. “Also, again, don’t talk about me like I’m not here!”

“Well, you haven’t really been here for three months, it’s a hard habit to...” Stiles’s voice died out as he innocently looked to the side, but Joe wasn’t sure if it was her or Derek’s glare that made him stop. He huffed and put his hands to his hips. “I _knew_ you wouldn’t just blow off virgin sacrifices. Did the Alphas mention anything about that, you know, when you were, uh, held captive?”

She blinked at him, trying to keep up with this turn of events as her hand fell from Derek’s chest. “I’m sorry, virgin _sacrifices_? Like, random virgins? Doesn’t sound like their style.”

“What- what is their style?” Isaac asked after gently releasing Scott, obviously determining there wouldn’t be a fistfight just yet. “Exactly?”

“Uh, ultra-specific targeted long-planned assaults.”

“Lovely,” commented Peter lazily from where he had gone to lounge in the velour couch, keeping his distance from the near-imminent werewolf scuffle. “What I personally would like to know,” he indicated himself with nonchalant movements, “is what the Alpha pack wanted with _you_.” He looked straight at Joe. “I mean, why go through all this trouble to keep your abduction a secret? For three months no less.”

“Don’t ask me, I literally thought you guys were looking for me this whole time,” Joe said, not realizing how bitter she sounded or how everyone but Peter flinched at her words. To be fair, she was allowed to feel bitter. “Great to know you guys think I would just up and leave without warning for three months.” Hugging herself, she muttered: “Guess I need to work on my image in that department.”

“But it doesn’t make any sense,” Scott said, sounding and looking lost still, like he did not really want to believe. Like he waited for Joe to yell ‘sike’ and have a good laugh about it. “How did they pull this off?” He gestured to Stiles’ phone. “We even talked to your professor!”

“You talked to Professor Walker?” Joe blinked at the pair of her favorite morons in the world. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Stiles said as Scott nodded fervently, looking close to crying. Stiles held his hand a bit higher than Scott’s hair. “Yea high, wears a lot of gray, _super intense woman.”_

“So you met her in person?”

Scott swallowed, sensing an outburst.“Yeah?”

“Scott,” Joe began icily, rubbing her face again, “what is the point of having all these werewolf senses if you _can’t even tell when someone’s lying?_ Professor Walker was the one who set me up in the first place!”

Behind her, she heard Derek let out a small annoyed groan and something that sounded suspiciously like: “ _Idiot.”_

“Wait, wait, wait, your _Criminology_ -professor set you up?” Stiles wanted to clarify, head hanging loose on his neck, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe someone teaching Criminology could ever be bad. “Why?”

“I don’t know, Stiles!” Joe shouted and threw her arms up. “She didn’t do a whole evil villain-monologue! She just lured my dad out of town and then had me meet in a really suspicious diner in the middle of nowhere and yes, now that I’m saying it out loud it does sound like a trap, but I had no reason to distrust her! Kane is the werewolf-expert, not Walker!”

Rubbing her face, she tried to think back; it felt like a different life and she had stopped trying to analyze what happened at the diner a month in.

“I think they were blackmailing or threatening her or something. She obviously had some kind of history with them. That’s all I know.”

Joe had unwittingly turned to address Derek as she talked as if he could help her make sense of everything.

He had been watching her in turn with guilt written all over his face, but now his gaze shifted to something behind her. His face softened and she turned to see what he was looking at and nearly collapsed at the sight.

“What’s with all the yelling?” Cora Hale, the slightly smaller and female version of Derek, asked as she shuffled out from the top of the spiral staircase, wearing the same as she had last time Joe saw her, a ratty tank top and some jeans. If Derek still looked exhausted, Cora looked to be near death. Her dark hair hung limp around her face where her skin sagged with heavy bags and a frown. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

“ _Me cago en na’,”_ Joe swore under her breath in relief when seeing that Cora, although beat, was otherwise unharmed. Joe sagged against the table and looked up to where Cora stood squinting down at them. “ _Cora_ , _¿estás bien?_ ” Are you okay?

_“I could ask you that,”_ Cora said, switching seamlessly to Spanish.

She didn’t seem surprised to see Joe, but Joe had stopped being amazed at what it took to throw Cora for a loop. Even though their initial introduction in the vault had been rocky, she had accepted facts without much argument after a short while.

For a second, Cora looked inclined to ask something else, a flicker of emotion passing over her face. She switched gears though and crossed her arms with a slight head-tilt. She wanted an answer.

Joe answered with a shrug, not really sure if she was okay or not. Which was a lie, she was not okay.

Derek’s gaze went from Joe to Cora, remaining soft. “Go back to sleep. You’re still healing.”

What had Cora said? It’d been at least six years since she last saw Derek? Hell of a reunion though. Joe wondered if he saw how alike they were and if he noticed the slight change in Cora’s posture. If he noticed her knee-jerk reaction to challenge his order just because it came from him.

Instead of going back inside to whatever sleeping arrangements was upstairs, Cora nodded at Joe.

_"Te ves súper jodida,”_ she said, which loosely translated that Joe looked like shit. Her accent was heavy and it almost sounded like she was singing at times. _“¿Cuándo fue la última vez que dormiste?”_ When was the last time you slept?

Rolling her eyes — it was always the same question — Joe tried to count back to when she woke up, but was distracted by the sight of Scott obviously spelling the words under his breath. He wasn’t the only one.

“Okay, uh, can we switch back to a lingua franca here? _”_ Stiles asked, looking between Joe and Cora in confusion. “Some of us are only passing Spanish thanks to _señor Google Translato_.”

“ _Traductor._ And Spanish _is_ a lingua franca,” Cora said icily, not looking impressed. “Idiot.”

Stiles took half a second to recover. “Oh, you are definitely Derek’s sister.”

She definitely was, Joe thought and peered behind Cora to see if Boyd had woken up as well. If he had, he wasn’t visible to her at least. And she hated the sense of relief she felt at that.

“Are you guys done yelling?” Cora asked in English now, giving the loft a standard Hale-glare. Joe also hated noticing Peter’s suspicious eyes watching both her and Cora in turn. “What are you yelling about, anyway?”

“Uh, well, Joe apparently hasn’t been touring the Californian crime labs and ignoring us all summer like we thought, she apparently has an evil twin answering her phone, her professor is also apparently evil and,” Stiles pulled in a breath, “animals are going crazy all over town and the Alphas are killing virgins.”

For a second, Cora just watched Stiles in case he was going to add something else. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would the Alphas kill virgins?”

“Because it’s a part of some ancient evil werewolf-ritual? Because they are evil?” Stiles suggested and scanned his crowd to see how his pitch landed. With a raised eyebrow, Peter gently shook his head and Stiles deflated. “Okay, but someone evil is killing virgins!” With newfound hope, he turned to Joe. “Could your professor be killing virgins?”

“Why are you asking me? I don’t know shit about current events. I don’t even know what date it is-”

“August eighteenth,” Scott said quickly, obviously trying to help.

“Holy shit.” It was hard to breathe all of a sudden. Hearing it like that made it more real somehow. Three whole months gone, robbed from her life. A lump lodged in her throat as she looked at Scott. “Oh my God, I missed your birthday.”

“No, no, no! You didn’t!” He held his hands out, trying to diffuse immediately. “You gave me this jacket and you sent me a happy birthday-text,” he winced, “but I guess that wasn’t you and it was Mom who gave me Uncle Rob’s jacket, but she said it was from you and-”

“Scott.” It was Derek who stopped him, probably picking up on Joe’s elevated heartbeat, and he ran a hand over his face. Doing what he could to remain in control, even though Joe noticed the tension in his neck. Sucks being the Alpha sometimes. He addressed Cora with strained patience: “We’re done yelling. Go back to bed.”

“You okay?” Joe couldn’t help but ask Cora again, even though she felt like a fraud for doing so. The name _Erica Erica Erica Erica_ went on repeat inside her skull. Cora wouldn’t ask, but Cora also knew what the Alphas had planned. Knew what had happened.

With a sigh, Cora got up and went back into the darkness of the second-level. “Alive.” She called over her shoulder: “ _Tu cabello se ve bien.”_

_“Gracia’,”_ Joe replied and sighed as she watched Scott try to work this one out.

“Something about hair?” he asked slowly. “She likes...your hair? Oh, oh, okay!” His face cleared and he gestured at Joe. “Your hair looks great!” For some reason, he turned to Stiles and Stiles also started with frantic nodding, eager to agree.

“Yeah, awesome,” Stiles said and gave her two thumbs up. “Suits you! A lot.”

Only able to stare, she was torn between how much she had missed them and how stupid they sometimes were. They were not getting it and how could she blame them? What capacity did they have to fully understand where she had been? How could she even begin to explain?

Luckily Derek came to her rescue.

“Okay, everyone out,” Derek said, reaching the end of his patience. “ _Now_. You guys need to go home. Isaac, you’re upstairs. You,” he turned to Peter with thinly veiled distaste, “I don’t care, just get lost.” Before she could go too far, Derek grabbed her wrist gently. “ _Not_ you. You stay.”

Unlike Joe, Scott and Stiles hadn’t moved.

“Okay, but, uh, what do we do about...” Stiles shook his cell-phone.

“Nothing,” Joe said and shrugged at his confused face. “If Walker’s still at Berkeley, I don’t want to give her a heads up. Let me handle it.”

“Can we at least come up with a safe-word that we use in case one of us is kidnapped? Like, something we can ask, that only we know, to make sure it’s not just some doppelganger impersonating us.” Stiles must have realized something was off as he asked: “What?”

“That’s not what safe-word means,” Peter supplied helpfully as he got up from the couch. “You mean a code-word. How about... Alpha,” he looked at Derek, “Beta,” now at Isaac, “Omega.” His gaze lingered on Scott, still with a half-smirk on his face.

“Fine,” Derek said, his voice clipped. “Now get out. All of you.”

Even though Scott seemed reluctant to leave, or reluctant to leave her there, Joe managed to convince him it was okay. They hugged, this time he was squeezing her harder than comfortably and she told him they’d talk tomorrow. Maybe things made more sense then, at least she hoped so. Half of her wanted to leave with Scott — she was not looking forward to the inevitable conversation with Derek.

The second everyone was out of sight, Isaac scrambling up the stairs, Derek put both hands on the table and leaned over it with a heavy sigh. Exhausted. It had probably been a long couple of days for him.

“I have to get back to Jimmy,” Joe said carefully, numb and tired herself. The loft felt empty with just the two of them there, even if she knew there were three werewolves just up the stairs. Without looking up, Derek just nodded and she sighed. “You okay, Derek?”

To her surprise, he let out a sharp snort and now he did look up, eyes heavy and dark. “Don’t, Joe, don’t ask me that. _You_ don’t get to ask _me_ that.”

“Uh, I kind of have to ask. Don’t have your nose, remember?” She shrugged to disarm; aiming for casual, feeling stupid. “So, _are_ you okay or not?”

With a harsh shove, Derek was off the table, moving towards the window with his arms folded tightly across his chest. As usual, he was in one of those dark henley shirts that stretched over his shoulders, displaying how tense they were. He _had_ gained muscle, she determined, not having the capacity to appreciate his physique at the moment.

If she hadn’t known him, she would have confused this symbolic gesture of turning his back to her with anger. It wasn’t, at least not directed at her. This was the hospital, after she was shot, all over again; when he was so wrung up in self-loathing that he could not even look at her. She hated it.

“Derek, look, I know this probably came as a surprise-”

“Do you hear yourself?” he snapped over his shoulder. “Joe, you don’t get to worry about me right now.”

_But you’re the one hurting_ _right now_.

The raised volume of his voice had them both glancing up the stairs — let sleeping werewolves lie. It seemed he agreed with her unspoken words, as he tilted his head to indicate she should follow him inside his bedroom. It looked different somehow — she hadn’t noticed it this morning and wow, was it really just this morning she woke up here? — and she narrowed her eyes at the walls no longer covered in bare bricks.

“Did you soundproof this place?” she asked as he closed the door.

He had at least spent more time in here recently and she could feel his scent saturating the space. It made her linger over by the window as he went to sit on the bed.

“Don’t change the subject,” he ordered and she raised her eyebrows at the command. Again, the sensation of not knowing whose anger she felt — if it was him, her, or both of them. Inhaling deeply, Derek leaned forwards on his knees while she remained standing with her back against the wall. “Why didn’t you tell me right away?”

“I didn’t understand what was going on right away,” Joe admitted with a breathless laugh. “Your pain last night... it knocked me out. I was still pretty out of it when I woke up. Then I thought you were being your super pragmatic self and I didn’t realize you guys had no idea where I’d been until I talked to Aunt Mel.” She tried to ignore the way her stomach melted at the sight of those bright green eyes she had missed so much. “Then I just didn’t know how to... you know. It could probably have been done a little smoother, so I’m sorry.”

His eyes slid closed and he whispered: “Please don’t be sorry.”

The second apology died on her lips.

Derek sat back, pushing himself up from his knees, straining to take a deep breath. Like a drowning man, head barely above the water. “You don’t get to do this, Joe.”

“Do what?” She could feel her own pulse quicken.

“You don’t get to brush this off and pretend nothing happened.”

“I’m not-”

“You just did, out there.” He nodded towards the door. “Or tried to at least.”

Her mouth shut on its own.

“And you did it after the first time with Kate and you tried to do it the second time. I didn’t see it then, but I do now.” His nostrils flared like he was not sure if he wanted to smile or snarl. “So, no, you don’t get to ask if I’m okay or act like things are back to normal. We both know they’re not.”

Mostly because his words hit a nerve, Joe hugged herself and rocked against the wall a bit, not sure what to say. “Anything else I’m not allowed to?”

“Deflect,” he answered without hesitation.

Jimmy had been right, Joe mused, looking down at her feet. She should have waited a day before doing this. With a sigh, she said: “I’m stronger than I look.” _Literally_. “I’m fine.”

His eyes roamed her face, darting around, looking for clues. “You’re running on adrenaline now. You know that, right? That’s why it worked the first time because with the kanima you just kept surfing that same wave. The second time, when things quieted down, you crashed.” She squirmed at his words, especially the flat tone contrasting his soft eyes. “Jimmy was right, I didn’t want to see it and if I had, I wouldn’t have let you leave in the first place.”

There were a lot of things Jimmy had been right about and Joe tried to suppress those memories. Also tried to suppress the irritation of Derek _letting_ her do anything.

“Scott and Stiles don’t get it, at least not yet. They’re just kids. Scott’s not good enough at using his senses yet, but maybe he’ll catch the same thing that I do eventually.”

“Catch what?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

His face softened, eyes flickering to the side. “You know that what you’ve been through don’t just get washed off in the shower. Change of scenery helps, at least for a while, but it’ll catch up to you in the end.”

He had no idea what she’d been through, she thought, but crushed the instant biting reply she wanted to lash out. Derek was talking from experience. There was probably a reason he and his sister had moved cross-country after the fire. And just like the Alpha pack, the aftermath of the fire eventually caught up with both him and Laura.

So much guilt already, she could see it all over him. So how was she going to tell him everything that had happened? Pile on that guilt when he was already shouldering so much?

“Derek, I’m-” Hard to talk, hard to think. “Twenty-four hours ago I didn’t even know what country I was in. I don’t have the words to-” She broke off again. “I’m still processing, okay, I don’t know how I feel about everything, I-”

“Want me to tell you?” he asked, brows pulled together in an otherwise neutral expression. “How you’re feeling?” Without waiting for an answer, he kept going: “You’re pissed off. I wouldn’t even call it anger, it’s more like fury. Rage. And you’re hurt. Cutting so deep I don’t get how you’re still standing.”

Her chest heaved as he talked as if her body finally allowed herself to feel all of the things he mentioned.

“And you have every right to be. I wish I could take that pain from you, but I can’t.”

His ‘permission’ somehow made things worse. He hadn’t taken any of her pain for a while now.

“Where did you think I was?” The words came too harsh again, but she couldn’t help it. A tightness in her chest she had not paid attention to made it hard to breathe again. Especially when Derek averted his gaze, focusing on his own hands. Her lip curled. “Alex? You thought I-” She bit it off with a hard laugh. “Really? _Why?”_

“Three weeks after you left Beacon Hills,” Derek said in the same flat voice as if he was reciting the weather forecast, “you — or whoever is pretending to be you — told Melissa your assignment got extended to include all of California. You’d be gone three more weeks.” He was not looking at her. “Three more weeks passed and you called Melissa again, saying you would spend the rest of the summer in San Diego on a project. You responded to their texts and the occasional phone-call, but usually with the excuse of being busy.”

Fighting for every breath now, Joe blinked away the angry tears in her eyes. Derek wasn’t done yet and he continued like he just wanted to get it over with.

“Melissa worried, so she called your professor, Scott even went to see her, but she said everything was fine. They chalked it up to you needing some space. Jimmy’s phone was disconnected, Kelly didn’t want to talk to me and San Diego is just two hours away from LA. So yes, I reached that conclusion.”

“But,” Joe shook her head, now wondering if Kelly was in on it too, “you heard that wasn’t me back there? Right? So why didn’t you hear it before?”

A long silence followed before Derek sighed. “I thought you blocked my number.”

It didn’t mean he hadn’t tried calling her, it meant he had not been able to reach her — the fake her, anyway. Joe did not bother asking why he hadn’t called Alex if he thought she was there. There was something called dignity after all and Derek had his pride to maintain.

That wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was still: “You thought I just left? Just like that?”

“To be honest,” his voice was low and he looked at his hands again; his claws were out as he studied them slowly, “I kind of hoped you had.”

It felt like a punch to her stomach and Joe slid down against the wall without thinking. Pulling her knees up to her, curling in like a ball, wanting to disappear. Every bad thought, every worst fear she had had the last months flooded in and she was too numb to even cry properly.

“Because if you had,” Derek continued, “you’d be safe. Away from all of this, away from Beacon Hills, far away from me.”

He wanted her gone. Everything they had told her was true. As long as she was human, she was a problem. A liability. Not equals by a long shot, always the weakest link. A scream tore at her lungs again, wanting to emerge, but she bit it down. Hands shaking, she flexed them, almost imagining claws like his. Three months and he had wanted her gone the whole time.

“And you were angry with me,” Joe continued for him. Just like Aunt Mel had been — Stiles, Scott, everyone. She closed her eyes as Derek nodded.

“Yes.” At least he was being honest. “I was.”

It was like she was drowning. Lungs filling with the harsh scream that had been in her throat since waking up. Three months in pain and he had been angry with her the whole time. Not looking for her, not missing her, not-

“Did they hurt you?”

She barely heard him over her roaring pulse, but she shook her head in reply. “Do I look hurt?”

“You heal,” he pointed out and she swallowed. He had no idea. A few seconds passed before Derek began slowly: “Did they...” His words trailed off like it was too painful to ask. “They didn’t-”

“Bite me?” she guessed and snorted when Derek nodded carefully. “Do I smell like a wolf?”

“No.”

As he still sounded somewhat doubtful, she rolled her eyes. “No one bit me.”

A flicker of relief over his face, although short-lived. “If you haven’t been taking the pills, why haven’t I felt _anything_ from you?”

“The moonstone,” she replied in a flat voice, staring at her slightly trembling hands. “It scatters the moonlight and, you know, the mate-bond is a part of that somehow.”

That was what they told her at least, the first time they broke her arm. The werewolf mate-equivalent of ‘Scream all you want, no one will hear you.’

“So they _did_ hurt you?”

“I healed.”

Over and over and over again, until she would prefer to die. And how was she going to tell him that? How was she supposed to tell him everything? It would break them, like almost every bone in her body had been broken. _How_ could she tell him that?

Because now that she managed to look up, she could see the whites of his eyes turned red — a human red, not Alpha red — and a single tear threatening to escape. And she saw the despair in his eyes as well. The self-loathing, the guilt, the rage — every bad emotion she wanted him to feel and at the same time, wished he wouldn’t. She hated this. Hated these instincts that she even now had to fight to not comfort him. Because she was not sure if he hadn’t known or if he hadn’t _wanted_ to know.

“I healed,” she repeated, a whisper, fire dwindling down to this immense disappointment, making her hollow inside. All this time. All this time and he hadn’t even noticed she was gone and he was right, she _was_ angry. Inhaling, taking in his scent, trying to make sense of the confusing emotions, she said: “This wasn’t your fault, Derek.”

His jaw flexed as if he couldn’t talk. As if he was the one with a large lump in his throat now, resisting every attempt of speaking. Already blaming himself, she realized, already taking full responsibility and she hated it. She hated him looking like that. Hated him for making her feel this way. Both ways.

Eventually, he said: “You weren’t in the vault last night.” He sounded apologetic.

“No, they separated us sometimes.” And their plans had never been for Joe to get mauled by the Betas. Her voice sounded dead as she continued: “And at that point, it had been so long I didn’t think I needed to let you know I was in trouble.” She was so, so tired. “We should work out a system — morse-code or something. Or by this rate, if you don’t hear from me in a few days, just assume I’ve been kidnapped again.”

The anger in her voice contradicted the half-assed attempt at humor.

“How long were you away from the bank?” Slow pace, choosing his words carefully. “Do you know that Erica is,” a shaky inhale, “dead?” He must have mistaken her panicked expression for confusion, which she did feel as well because _how_ did _he_ know? Luckily, he explained, even if it made less sense: “Isaac saw her or,” a rawness to his voice as he corrected himself, “or her body when he was in there.”

Joe just tried to breathe. “No,” she choked out. “No, I didn’t know.”

She hated this. Hated it hated it hated it. What was real and what was not? How could Isaac have seen Erica at the bank before the full moon? And how was she going to tell Derek what actually had happened with Erica? Now she was doubting what actually _had_ happened with Erica.

“Did you find her?” she asked, but Derek shook his head.

They sat like this for a while, neither speaking. Six feet apart at most and still so far away from each other that they had ever been. Her eyes dry, no more tears left, she looked up at him. He was still leaning forwards on his knees, studying the claws on his hand, mouth locked in a thin line.

“Derek, I’m sorry, I’m just...” She hated her voice. Hated how pathetic she sounded. Weak. Needy. She wished she could give him whatever reassurance he needed, but she did not have it in her. “Just really tired.”

He nodded. “I can take the couch.”

“I can’t stay.”

With another solemn nod, he sighed. “Jimmy.”

“They took him because of me,” she tried to explain, lips twisting at the effort. “And if Peter hadn’t found him today, he-” Joe shook her head, unable to speak the words. She would have killed him. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

The claws retracted into Derek’s hand as he finally, _finally_ looked at her. “Joe...” Shaking his head, he tried again. “I didn’t... I didn’t know.” He looked sick, both of himself and of the world, and he leaned forwards with his head between his arms.

She hated this. Hated hated hated.

Slowly, Joe got up, standing on shaky legs. She had made up her mind and she stepped between his knees where he still sat on the edge of the bed. Her arms reached to his neck, to hold him, but he stopped her. Grabbed both her wrists and held her at bay.

“Don’t,” he said so softly she thought she could die.

It cut like a knife into her heart and if he couldn’t feel that, he couldn’t feel any of her pain. No matter the balance. _Pay attention._ He blamed himself. Fighting to find her voice, to not be selfish, to find a function, she said: “Unless you really mean that, let go of me.”

_Let me help you._

His fingers tightened around her wrists, hesitant. He let go.

Instincts. Joe put her arms around his neck, pulling his face into her body, feeling the tears — his tears — seep through her t-shirt. If they’re hurt, they sought each other. Still hated this. Hated him. Hated herself. Hated.

His arms came around her waist and pulled her closer. With the tall bed and his height, she could lean her face into his hair even while he sat down. His scent filled her mind. She hated it.

_Who are you trying to fool, Delgado?_

They stayed like that, not sure who comforted who.

* * *

_My companions here tell me you are human..._

The apartment bathed in complete darkness as Joe locked herself in. No computers running, no lights on, no Jimmy in the living room. After awkwardly disentangling from each other, Derek had offered to drive her back. It was an offer she could not refuse, literally, as she feared the alternative would have been him carrying her back to the laundromat. If it hadn’t been for his half-healed Betas in the loft, she wondered if he would have left her side at all.

Yes, a traitorous voice in her mind answered, he would have. Because he could barely look at her. Because looking at her made it real. She was an embodiment of his guilt. He thought he had failed her, when in truth it was the other way around.

Not bothering with any lights, Joe trudged inside. No point in raising her voice, she just needed the confirmation and she said: “Jimmy?”

_“Sleeping,”_ Jimmy answered from his bedroom where the door stood cracked open. His voice sounded muffled as if half his face was down on a pillow.

She nodded to herself. Her racing pulse quieted down. Safe. They were safe.

For now.

For the first time since she ran through the Preserve, driven by pure instincts to Derek’s loft, she was alone. After kicking off her shoes, she slumped down in one of the armchairs, staring at the map. She waited for tears, but they never came, even as her eyes burned. Numb. Drained. Empty.

This was _not_ how she had pictured it would be like coming back to Beacon Hills. Not that she technically left. ‘ _Do you want to cry?’_ Jimmy had asked. Yes and no. Joe wanted to scream.

By old habit, her gaze flickered down to her own hands. There had been some sleep the last day, but probably not enough. She was not a good judge though, of her own mental state. Needed one of the others for that. Erica had been particularly adept.

Had been.

There was that scream again, pushing itself up from her lungs, begging to be released. What was the point? Would not solve anything. No purpose, no function. Maybe it was just as well Derek couldn’t look at her.

She had no idea how long she sat there, in the dark, staring at the wall. No idea what time it was either. It was not like she had worried much about the hour of the day the last three months. Dark outside, probably late.

No sleep forthcoming to claim her. Nothing unusual about that either. Jimmy had tried teaching her meditation — not a great success. Cora had different methods, knowing that their kind liked physical contact, and she would cling onto Joe’s back in the vault as they tried to sleep. That sometimes worked. Eventually, Erica adopted that same technique.

Erica.

Cora knew what happened. Joe could see it on her face earlier. She knew and precisely because she knew, she hadn’t asked. Pragmatic just like her brother. And Boyd would know too and he already disliked her and he would tell Derek and-

If it hadn’t been for Scott, she _would_ have run away now. Just stuffed Jimmy in a car and left. Let the phone imposter keep doing her job; handle the angry calls and disappointed texts. Let Derek live with the knowledge she was safe — far away from him. What a joke.

Running real low on sleep, she thought. She had a tendency to get mean.

Every time she tried to close her eyes, she only saw Erica’s eyes instead. That exact moment they dimmed from a glowing golden to a human hazel. That exact moment they both knew what happened. That exact moment Jimmy came barging through the tree-lines, attacking Joe to get her away from Erica.

Too late. He’d gotten there too late.

How was she _ever_ going to sleep with that memory printed on the inside of her brain?

The buzzer for the building’s front door went off and Joe was up from the chair the same second. Even if she sat there in this half-sleeping fugue state, several months in survivor’s mode had honed her reflexes.

Hands clenching into fists, heart hammering in her ears, she stalked over to the windows, but saw nothing. Next she checked the peephole in the apartment door — still nothing.

The buzzer rang again.

As long as she didn’t open the door, they were safe. Holding her breath, not knowing what to expect, Joe pushed in the speak-button on the panel: “Hello?”

_“J-Joe?”_

The flor seemed to roll in waves under Joe’s feet as she backed away from the door. That voice. Impossible. Breathing hard, Joe looked at her hands. Trembling, but not shaking. Was this a hallucination? What was real and what wasn’t?

_“Joe? Please-”_ Erica said again, apparently never releasing the button — or not existing at all. _“Help me.”_

Losing it. She was losing it. Joe backed away from the door, covering her mouth with her hands. Derek was right. The second the adrenaline faded, she crashed. This again. She had been so careful the last few years and now-

“What the hell are you just standing there for?!”

Jimmy, with eyes still glowing and only wearing a pair of gray sweatpants, tore out of his bedroom. He went straight for the door, unlocking faster than humanly possible.

Numb. She felt numb. “You heard her?”

“Yes, I fucking heard her, Delgado! Now move!”

Halfway down the stairs, body moving on autopilot after Jimmy, it occurred to her it could be a trap. At the sight of the slumped form with a familiar mop of dirty blonde hair outside the front doors, she forgot about everything else.

Erica. Joe thought her heart would stop at the thought alone.

Jimmy forced the front doors open and Joe threw herself down next to Erica, fingers already coming up to her neck, feeling for a pulse.

Weak, but present. Eyes closed, head hanging onto her chest. Both hands covering a large hole in her stomach, blood still coming through her fingers.

Breathing. Alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I'm physically capable of writing anything else than cliffhangers. Sorry! 🤷♀️  
> And if it seems like there are contradicting statements in this story right now, know that it's on purpose. The last scene with Joe should be a clue regarding that.
> 
> Kinda overwhelmed with the response on the last chapter, so thank you guys so much!  
> As always, thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think of this chapter 😊
> 
> Even if I can't answer all your questions, I appreciate reading them so much (and use them as checklists to make sure I cover all the loose ends eventually, haha)  
> Much love to you guys ❤


	63. The Break

_...yet my senses tell a different story._

“I’m still finding hair _everywhere_ , Delgado. I’ve vacuumed twice, it should not be possible. It’s like your hair defies some basic concept of conventional physics. It’s bad enough that everything’s covered in blood, but your hair in the mix just makes it incredibly unsanitary.”

“I can hear you’re talking, Jimmy-boy,” Joe said from where she sat on the kitchen island in their apartment, “but I’m about to enjoy my first cup of coffee in months, so I don’t really give a shit.”

“ _Have you seen the bleach? No, wait, here it is.”_ His voice came from the bathroom, accompanied by some rummaging. _“Maybe you should stay away from caffeine now that you’ve already kicked your addic- you’re already drinking, aren’t you?”_

“Mmm,” Joe moaned and it _was_ good. As she hadn’t had sex in forever, it was the closest thing to an orgasm she could find. If there was any truth in that she and Derek shared pleasure as well as pain, she hoped he appreciated the little boost. “This is ah-ma-zing.”

_“You’re disgusting, that’s what you are. Do I need to remind you that there are children in the vicinity?”_

“It’s child, singular, and she’s still unconscious.”

_“It’s the principle of things.”_

Quietly agreeing, Joe decided not to comment. Focusing on the coffee, Joe tried to avoid thinking too much. There was a lot to think about and it kind of hurt her head. It had taken them hours, with a lot of angry shouting at each other _,_ but they finally had Erica slumbering in Joe’s bed. Healing, or at least not actively dying.

She _was_ still unconscious, but Jimmy had brought out some kind of herb that was supposed to help her heal from an Alpha wound. And it was some wound too. With a literal hole through her stomach, Joe could not understand how she had managed to get from the Preserve to the laundromat. According to Jimmy, she had probably been driven by instincts — just like Joe.

During one of their many conversations, because what else was there to do but talk in the vault, Erica had mentioned how Derek said she had a higher pain tolerance than the guys. As Joe understood it, female werewolves had a higher tolerance in general, but Erica was special still because of her epilepsy. She’d been at war with her body for as long as she could remember and come out on top. No matter the pain tolerance, Joe could not wrap her head around anyone going a whole day as she had without bleeding out. Human bodies were weird in general though, and it didn’t get easier if you added lycanthropy into the mix. It was not an exact science.

It was well into the afternoon now, Joe mused as she studied the sky outside. She and Jimmy had both slept in Joe’s room taking turns watching over Erica and siphoning pain when they could. Jimmy had amended his initial statement on how literally every step of the plan failed — it had still failed, and they had somehow ended up exactly where they wanted to be. Everyone out of the Alphas’ clutches and alive, Erica believed to be dead.

It made Joe worry even more about this being part of a bigger plan. Too many coincidences.

Then there was Derek. The tension she had feared and expected between them was palatable. The tables had turned, hadn’t they? Now she was the one keeping the full truth from him and she would appreciate the irony if it wasn’t so heartbreaking.

She just wished she knew if she could trust him. If she could trust anyone.

After he had made her aware of it, she was hyperfocused on if she was adapting or in denial. Last night only emphasized it — she had thought Erica was a hallucination; imagery her brain conjured to deal with her overwhelming sense of guilt. If she was honest, she still wasn’t fully convinced it was real.

On one hand, it was amazing how resilient the human mind was. On the other, she knew realistically she should be feeling the aftermath more. Same with Jimmy, but he was already holding onto his human side with iron-clad restraints.

Jimmy, with eyes still glowing, swept into the kitchen. Rustling sounds as he dug through the cupboard for non-expired tea bags, a short growl when he couldn’t find any. Eventually, they would have to deal with the fridge, and Joe feared it would be her job since she had the human sense of smell. Groceries, cleaning, laundry...

The everydayness of those problems nearly overwhelmed her.

“Are you okay?” Jimmy asked absentmindedly as he apparently tried to decide if the unmarked loose tea leaves were drinkable.

“How are you so normal?” she asked, blinking at him.

Of course, the purple glow became more prominent as he raised his eyebrows at her in disbelief. “Because I have to be. Because I know what the alternative is and I’d rather not go down that route again.” He paused, staring into nothing. “However tempting it might be at times.”

“I get that,” Joe whispered. There were times she wanted to turn off her mind as well. It was easier, she supposed, to let loose and embrace the animal side. Driven by needs and instincts instead of cognitive thought. Jimmy had spent almost two months in that state. And while she could see how it might be tempting, she understood clearly why he would never let that happen again. “Where do we go from here, Jim?”

“We heal, first of all,” he said easily, still with his back to her, busying himself with the tea kettle. “Then you get your priorities straight and we take it from there. I’m with you regardless. Ride or die, right?”

It sounded so easy when he said it like that. Ride or die. She shifted the coffee mug around in her hands, liking the warmth on her skin. “I can’t fail her again.”

His movements slowed, but did not stop.

“And Cora is safe if she is away from me,” Joe continued, not recognizing her own voice. “She’ll hate me, but she’ll understand.” Pragmatic and resilient — just like her brother. “Both her and Boyd.”

“Knowing what the Alpha pack wants, you think she’s safer with Derek?”

Joe nodded and looked down even if Jimmy wasn’t facing her. “He’s stronger than me. They won’t get inside his head. Cora and Boyd, they’re both safest with him.” She pulled in a long breath. “Erica is safe here, but only if everyone thinks she’s dead.”

If no one could manipulate Joe into killing her again.

Joe had already told Jimmy about Derek’s strange statement on how Isaac saw Erica’s dead body in the vault _before_ the full moon. It should not be possible. From what Scott told her, the Alphas had used their claws on Isaac to make him forget what he’d seen. To Joe, it sounded like they had implanted false memories as well, layers of them actually, and used him as bait. Where had she been when this happened? She could not remember seeing Isaac and he obviously hadn’t seen her. Or they’d both been made to forget.

Without thinking, her fingers brushed over the exposed skin on the back of her neck. No scars.

Jimmy put the kettle on and turned around with his arms crossed over his bare chest, his surgical incision just a faint line on his ribcage. “And your own safety?”

“Not prioritized.”

His glare never wavered. “How about your professor?”

A _crack_ resounded in the apartment as Joe broke the handle off her coffee mug. She closed her eyes, trying to breathe. “Undecided. Have you been able to reach Kelly?”

“Not responding to my e-mails. From what I could gather through some sleuthing-”

“Stalking.”

“-she’s alive and well. We’ll know more after we see your professor and you get your phone back. I don’t want to jump to conclusions.” He broke off, looking to the side. “If we’re lucky, she just assumed I lost interest. From what she’s told me before, it wasn’t unusual for you two to go months without talking at least.”

Joe nodded because that was the kind of long-distance friendship she and Kelly had. This year had been unique as Kelly had been so much on campus and then her whatever-ness with Jimmy. This year had been unique in a lot of ways, come to think about it.

Her purple-eyed roommate sighed. “Do we need to talk about how you dismissed Erica as delusion last night?”

“I’m fine,” Joe mumbled and fiddled with the broken handle. She supposed there was superglue somewhere in the apartment to fix it. “It’s barely been twenty-four hours. Still running high.”

“You’ve been running high for three months.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Somehow he managed to portray his disbelief without saying a word. No point to have an argument. More important things to focus on. Maybe she could use superglue on her fractured memories as well.

Jimmy’s tea water started boiling just as the buzzer went off. They weren’t expecting company.

Without saying a word, Joe slid down from the kitchen island, setting her broken cup pieces gently on the top to not make a sound. She held eye contact with Jimmy as he stalked out the hallway, both looking at the windows and doors.

The buzzer went off again.

She waited while Jimmy closed his eyes, concentrating on his other senses. It was easier for him now after how long he spent in his other shape. A small flicker in his eyes. Still glowing purple when he opened them.

“It’s Scott.”

“Oh thank God,” Joe breathed out and went to push the speak-button on the panel. “I’ll be right down.”

Looking at Jimmy, who already hovered protectively in front of the door to Joe’s room, she gave a nod. He returned it. _No one_ could know Erica was alive. They were still too weak and outnumbered. And Joe didn’t know who she could trust anymore.

“Joe,” Jimmy hissed as she was halfway out the door. He glanced downwards.

So did she. Ah. Shoes. Joe slipped on a pair of sandals and gave Jimmy a thumbs up. Downstairs, Scott was peering through the glass door of the apartment complex and lit up at the sight of her. Joe was not really sure how to feel when she stepped outside to him.

Scott McCall, aged seventeen now — it tugged on her heartstrings when she thought of that — smiled nervously at her. He had a helmet tucked under his arm and she guessed that might be because of the dirtbike parked on the curb. As she got out the door, he took a deep breath.

“I am so, so, so, so, so sorry!” he said earnestly with big brown eyes opened wide. Joe got a flashback to when Aunt Mel had stood on the steps a few months ago with the same message. “I am so incredibly sorry I have _no idea_ how to make it up to you. So, uh, here.” Joe accepted the paper cup with the Beacon Hills Coffee-logo that he had hidden in his other hand. He wasn’t done. “And here.”

Now he handed her a piece of paper. Giving him a raised eyebrow, she glanced at the paper and it looked to be a report card for the spring semester. Now both eyebrows raised. “You got a B in Chemistry? Oh my God, Scott, congratulations!”

His relief was evident as she pulled him in for a hug. She scanned the rest of the transcript, noting how all the grades had picked up.

“Good job, dude,” she murmured and sipped her oatmilk cappuccino, again giving her near orgasmic sensations. With a small tug on her lip, she asked: “So the problem was me then, huh?”

“No!” Scott’s eyes widened even more. “No, no, not at all! No, I just, I didn’t want to let you down again so I, you know, busted my ass. Like you told me.” His face fell again. “I’m really, really, really, really sorry, Joe.”

“Cannot believe you that imposter was me,” she muttered, but only half-heartedly. If it hadn’t been for Derek, she would have jumped on Stiles’ evil doppelganger-theory. She held up the report card. “This is good, Scott. I knew you had it in you.” Joe leaned over to glance at the dirtbike, a severe upgrade from his bicycle. “And nice.”

He let out a breathless laugh. “Thanks! Worked all summer to pay for it. It had some issues, but Stiles helped me patch it up. It’s running pretty good now.”

Joe, who had seen the insides of Stiles’ Jeep, thought it was a good thing Scott had a healing factor. Still not done, Scott dug through his pocket and produced what looked to be his old phone.

“We got it set up with a new phone number,” he said and handed it to her. “I told Mom your phone got stolen, by the way, in case she asks. I didn’t tell her the rest, figured you wanted to do that yourself, you know, when you’re ready.” Now out of stuff to give her, he tapped his helmet nervously. “Uh...do you want to talk about it? Everything or anything? Again, I’m so incredibly sorry!”

More than half of their conversation became him apologizing as they sat down on the curb. He filled her in on everything she had missed over the last few months, which admittedly wasn’t much. Aunt Mel had apparently not approved of Joe’s radio silence and had suggested to both Scott and Joe’s dad that something might have happened. They had looked into it, but because Professor Walker adamantly claimed Joe was doing her work, they had patched it up to Joe needing space.

It was hard to hear, especially as Scott did not seem to be fully able to wrap his head around where she actually had been. He knew it, he just didn’t understand it.

Eventually, he swallowed and gave her a careful smile. “And, for what it’s worth, I think Derek’s really sorry too. He, uh, hasn’t said anything, but you can sort of tell when he’s in a worse mood than usual.”

Joe had not anticipated talking about Derek and she took a hasty sip of cappuccino to cover up her initial reactions. True to his oblivious self, Scott never noticed her nerves.

“He’s been in a bad mood all summer. Well, since you left really. He and Isaac pretty much worked non-stop trying to find Boyd and...” His eyes fell and she realized he sounded hoarse when continuing. “And Erica. Uh, it doesn’t help, I know, but I don’t think he could have tried harder if he knew you’d been taken.”

Her dad would have found her, Joe thought and her mood darkened instantly. The Sheriff, Aunt Mel, Uncle Raf — all would have looked for her if they knew. Not just Derek Hale. Hell, he hadn’t even told _Scott_ about the Alphas.

“I just don’t get it,” Scott kept talking. “It’s like an episode of that, uh, show that Stiles always talks about-”

“Twilight Zone?”

“Yes, that one! The fake you even told Mom where to find the jacket because you’d been saving it for my birthday. Isn’t that creepy, like, how did she know?”

That made a chill go down Joe’s spine — had she told Aunt Mel about it at some point? Possibly, but she had wanted it to be a surprise. The faded stonewashed denim jacket with the American flag had been her dad’s pride and joy when he was younger. She stopped wearing it after they fell out, not really her style anymore anyway, but Scott had always tried it on as a kid when he was playing FBI-agent around the house.

Her dad. The thought of him made her stomach churn again. Conflicted feelings for sure. Had he lied to her again right before she left Beacon Hills or did he simply not know the full truth? It would have to wait. If he came to Beacon Hills now, he was in danger. Better he was angry with her and alive than reconciled and dead.

“I meant what I said in the hospital, by the way.”

Joe peered over at Scott; he was studying his threaded fingers. “What?”

“That I would apologize in person,” he gave her a half-smile, tainted with sadness. “For what I did, with the pills and the lying and... stuff. I shouldn’t have done that. It was just, the thought of losing you, it scared me. A lot. I kind of feel like _this_ is my fault too, you know, because maybe you wouldn’t have left if we hadn’t had that argument.”

That felt like a completely different life. A completely different Joe. She shrugged and nudged his shoulder with hers. “Didn’t I tell you not to play the ‘what if’-game? We’re cool.”

“Really? Just like that?”

“Scott, I’ve had several times these last few months where I thought I might not be coming back at all,” she said, trying to keep the shaking out of her voice. Last thing she needed was Scott succumbing to guilt. “And I’ve had a lot of time to think. Don’t get me wrong, what you did was a major dick-move, but I guess I can see why you did it. Besides, I never really told you what I felt for Derek so-”

She cut herself off, but it was too late.

“So there’s feelings?”

“Shut up.”

“You said felt, that indicates feelings, right?” Scott grinned at her and she ducked her head down, finding it harder to conceal her face behind her much shorter hair. “You’re not talking about the fabric?” He nudged her shoulder back again. “It’s okay, I probably would have been able to tell if I’d paid attention. Used my senses and stuff.”

“If you hadn’t been so obsessed with Allison,” Joe corrected wisely, determined to get jab back.

“Yeah.” Scott nodded, not arguing. “You know, I went four months without calling or texting her once this summer.”

“Congratulations, that’s what you’re supposed to do when someone breaks up with you.” Joe leaned back on the curb, paper cup of coffee now empty next to her. High school drama was not on her agenda, even if she got the feeling Scott wanted to talk about that. “Can you send me screenshots of all the texts from ‘me’?”

She wanted to see what else this imposter knew. Scott was right, it did feel like something from the Twilight Zone.

“They’re already on there. Stiles compiled everything, said you’d probably want as much evidence as possible.”

A smile slipped onto Joe’s mouth. Good old Stiles. Another shoulder-nudge. “I missed you guys.”

“Yeah,” Scott said slowly, glancing over at her like he knew he had to say more, but couldn’t find the words. Eventually, he sighed. “What are you gonna do? About the phone-stuff and all?”

“Confront Walker. Hope she has a good reason.” Joe squeezed the empty coffee cup into a ball like Derek usually did, imagining Walker’s throat. “Wanna be my alibi if I get charged with homicide?”

“Uh...”

“Joke, Scott, come on.”

“Right.”

“I’m not gonna get caught.

* * *

_Which one of them attended to her first? The blonde?_

It took another day for Erica to wake up.

“Everyone thinks you are dead.”

It was not an easy thing to tell a sixteen-year-old recovering from a near-fatal injury. Sure enough, at her words, Erica’s head swiveled to Joe and gave her an unimpressed glare. Helped by the dark circles and pale lips.

“And it’s safest for you if it stays like that. Just until we can find a way to beat them.”

“I can help.”

Her voice so raw it could cut shards into Joe’s heart. Joe sat down on Erica’s bed — they’d changed the sheets again because of the blood and Jimmy was downstairs trying to get them clean. Unsure of what to say, she just grabbed Erica’s hand and squeezed, hoping it would give some semblance of comfort.

“You’ll help by making a full recovery,” Joe said and Erica rolled her eyes instantly.

“Oh my God. Now who’s talking in cliches?”

Joe nodded, as she had a point. “Yeah, yeah. Thing is, if they think you’re dead, they won’t come after you. You’ll be safe here in the apartment.” Erica already knew about the mountain ash-lining — it made Joe wonder what werewolf Jimmy had feared when he had it installed. It had to have been before he disappeared into the cavern. Joe raised her voice when Erica looked like she was protesting. “Just for a while, okay? Temporary.”

“But what am I supposed to do all day?” Erica whined and Joe felt relief at the sight. Still a teenager. Not completely jaded yet. Apparently, the motion put some strain on her stomach as she winced. “Oww.”

Without thinking, Joe reached over and grabbed Erica’s arm, barely paying attention to the thick black stripes traveling up from her fingers. “We have internet and TV. And take-out. Not really sure what else you need.”

“I don’t know, let me think. Social interaction? Conversation? A purpose?”

Joe made a face. “You have us?” Now Erica made a face. “Okay, I’ll admit, I wouldn’t be thrilled at the prospect either. Uh...you can chat anonymously with people online? Jimmy can hook you up with werewolves all over the world.”

Based on the pulled upper lip, Erica did not consider that a satisfactory solution.

“Erica, please, I know it’s not ideal, but it’s temporary. Until we can find a way to beat them.”

“And if we can’t?” Erica winced again as she shifted against the stack of pillows. “I almost killed you.”

“I healed,” Joe mumbled, still siphoning Erica’s pain whose wounds healed slower than Joe’s had. “If we can’t beat them, we run. I’m not risking your life again.”

Both of them froze at the sound of locks clicking open and relaxed when it was just Jimmy. He appeared in the doorway to Joe’s room, wearing a pair of large sunglasses and carrying a heavy grocery bag. Apparently, he’d gone to the store after doing the laundry and Joe suppressed the irritation that he ventured out on his own.

“I have your excessive amounts of empty carbohydrates, chocolate, and additives.”

Jimmy took off his sunglasses to reveal purple glowing eyes — they had not dimmed the slightest since the night of the full moon — and put the bag on the nightstand next to Erica, who perked up a bit.

“As well as all the glossy magazines I found with dubious headlines about day-to-night outfits and,” he rustled in the bag to bring up some clamshell-packaged items, “burner phones. So you can both stay in contact with us and if the urge strikes you, start a lucrative drug dealing business on the side.”

“Thank you, Jimmy,” Erica cooed and started taking out the snacks. “Did you get mascara?”

“Yes,” he said tersely and rolled his eyes. Ignoring Erica, he dangled a pair of car-keys in front of Joe. At her raised eyebrows, he shrugged. “My dad’s. He doesn’t drive anymore anyway.”

“Because of the medication?” she asked and he nodded, obviously not in the mood to talk. He disappeared down the hall.

Already opening and eating one of the chocolate bars, Erica said: “I’m gonna get so fat now. I can’t wait.” She offered Joe a bite, who accepted. With her mouth full, Erica asked: “So, how was the big reunion?” A mischievous smirk stretched over her pale lips. “Was Derek happy to see you?” The smile grew wider — Erica was as invested in Joe and Derek as either of the involved parties were, claiming something about ‘shipping’ them. “Was it like we talked about?”

“Uh...”

Jimmy, helpful as always, supplied from down the hall: _“They didn’t know we were missing.”_

_“What?”_ Erica snapped with wide eyes and Joe had to tell her the whole story, which she had not originally planned. In the end, Erica only said: “That’s such bullshit! Three months with no contact and he thinks you’re just waltzing around in San Francisco? God, he’s such an _idiot_ sometimes!”

“San Diego, but yeah, that’s pretty much it,” Joe said, secretly agreeing about the idiot-comment. Only sometimes though. “So now I have to go to Berkeley and potentially torture my criminology-professor to find out why she set me up.” Joe got up from the bed, declining Erica’s second offer of another bite. “We’ll only be gone a couple of hours.”

The sugar and additives did wonders for Erica’s mood, who shrugged. “If no one’s looking for me, I’ll be fine, right?”

“God, I hope so,” Joe murmured, knowing full and well that Erica would hear her.

They’d talked when she first woke up, for hours, and although Erica said she did not harbor any hard feelings, Joe found it hard to believe. Joe found it hard to look at Erica if she was being honest, but it was like every time she looked away, she couldn’t bring herself to believe Erica was still alive. There were a few loose ends still that Erica hadn’t been able to answer — how had she made it to the laundromat and how had she survived with a gaping hole in her stomach so long?

“Just never open the door for anyone but us.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let in the big bad wolf, Mama Goat,” Erica said, heavy-lidded eyes glinting, and smiled at the face Joe made. “I just hate sitting around here doing nothing, but it beats the vault, so I’ll manage.”

“Hide and heal.” Joe pulled on her shoes and jacket. “That’s what Cora always says, right? Hide and heal.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Erica looked contemplative. “Is she okay? Like, did you see her?” When Joe nodded, Erica took a breath and asked: “And, uh, Boyd?”

“I didn’t see him,” _thank God,_ “but Derek said he was fine.” Joe squeezed Erica’s hand again. God, she hated the high school drama that had even seeped into the vault. “You gonna be okay?”

Whatever Erica wanted to say got lost in the loud banging as Jimmy kicked open the door. He was carrying the large flatscreen TV from the living room into the bedroom and mumbled something about how he and Joe never watched TV anyway. Erica assured Joe she would be fine a few hours alone.

“I still don’t know, maybe you should just stay here?” Joe said to Jimmy as he plugged in the TV and ran the cable through the doorway.

Both of them gave her a deadpan expression and she groaned, already knowing what they were gonna ask. She held up her hands, palms facing the floor. No sleep last night, evident by the trembling.

“Jimmy’s going with you,” Erica decided and that was that. They had already wasted a day of recuperating, Walker could already have caught wind of Joe’s escape and taken off. “Come on, go. Kick some ass for me.” Her voice followed them down the hallway: “ _Kick Derek’s ass for me!”_

Mr. Carter’s car turned out to be a shiny red vintage Chevy Corvette with only two seats. It looked like a mid-life crisis car and Jimmy confirmed it. They headed to Derek’s loft first. Well, first they stopped for coffee and some tea that smelled like grass, anything to get a semblance of normality back in their lives, even if both of them got uneasy at the crowds. As they stood in line at the coffee shop, both their phones started buzzing with texts, meaning Erica had figured out the burner phones back in the apartment.

“Is she okay?” Joe asked while Jimmy rolled his eyes.

“It’s just her live commentary slash play-by-play of the Kardashians.” Jimmy rolled his eyes again at Joe’s expression when he began answering Erica. “It’s a small price to pay for her to stay put.” Muttering under his breath: “Seeing as you currently hold the record for most suicidal excursions in history and is her biggest idol, I’m not taking any chances.”

Joe pinched him in the side for that and _then_ they headed for Derek’s loft, parking in the large empty space behind the building next to Derek’s SUV. Joe briefly wondered what had happened to the Camaro. Walking to the front doors, they passed a point on the outer wall where it looked like something had slammed into the bricks — repeatedly.

Jimmy nodded at the large crack and said: “Derek took the news well, huh?”

“What?” Joe said, staring at the eye-height dent in the wall. Her knuckles twinged in phantom-pain. “He did that?”

Jimmy sniffed. “Smells of his blood and fury. Looks like your man let off some steam by assaulting a whole building. Classy.” He walked on while Joe stared at the indentation. “Oh well, suppose we all have our coping strategies. Coming?”

Without thinking, Joe touched the broken pieces of bricks. It must have happened after he drove her home. It was to be expected though. That was how Derek handled things, by focusing on anger. By now, she was not surprised she hadn’t felt his pain. Coping strategies indeed.

“ _What_ is the point of having an alarm if you’re letting everyone waltz in anyway?” Jimmy asked loudly when they pulled open the sliding doors to the loft and faced the blaring proximity alarm, also blinking red. Otherwise, the place looked empty.

The door to Derek’s room opened and Derek sounded over it already as he emerged, one hand still holding a book. “It gives me time to prepare.” He closed the book with one hand, his eyes barely glancing over Joe before training on Jimmy. “In this instance, I could prepare myself for your bullshit. Glad you’re feeling better, Carter. Nice shades.”

“Thank you.”

“Jesus, you guys are immature. Speaking of, where’s Co- oh, there you are,” Joe began, but as summoned, Cora appeared around the corner. Brighter eyes, still a little pale. She caught the bag Joe threw at her. By old habit, Joe switched to Spanish: _“Clothes. They should fit.”_

Cora opened it and peered inside before looking up. _“Sports bra?”_ Joe nodded and Cora made a noise of approval. “ _Gracias.”_ She dragged the ‘s’ — she was not overly fond of Joe’s way of speaking Spanish — and turned to leave, but glanced at Jimmy, almost accusingly. “You’re alive.”

As expected, Jimmy did not even bother with a reply. That was it before Cora disappeared up the stairs, presumably to go change. Yes, she was Derek’s sister all right. No sign of Boyd, which was strange, as he should have been at least somewhat healed by now. Not that she complained. He was probably at school, along with Isaac.

As Joe turned around, she caught Derek giving her a nondescript look, but he immediately averted his gaze. No time to analyze that. Things were already awkward between them.

“Just wanted to give you a heads-up that we’re going to Berkeley. So, uh, I need your phone for a sec,” she told him and that was apparently enough to trigger some defensive reaction as he crossed his arms. “Come on, I’m gonna go possibly kill my college-professor. I need all the proof I can get.”

After reviewing the texts ‘she’ had sent to Scott and Stiles, she wanted to know what ‘she’ had sent to Derek too. Most of the texts were generic, standoffish even, but some had contained details she wasn’t sure how this imposter could know of. Like Scott’s jacket. It worried her.

As Derek made no movements to acquiesce to her request, Joe held her hand out. “Phone, please. Just gonna take screenshots.”

With a slight eye-roll, Derek tilted his head to the side, indicating she should follow him to his room. This was turning into a habit. She followed him and simultaneously gave Jimmy the finger behind her back, as she knew he was smirking from where he lounged on the couch. Joe closed the door behind her after getting in and glanced at the walls.

“You really did soundproof this place, huh?”

“I’m currently living with two teenage werewolves who have some troubles grasping the idea of privacy,” Derek said and leaned against the windowsill. “So yes.”

Almost two days had passed since she saw him. He looked good. Better. More color to his skin, almost golden as if he’d actually gotten some sun this summer. And when he crossed his arms like that, she could admire the flexing arm muscles and ignore the annoyed frown on his face.

“Why did we need privacy when I only wanted to take screenshots of the texts ‘I’,” Joe used her fingers to make air quotes, “sent you?”

The tension between them made it clear it wasn’t for any other purpose. He could hardly look at her. She walked around the spacious room — not overpowered by his scent, but it was definitely present. And weird.

He had said _two_ teenage werewolves, meaning Boyd probably had gone back to his foster family. She wondered what that meant for Erica’s still on-going investigation as a missing person. Or had it been dropped over the summer? She had no idea and couldn’t risk asking either — part of their plan was still in motion.

Derek sighed a bit, glancing out the window as if looking for a way out. When he did turn back to her, he looked resigned. “You didn’t send me any texts.”

“What? Not one for three months? And that did not strike you as odd at all?” Her eyes narrowed. It seemed strange the imposter would answer everyone but Derek. “Wait, did _you_ send me any texts?”

He spoke slowly and even though he had turned her way, his eyes were locked elsewhere. “Considering how angry you were when you left, no, it didn’t strike me as ‘odd’. As you’ve said yourself, you’re efficient when cutting people off.”

“I never cut you off,” she said and tried to ignore the pinching sensation in her stomach that he had thought that. A different life altogether, she tried to replay their last conversation and recalled a specific phrase she’d lashed out on how her phone was on, she was just ignoring him. Her mouth moved as she thought, forming words until she could string together a sentence. “So...you _did_ send me texts?”

His jaw tightened, which was as good as an emphatic ‘yes’ from him.

“Can I see?”

“No.”

_That_ came fast. Not even a ‘why’, just straight refusal. Blinking, a bit taken aback, she asked: “Why not?”

“It doesn’t matter. Not right now.”

“Now I _really_ wanna see,” she said with a half-smile. He looked embarrassed, head tilted downwards. “Please?”

“I said no.”

“Please-please? I’ll forgive you for not noticing my kidnapping if you let me see them.” She faltered a bit when he sent her a glare; apparently not a joking matter. “Too soon?”

“That’s why it doesn’t matter.” His arms tightened around his chest as he exhaled. “Let it go, Joe.”

Again, their last conversation replayed.“Derek, I wasn’t... I wasn’t angry with you when I left.”

“I know. You were angry with yourself.”

Derek took a deep breath, still not looking at her.

“Because when I stopped you that night, you thought it was because you had pushed past my boundaries, forcing yourself on me or triggering some previous trauma after Kate. Possibly projecting some of your own issues after what happened with you and her. You never told me everything, but I know from experience she has a very hands-on approach.”

Joe could feel her mouth open on its own, but Derek continued in the same emotionless voice:

“You were running low on sleep, had been fighting with Scott, then received some news about your mom that hurt you. I stopped you because I didn’t want you to do anything you might regret later. To stay in control, I anchored in anger and only succeeded in hurting you more. Then we both did a poor job at communicating the problem. You didn’t know how to apologize and I didn’t understand the issue enough to let you. I could smell the shame on you, but thought it was because you felt rejected, not because you worried about me.”

It was without a doubt the longest speech she had ever heard from Derek, who was not a typical rambler. It did not sound like rambling either, more rehearsed and she blinked several times, trying to piece together what he just said.

“What...how?” Joe’s brows pulled together. She’d never told Derek about her mom. Latching onto something familiar, her face cleared. “Oh my God, you talked to Aunt Mel about it?” Her hands came up to her face automatically, to shield the on-rising blush. “Oh my God!”

Derek didn’t deny it, only gave a half shrug. “That obvious?”

“Dude, that woman has been my pseudo-therapist for years,” Joe breathed, still too much in shock to be anything but embarrassed. “I think I can recognize her line of reasoning anywhere.”

“Was it wrong?”

“No, but...kind of succinct. Uh, transparent.” It was one thing to feel that, another to have it analyzed, laid out plainly. Her head reeled, unsure of how to react. “You seriously went to Aunt Mel? To talk? About me?”

“I hadn’t heard from you in two months.” Derek sounded and looked tired again. “Again, I _thought_ you were ignoring me.”

Something in his tone indicated he would have preferred to know she was held captive somewhere instead and that made Joe’s stomach twist.

“Okay...” Joe could not get over the image of Aunt Mel and Derek sitting on the couch at the McCall house, drinking tea and discussing, well, her. “What else did she say?”

He rolled his eyes. “She didn’t say anything else. Just gave me a lecture and some advice. Used the word communication a lot.” Derek pulled in a long breath, obviously steeling himself. “Joe, I’ve had sex...after Kate. That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate your concern, but you didn’t do anything wrong that night.”

This was not the conversation she had expected this morning. She had not had enough coffee for this. This was _heavy_ after three months of just focusing on survival. They’d reached the third step of Maslow’s pyramid; physiological and safety needs taken care of. What was an appropriate answer to _that?_ Ask if he’s sure? Ask how many times? Ask him to prove it?

“Derek, I tried to make you lose control,” Joe half-whispered. This too felt like a different life, but when he had brought it up, all the bad memories emerged. “That was horrible of me, even if you...” _have had sex after Kate._

“It’s okay,” he said with a simple shrug.

“It’s really not. Don’t give me a free pass just because-”

“Because I let you get kidnapped again, this time for three months? I think we’re well past even.”

“Can you stop with the ‘ _letting_ me get kidnapped’-stuff and just _let_ me apologize?”

“Can you stop trying to dictate what I should be okay with or not?” He ignored her shocked expression. “You made a mistake, I know you feel bad about it. It’s fine. It was fine three months ago too. I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise.”

He could be so _incredibly_ blunt sometimes.

“Well, I’m still sorry for what I did.”

She folded her arms, trying to get her head sorted. It felt like a lame apology — because it was. But to be fair, she hadn’t had the range to think about this stuff for ages. Her mouth opened and shut a few times, looking for the words to expand, to make him realize she knew more about werewolves now; instincts, control, anchors... Instead, she just felt sick and overwhelmed. Losing control during the full moon easily topped the list of her worst experiences in life.

“I’m sorry,” she said again and rubbed her face. “I wasn’t ready for this much communication.” Breathe, just breathe. “Derek?”

“What?”

“Please let me see the texts.”

“No.”

“Why not? Are they mean?”

“Doesn’t matter, Joe.”

“Are they not-mean?”

“It doesn’t matter, not yet.” Derek sighed and gave her a nondescript look again. “I told you, I’m not letting you do this. Distracting yourself won’t work long-term. You don’t just cut your hair, change your clothes, and walk away from what you’ve been through.” He ran his hands through his hair and gestured to the bed. “Joe, if I knew where you came from when I found you in my bed...” Derek got up from the windowsill and paced the concrete floor. “I wouldn’t have...”

Joe shifted, realizing what he meant. “Dude, you found me almost naked in your bed and you decided to put a t-shirt on me when you couldn’t wake me up. You are the epitome of honorable here. Makes me feel even shittier in comparison.”

He let out a half-amused breath of air. “That t-shirt was more for my sake than yours.” A familiar heat thought long-lost spread in Joe’s chest when he raised his eyebrow at her. “I could barely stand when I got back that morning.”

The innuendo was clear and Joe’s mouth felt dry. Things might have gone differently if he hadn’t just been torn to shreds. Again, a heat wrapped around her spine, stirring into sensations she had not had time or energy to contemplate the last few months. Too bad he wasn’t even looking at her anymore.

“Uh,” she searched for something to say, “physical hang-ups are the last thing I got now. I didn’t,” pulling in a breath, she thought of the kiss on the inside of her wrist, “mind. At all. You don’t have to apologize.”

“I thought...” Derek said, staring at the bed, obviously not hearing her. Whatever he thought was lost as he just shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

And he finally looked at her and she wished he hadn’t. She _hated_ the way he looked at her now; like she was something fragile and pitiful. Worry, so much worry and concern evident on his face. He’d been worried for her before, for her safety, but not like this. Not like she was going to fall apart in front of him. Not like he had failed her.

He must have recognized her discontentment as he sighed again. “Joe, something like this, it changes you. You need time to process.”

“Can’t I decide for myself what I need? I ‘appreciate your concern’,” she mimicked his voice, “but I’m stronger than I look. I can deal. I can function.”

She’d unconsciously moved towards him, still a few feet apart, but a definite challenge. For once, Derek didn’t take the bait.

“You’re the strongest person I know, Joe,” he said, but kept his distance with his arms crossed. Not reaching out for her, not taking the opportunity to touch her. “But even you need time to get through this.”

He was going to give her time, she realized. As much time and space as she needed. They were back to where they began, where he let her take the lead. Except now she worried he might actively resist if he didn’t agree with her self-analysis.

“Fine.” Another thing bugged her and she had to ask: “Have you been somewhere today?”

She scrunched her nose. He smelled funny. Like what she had felt when hugging him the other day, this almost tainted bitter smell, only slightly stronger.

He shrugged. “Just at the school. Checking on that teacher Boyd and Cora nearly got to.”

“To make sure they don’t talk?” Joe asked, fully able to envision Derek intimidating some poor high school teacher.

“To make sure she’s okay,” Derek corrected her. “I don’t think she’ll say anything. Why’d you ask?”

“No reason,” Joe mumbled. His scent had that same lingering aftersmell, if that was a word. He had probably been right that ‘something like this’ would change her. She already knew it had. _Everything breaks under enough pressure._ To divert, she asked, as he’d mentioned it twice now: “So, you don’t like my hair?”

And no amount of emotional capacity in the world could have prepared her to the response of a matter-of-factly: “Joe, I love your hair. Short, long, or in-between. You look great.”

Something seemed to distract him from her stunned reaction — although she wasn’t sure how he was able to ignore the insane hammering of her heart — as he quickly stalked out of the bedroom. His room was not a hundred percent soundproof then, as he’d obviously heard Cora’s grunts where she hung on an exposed pipe, doing pull-ups. She’d changed into the sports bra Joe brought her and her lithe muscles already glistened with sweat.

“Stop,” Derek said tiredly. “You’re not done healing.”

Cora jumped down from the pipe and gave her brother a dark look. “Yeah, well, I’m done lying around.” She peered around him at Joe. “ _We’re going after the Professor, no?”_

“You’re not going after anyone,” Derek said and Cora gave him a surprised look as if she hadn’t known he understood Spanish. He leaned down to her in a stereotypical big brother-manner. “You are still healing.”

Unfortunately, that made Cora look accusingly at Joe, like Joe was her other parent and should intervene on her behalf. As if Joe should make Derek change his mind.

“There’s only room for one Spanish-speaking girl with an attitude problem in the car,” Jimmy supplied lazily from where he laid on the couch with his sunglasses still on, saving Joe the trouble. Cora whipped around to glare at him. “And Joe already called it.”

Joe gave Cora a theatrical shrug and moved backward out of the loft as Jimmy unfolded himself from the couch.

“What, so I’m just gonna sit here and do nothing?” Cora demanded, following them towards the exit as she unknowingly quoted Erica. The challenge in her tone was clear — was Joe just going to leave her here?

“Yes!” Joe said and shot her a pair of finger guns while Jimmy nearly dragged her out the door to the elevator hall. She saw Cora’s judging gaze flicker to her hands, but they were only barely trembling. “Hide and heal, right?”

Both the remaining Hale-siblings gave her the same tired look as the doors closed.

When they were halfway down, Jimmy looked at her. He must have caught something on her scent. “You think he knows?”

“Yeah,” Joe mumbled and hugged herself. “At least something. He smells weird. And he’s pushing me away.”

“That might not be such a bad thing right now. Or have your priorities changed?”

She snorted. “Priorities are the same, but I’m not sure if we’re gonna be able to pull through without each other. Strongest together and all that jazz.”

They kept quiet until they reached the ground floor. “Personal isn’t the same as important, Delgado.”

“I know.” Joe shook her short curls around to get her head focused. “Come on, let’s go kill Professor Walker before it’s too late.”

Jimmy flashed a million-dollar smile. “Now _there_ ’ _s_ a priority I can get behind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little breather before the next round. This was a 13k-chapter I split up because there was too much going on. Sorry 'bout that.   
> This is turning into a ridiculous amount of chapters...
> 
> Anyway, thank you for the feedback on the last chapter! Again, fun to see so many "new" faces/silent readers leave a comment 😊 Please keep it up, I love to hear what you guys think! Thank you for reading as always and I wish you a pleasant evening/day/night depending on your time zone. 
> 
> We're facing strict lockdowns in Norway now because of the "mutant virus" (sadly not the X-men kind), so at least I'll have time to write? 🤷♀️ Stay safe and healthy, guys!


	64. The Liar III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is a rough one.

_Then it seems some of our work has already been done for us._

Not surprisingly, Joe fell asleep in the car on their way to Berkeley. Antsy to get this over with, to get some answers — and her phone back — she suppressed all the emotions about the familiar college grounds and put her hood up to avoid getting recognized. A new semester had just started, evident by all the confused freshmen running around trying to locate their classrooms or lecture halls.

Jimmy kept close to her heel, as much as she hated that expression. _Where’s your little pet?_ She appreciated his company though, his protection. Even if she was stronger than she looked, Jimmy was on a whole other level in terms of strength. And ferocity, she thought with a shudder, getting a brief flashback consisting of blood and body parts.

“I really hated this place,” he said conversationally, no trace of the monster he could become, as they dodged students on their way to the sociology-building. Nothing bitter in his voice, not anymore. He’d given up a lot to become what he was today, she supposed he couldn’t afford bitterness. “Can we stop by Professor Kane as well? I’d like a few words with her.”

“Depends, we might need to make a hasty getaway,” Joe muttered and waited by the doorway to the offices; she didn’t have her card anymore. As someone exited, she and Jimmy slipped inside before the doors closed. Professor Kane had been bugging her as well. She must have noticed Joe’s absence, at least in terms of the workload that shifted over to her when she lost Joe as a TA. By this rate, Joe almost suspected she was on some kind of Truman-show with everyone working against her. “Come on, here.”

Jimmy took up position next to the door to Walker’s office, listening. “She’s there, but...”

“But?”

He shook his head, brows slightly furrowed. “Something’s off about her scent.”

“Everybody’s smelling weird today,” Joe mumbled and decided she didn’t care. “Wait here.”

Instead of knocking, Joe went straight through. The door had been locked. Keywords: _had_ been. It opened with a metallic crunch when she forced the handle down.

Professor Walker had already straightened up at her desk when Joe pushed herself in and closed the door behind her with a loud _bang_.

A false attempt at a calm greeting. “Miss Delgado, if you’d let me-”

“Don’t you dare ‘Miss Delgado’ me, bitch!” Joe placed herself in front of the door, covering the only exit, and stared down her former professor, who looked every bit as polished as she remembered. “You got exactly thirty seconds to come clean before I crush your-”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Walker said quickly and pushed herself into the bookshelf behind her desk, tripping over her kitten heel.

“Are you serious? That’s the excuse you’re going with?” Joe spat, fingers flexing and scratching the air. She had wanted resistance. Wanted a fight. “What - the - hell? _Why_? Why would you set me up? Cover for them? Tell everyone I was wandering around SoCal, going to the beach, and having a good time? _How_ did you even do that?”

“The recording.”

_“Are you serious?!”_

“I got twenty minutes of your talking on tape. At first, I _just_ used the recording, but when your aunt grew suspicious,” she explained at rapid speed, “I knew it didn’t cut it and I hired a voice actress to answer your phone with a given script depending on who called. I did this _for you_ , Josefina!”

“Bullshit!” Joe spat, head reeling, and breath strained. Nothing made sense. What was real and what wasn’t? “Did you know where I was? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“If you would just listen to me, I can explain!” Walker swallowed and kept as much distance between her and Joe as possible. Voice came fast and breathless. “It was to protect your family and friends. If they went looking for you, or worse, if they found you — you know as well as me what would have happened.”

“I know,” Joe growled, “but the question is how do you? What do they have on you?”

Walker, visibly shaking, pushed her immaculate bob behind her ears. “I know what they are and what they are capable of. Better than most, probably. They don’t tend to leave survivors.” She stared at Joe, straight in the eyes. “If you would let me explain-”

“Explain that you _knew_ who had me and still covered for them?” Joe’s voice broke, her hand shook. “How could you do that?”

“I did not cover for _them_. It was Marin’s idea, I’m not even sure if Deucalion knew about it.” Walker’s nostrils flared as she bit back tears. “The alternative would have been worse, believe me. They are ruthless. I am sorry, Josefina!”

Memories flashed at her words. Of broken bones, of whispered orders, of a voice telling her again and again how weak she was, how fragile, how human. How much she would hurt Derek if she didn’t get it under control — she had to _control_ it. Ruthless did not even begin to cover it.

Walker tried to take another step back when Joe looked up.

“Three months!” Joe snarled and came towards the desk, the only thing separating her from Walker, who looked to be trembling. “One month I can’t even _remember_.” Her hand clawed the air around her neck, trying to visualize. “Because of you.”

“I covered _for you_ ,” Walker insisted. “With your family, with your friends, with the college. What would have happened if your father tried to find you? Tried to fight them?”

The words cut shards into Joe’s soul. She knew what would have happened — they would have ripped him to shreds.

“I even made sure you still got your paycheck deposited because I knew you’d come back. They would have killed me or Bridget without hesitation, but I knew they wouldn’t kill you. You have to believe me, _I am sorry,_ but it was for the best _.”_

“Not good enough. Do you have _any_ idea what they made me _do_?”

Joe slammed her palms on the desk, ready to spring forwards. Before she got that far, Walker’s eyes flashed into a bright yellow and her teeth lengthened as she snarled. Fangs. Joe stopped and stared.

“Omega,” Joe whispered, as Walker tried to simultaneously push herself into the bookshelf and stare Joe down. A false attempt of bravado and Joe could feel her anger rise inside of her. “You really think-”

Voice broke off.

Pain slammed into her chin like a sharp uppercut and Joe grunted. Derek. His pain. Damn it! Joe tried to focus, to push it back to him, but that pain was nothing compared to what came next.

“AAARH!”

Joe practically roared as a ragged burn went straight through her chest. Her hands came up, seeking a wound that wouldn’t be there. Eyes rolled back in her head, she barely caught Walker’s panicked yelling and Jimmy storming inside.

Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t talk. Couldn’t think. Felt like something shot through her, impaling her, but not a gunshot, not through and through — whatever it was, it stayed there.

_“Keep her quiet!”_ Walker’s panicked cry, but Jimmy met it with a harsh snarl.

Hands on Joe’s body, lifting her to the desk, as she writhed and cried, clawing at her chest, wanting to get it out, get it out! It ground against her insides, twisting, being held in place. Balanced, pain divided equally between her and Derek, and Joe ground her teeth together so she could hear the creaking in her own brain.

“Killing - him,” she choked out at Jimmy. Hand clutched at him, digging her dull fingernails into his arm. “Derek-”

“It’s the mate-bond,” Walker said from somewhere above her. She sounded stressed. “Wait here, I’ll get Bridget.”

“Derek,” Joe croaked again. The thing in her chest never left, stayed there. Not healing. Not healing and he was dying. It blinded all her senses. Jimmy had to go. Had to help Derek. “Dying.”

“Too far away,” Jimmy grunted, probably at Joe’s hand around his arm in a vicelike grip. “No time. Can you push it-”

Tears and sweat poured down her cheeks. “It’ll kill him.” Eyes wide open, she tried to scream when the non-existent thing _twisted_ , dragging across her organs and nerve endings. Everything white and hot with infuriating agony.

“ _Josefina!_ Oh no, no, no, this is not good.” Professor Kane’s face appeared above Joe, pale and drawn. She pulled her sleeves up. “All right, I will try to dampen the bond.”

_“No!”_ Joe roared in Kane’s face, wishing she had fangs to bite the woman’s face off. “No, he’ll die!”

It was the only reason he still lived because she took part of his pain. Too little. She had to take more.

It took effort just closing her eyes; focus, purpose, function.

Jimmy sounded resigned, recognizing her motions. “Are you sure about this?”

“If she screams again, campus police will come in here!” Walker hissed, mostly at Kane.

Jimmy responded by grabbing something from the desk and shoving it into Joe’s mouth — a leatherbound journal.

Panting around the book, Joe bit down, steeling herself. It was already too much and she had to take more. Breaths came in short gasps. Come on. Come on! _Focus, Sefina!_

_“Mrrrrrh!”_ The book muffled most of her roar and she arched off the desk. Tipping the scales to her side, shifting the balance, straining to take as much pain from Derek as possible. Her hands slammed into the tabletop, squeezing into the wood, wanting to break something else like she was breaking now. Control, she was still in control. _“Mrrh!”_

“Careful!” Walker insisted. “Too much and you’ll be the one dying!”

_“Nnnnh!”_ Joe cried, sobbed, and hiccuped; saliva running from her open mouth around the book. Teeth dug into the soft leather and she felt it bend in her mouth. Hated this, hated this! How much longer could she do this? Five seconds? A minute? Hands on her shoulder, holding her down, keeping her grounded — Jimmy. She pulled harder on the connection to Derek, taking more of Derek’s pain. No sight now, eyes rolled back in her head.

She coughed, feeling the metallic taste of blood in her mouth.

“She’s choking!” Kane barked and Joe felt the book tear out of her mouth. Suddenly on her side, it felt like a wet snake made its way up her throat, and a large gush of blood spewed over Walker’s desk. Kane sounded despaired: “Oh, Josefina, are you absolutely insane?”

Jimmy sounded faint, probably at the smell of blood: “What happened?”

“She took more than his pain, she took on some of his damned injuries!”

Hard to even hear them. Joe buckled, coughed up more blood, dribbling it out so she wouldn’t choke on it. The taste made her gag more, the pain still penetrating her core. It built and built, ramped up to searing, blinding, paralyzing agony, and then with a harsh cry, the instrument left Joe’s chest. It pulled out, leaving a gushing wound — now also inside of her.

Too much, she’d taken too much, and Joe toppled over the side of the desk.

When she came to her senses again, the agony had faded into a dull throb. The reason for that, she realized, was because Walker had her hands on Joe’s exposed neck. Siphoning already siphoned pain. What goes around, comes around.

At least Derek was still alive, she could still feel his pain as well.

Her former professor’s face was pinched in a tight frown, concentrating hard apparently, where she knelt on the carpeted floor next to Joe.

“Was I,” Joe groaned and sat up a bit, swatting Walker’s hands off her, “the only one who didn’t know about werewolves before?”

“Everyone knew about werewolves, but no one believed they were real,” Jimmy commented drily from where he leaned against the wall. He gave Professor Kane, who stood biting at her fingernails by the door, a wolfish grin as a glow shone through his sunglasses. “Someone convinced them it was all in their heads.”

Professor Kane did not look impressed. “I can assure you that the majority of public lynchings of werewolves in modern history have been falsely accused men and women, just like the witches. Mass-hysteria kills _people_ , not supernaturals.”

“I suppose you might have personal experience with that?”

“Do I know you from somewhere, boy?”

Ignoring the bickering, Joe found herself transfixed by a thin chain hanging out of Walker’s white dress shirt from where she knelt next to Joe. Without thinking, Joe reached over to pull on it and a simple gold ring emerged. Simple, but familiar.

“Oh my God, you’re the wife,” Joe croaked out, staring at Professor Bridget Kane in all her loafer-wearing glory. The ring on Kane’s finger matched the one around Walker’s neck. Joe’s gaze flickered between the two professors where neither looked ready to deny it and she let go of the ring. “Man, my gaydar is _off_.”

Professor Kane hesitated, before saying: “We prefer to keep a low profile on campus. There are very few who know. _Josefina_ , I’m sorry this-”

“I really don’t give a shit. I want my phone back,” Joe interrupted, seeing as Jimmy looked close to attacking, probably feeding off the excess adrenaline. Legs shook, but she managed to get up, clutching onto the desk.

Walker rose too — she had a large tear in her pantyhose. “I don’t have your phone.”

“Bullshit.”

“I don’t,” Walker insisted and slumped down in her office chair, removing her crooked glasses. “The girl, Marin, the pack’s emissary. She has it.” _A pretty light-skinned black woman with her coffee, smiling warmly at Joe_. “I only redirected your phone calls. I swear that is the truth.”

Marin, the one with the wolfsbane and mistletoe. Joe had never seen her again after the diner. So she had been the one answering the texts?

“It was her idea to keep the truth hidden for as long as possible. Something about keeping your father and cousin out of it. The Alphas threatened me into making your abduction possible, but the rest? A favor I owed Marin from years back.” Professor Walker gave Kane a thin smile. “She saved our lives.”

Joe coughed again, a sensation of sandpaper in her chest. She had thought Derek was the problem, not Scott or her dad. “Fine. Whatever. Where can I find her?”

The two college professors looked at each other in obvious disagreement. Kane spoke first. “Sarah, we can’t.”

Walker put her glasses back on. “Why not? My debts are paid and you’re no bigger ‘fan’ of them than I am.”

“There is such a thing as professionalism.”

“Really, Bridget, we are still at the ‘us versus them’-mindset?” Something soft in Walker’s face, but Joe wrote it off as fatigue after siphoning Joe’s pain. “You feel you owe the Emissary more loyalty than Miss Delgado here? Your prized student? Your mentee of several years?”

The mentee in question rubbed her chest, feeling the internal healing taking place, and she glared at both of the professors, one of whom was apparently a werewolf. That must have been the weird thing Jimmy detected in her scent if she had tried to mask it or something.

Professor Kane’s bangles rattled as she tore off her glasses to polish them on her long-sleeved dress. Looking at Joe, she sighed. “I understand with your position you can’t stay out of this, but I sincerely wish you could. This was _never_ my intention when I gave you that paper to write, but the universe has its ways I suppose.” As Joe just glared, Kane nodded in silent defeat. “The Emissary works at the high school in Beacon Hills. You can find her there. But _be_ careful, I beg you.”

“The Alpha pack’s emissary _works_ at Beacon Hills High? Are you serious?”

And Derek had checked up on a teacher earlier today. Odd coincidences. Not.

“A little late to ask me to be careful by the way,” Joe added, not able to look at Kane. The betrayal stung, although by now she should be used to it. Instead, she addressed Walker. “You say you know them better than most? Then tell me what he wants, tell me how to beat them.”

A haunted look passed over her face. “If I knew that, do you think I would have spent the last seven years hiding as an Omega?”

“Sarah...” Kane said softly, but Walker shook her head.

Joe stared at Sarah Walker — did not need werewolf-senses to pick up on the fear. Seven years. “You were in one of the packs.”

“I was.” Walker drew in a deep breath. “I got out before Deucalion arrived with his pitch. Before my friends and family were torn apart in a quest for power. _That_ is what he wants. Power. If you recall the three base motives, Miss Delgado, you will remember that power as a motive is particularly fickle. Like sex or revenge, it is so deeply ingrained in our psyche that it needs no further explanation, even when it should. Some want power for protection, for wealth, for beliefs, or even as means to achieve the other two base motives.”

Joe couldn’t help but glance over at Jimmy who was watching Walker with the same abrupt focus.

“Deucalion wants power for power’s sake.” Walker fiddled with the chained ring still outside her shirt. “That is precisely why there is no stopping him. Even before he lost his sight, he was concerned with building strength. Then it became an obsession. Already an Alpha, he murdered his pack to absorb their powers. Not enough. He formed a new pack of Alphas and became _their_ leader as well. Not enough. He will never stop, he will _never_ be satisfied. The more you have, the more he wants.”

Silence reigned in the small crowded office.

“Why haven’t you run?” Joe asked, voice tight as she watched the two professors. “Why are you still here?”

“We are under better protection now,” Professor Kane snapped before Walker could answer. “On the condition that we _don’t meddle_.” That was apparently all she would offer on the matter. “I am sorry, _Josefina_ , for the pain we have caused, but we will no longer be a part of this. On _either_ side.”

For a while, Joe just stared at them. “Yeah, well, I don’t have that luxury, do I?”

The goddamn moon saw to that. Joe gestured at Jimmy to get moving — they’d wasted too much time already; Derek was alive, but hurt. Her legs wobbled so much that Jimmy gave her his arm to lean on.

Professor Walker cleared her throat before they opened the door. “One more thing, Miss Delgado. Your paper has been accepted by the Criminal Justice and Behavior-journal. I took the liberty of performing the final revision myself. There is also a conference coming up later this October.”

Was she serious? Joe glanced at both her and Kane; two proud, but rattled professors. She scoffed in response. “Knowing what you know, do you really think I’m gonna be alive in October?”

She did not bother waiting for an answer. It was probably negative.

* * *

_Tell me, Josefina, what do you know about bonds?_

It did not sit right with either of them to split up, but they had left Erica alone for too long. Jimmy went back to the apartment when they returned to Beacon Hills, while Joe could not stay away from Derek’s loft. Instincts. Hurt? Find mate.

Besides, she could take care of herself.

An uncharacteristic rainstorm for this early in the fall had erupted while they drove from Berkeley and Joe sprinted from Jimmy’s car to the tall apartment building. She didn’t even know if Derek was there, but it was worth a shot.

Drenched just from the few seconds in the rain, she shivered a bit on her way up in the elevator. The sliding door stood open already, saving her from the alarm going off when she entered. Cora was by the couch, obviously attending to Derek as Joe could see his legs on the table.

Joe’s eyes fell to a bloodied steel pipe laying discarded on the floor. Her hand came up to her chest, almost expecting to feel a hole there.

_“¿Cómo está?”_ Joe asked, touching the still sore spot, thinking he might be unconscious. How is he?

Cora gave her a wary glance, a warning, and Joe nearly thought the attackers were still there. The warning was of a different sort however as Derek’s legs went from the table to the floor.

“What,” he got up gingerly from the couch, eyes livid, “the hell were you thinking?”

A large tear in his sweater, soaked with blood, still healing skin underneath. It had been bad. Not as bad as his eyes though, bright and angry, directed at Joe.

“Cora, get upstairs.”

She did not move, obviously conflicted and Derek’s eyes flashed red as he shouted again: _“Get upstairs!”_

Cora hesitated for a second, but fled up the spiral staircase, leaving Derek free to limp closer to Joe while clutching his chest.

“What happened?” Joe asked Derek, trailing Cora with her eyes until she was out of sight. She had looked paler than this morning, but not in as bad shape as Derek. “Are you okay?”

“Are you,” he was so close his scent rolled off him, “out of your mind?” He seemed to restrain himself from strangling her. Nostrils flared. “You could have died!”

It took some convincing to make her own body stand its ground. “You _were_ dying.”

“Never,” he snarled, getting up in her face, so close she could see every individual strand of his stubble, “try that again. Never!”

“Try what? Saving your life?”

“Do you even understand what you’re doing?”

“No, I just happened to figure it out just as you needed it,” she spat back, refusing to back down. _This_ was her thanks? His anger, her anger, whoever’s it was it only spurred her on. “Of course I know what I’m doing. I’m doing what you should have taught me to do, I don’t know, six months ago?”

Judging by the flexing jaw, she struck a nerve. So he _had_ known all along.

“You should have told me there was a way to control it,” she continued and swallowed, angry at the memory of when she first found out. “That it was a power, not a weakness.”

He was not denying anything, but his chest rose with the obvious exertion of staying what could at least pass for calm if you were blind, deaf, and stupid. “You trying to kill yourself is not a power. It’s not control!”

Arms tight across her chest, she pretended not to hear him: “You didn’t even tell me how it worked! _Everything_ , literally _everything_ I’ve had to find out from someone else. First I thought the pain was mirrored, not shared — Deaton was the one to tell me that. Then I thought the only way to dampen it was through mountain ash, but no, there’s a way to control the difference and I had to learn it from the _fucking Alphas?”_

The words poured out, fueled by her anger that was again fueled by her fear of him nearly dying.

“You didn’t even _try_ to explain it! But you’ve known all along, haven’t you? How it’s supposed to work? Admit it!” Now she took a step towards him, getting up in his face. “The only times we’ve truly shared pain was when you didn’t have a choice, when you were too far gone to hold it back, right? And you just let me think there _was_ no choice, that I _had_ to push half of my pain over to you all the time. That I was just a liability!”

“I’m a werewolf, Joe,” he shouted so loud his breath fanned across her face, “I heal!”

“And I don’t?!” she protested and curled her lip when he scoffed in response. “I just saved your life!”

“I never asked you to!”

Joe took a step back, momentarily speechless. “No, you’re right, you never asked me to. You never asked for any of this, but neither did I!” Her breath came ragged, but she refused to cry. “What was I supposed to do? Let you die?”

He shrugged, mouth lifting in a grimace at the obvious strain. “Maybe.”

“Oh fuck you, Derek,” Joe spat and backed away from him, unable to take it. Unable to take his self-pity and loathing and the infuriating endless guilt. “You _know_ I can’t do that! My instincts are as strong as yours, okay? It goes both ways, asshole! Equals, remember? Or, you know, we would have been if you bothered to _tell me anything!”_

“I was trying to protect you!”

“Yeah, that worked out great!” she shouted back, fury just building and building inside of her. “Three months! _Three_ _months_ and you didn’t even look for me! Three months where you were glad I was gone.”

Derek gritted his teeth, almost baring them at her.

“Well, I’m sorry, Derek, that I’m back. That I’m making your life so damned complicated, I truly am, but I’m not sure what you want me to do about it.” She bit her lip to keep from crying — she was _done_ crying. “I don’t blame you for what happened, but you knew what the Alpha pack wanted. You _know_ what equals mean, what that makes me. Why didn’t you tell me they might be coming for me?”

That made him take a step back, eyes shining in the dim light. “I didn’t think they would.” His jaw muscles worked, she could imagine him grinding his teeth together. “There was no reason they would! You’re _not_ a werewolf.”

“So, what, that makes me worthless?” Her voice was thin. No answer and she felt her stomach churn. “Useless? Weak?”

_Helpless, fragile, pathetic, blind, deaf, vulnerable — human?_

The anger radiated off him — like he was seconds away from lengthening canines and red glowing eyes. “Do you think, even for a second, that I’d let you leave if I thought you were in danger?”

“You didn’t _let_ me leave either, Derek! I don’t need and I’ve never needed your permission for anything.” Voice shrill, her hands were out in the air now, gesturing wildly. “I’m not your Beta!”

“I know that!” His shout echoed in the loft.

“Do you? Do you really?” Joe could hear her old accent creeping in, accompanied by the hand movements. “You say that you do, you say that we’re equals, but you don’t act like it. Do you even hear yourself? _‘You don’t get to do this, Joe, I’m not lettin’ you do that.’”_ She laughed, completely without humor as something clicked. “But that’s it, isn’t it? It’s about control. It’s _always_ been about control with you. That’s the real reason you wouldn’t tell me stuff. That’s the reason you didn’t teach me how to shift the pain-bond. Because then I’d have a choice, right?”

“I didn’t think you’d be able to-”

“You didn’t ask! You didn’t even try!”

Instead of the hard denial she expected, his eyes narrowed. Somehow Derek’s lowered voice seemed more dangerous than his shouting. “Why haven’t I felt anything from you for three months?”

“Don’t change the subject,” she ordered, mimicking his own words from two nights ago.

Unfortunately, he cared as little about her orders as she did of his. “You weren’t in the vault the whole time. You’d be gone for days according to Boyd.”

She crossed her arms and unwittingly bit her bottom lip again as she waited for him to make his point. That made his eyes home in on her mouth and his face cleared — first to confusion, then to anger.

“You’re doing it now.” His voice as dark as his eyes were bright, trailing up to meet her stare in disbelief.

“What?”

“Why?”

She swallowed, standing her ground. _“What?”_

Moving faster than humanly possible, Derek closed the gap between them and grabbed her left forearm. Before she could react, he held her arm up between them as his fingers dug into the soft flesh midway between her wrist and elbow. The proximity and the heat made it feel like she was siphoning anger from him instead of pain.

“What the hell are you-”

His claws lengthened to pierce her skin. He stared transfixed at her arm, like he was not believing it, not buying it. Like it wasn’t real because _he_ wasn’t feeling it. His grip increased and Joe did not even try to tear loose. Even though she saw Derek, saw the loft, she could only think of the vault. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized it hurt — it was still nothing compared to the pain she had endured the last few months.

“Let me feel it,” he said, gaze shifting slowly from her arm to her face.

Somehow his hold tightened even further and Joe instinctually bit her teeth together. _Don’t show fear, don’t show pain._ Still, a hiss forced itself out as a few drops of blood welled accompanied by the sharp stings of hurt.

“Joe!”

“ _I’m_ feeling it,” she said through gritted teeth.

If it was her words or the sight of blood, Derek nevertheless snapped out of it. He released her with a half-shove, stepping back. Already pale from his injury, he seemed to grow paler still. Blood — Joe’s blood — dripping from his claws onto the concrete floor.

Not looking away, Joe cradled her arm, even as the tiny punctures stopped bleeding and the ache from his hard grip faded. They were from an Alpha though and healed slower than usual. He had hurt her and neither of them seemed to be able to wrap their heads around that fact. She found herself waiting for an apology that never came.

“Why haven’t I felt anything from you?” he almost whispered, still stepping back. It was like his eyes did not know where to rest, traveling around her, the loft, coming back to her aching arm. Claws still out, but hand down by his side. “ _Nothing_ for three months. Why?”

“Derek-”

_“Why?”_

“Because,” Joe swallowed and flexed her hand. No use in lying and she met his glare evenly, “ _they_ didn’t want you to.”

He kept going backward.

Her arm throbbed and she braced her hand again, wanting to hurt him back. “Not at first anyway. And then I didn’t want you to, because I thought, like an _idiot_ , that you were looking for me and like an even bigger idiot, I didn’t want you to be in pain. I didn’t want them to get to you through me.”

His chest heaved and if she focused, she could feel the strain in his abdomen with every breath. He was not feeling her arm though; he was not getting any of her pain; _nothing_ for three months. As expected, his stare averted from her face out into the loft, unable to even look at her. Like looking at her confirmed all of his worst fears.

“What did they do to you?”

“Derek-”

“ _Answer me, Joe!”_

Struggling to keep herself in check, to find purpose and function, she tried to breathe. Gestured to the steel pipe still on the floor. “What they always do. They hurt people, Derek. And yes, they hurt me.”

Her voice sounded cold and distant to her own ears.

“They hurt me. Bad. Was that what you wanted to hear? Want me to tell you in detail? Want me to relive that a couple of times for you? So that you can feel _really_ guilty and then you can get _really_ angry about it because that is obviously helping _so_ much right now?!”

A tremble seemed to pass through him at her words, and he kept backing off, blood still dripping off his fingers.

“Because I can tell you everything, Derek. I can tell you _how_ they taught me control of the pain-bond. I can tell you every single little detail — every broken bone, every claw mark, every individual frickin’ blood drop — if that’s what you need to know. If that’s what you care about.”

_Because it obviously isn’t me. Because you have only asked what happened, not how I am or how I feel or if I’m okay. Because I’m not._

Now when he looked up, he looked paler than before. “What about Erica?”

The name felt like a literal kick in the face. Her breath halted in her mouth. To buy time, because her mind was malfunctioning, she could only say: “What?”

“What can you tell me about her?” His eyes, now colder than she had ever seen them, refocused back on her. “What happened to Erica?”

He knew. Her insides froze at the thought. He knew. He knew he knew he knew.

“What happened to Erica?” he repeated, voice slightly louder, eyes still painfully cold.

What happened to Erica? Joe wanted to scream at the thought of what happened to Erica. What she did to Erica. His questions confirmed her suspicion and fear — _they_ had been here. No longer in hiding, a new phase of their plan in motion.

And they had told him what she did to Erica.

“You don’t understand,” Joe all but whispered. It felt like a barbed-wire coiled around inside her brain. Her voice trembled. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“What did you do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Joe-”

“I _don’t_ know!”

He swallowed before asking: “Did you kill her?”

Deja vu. To the coffee shop back in February, when she asked him the same about Kate.

Kate. Joe squeezed her eyes shut, memories blurring together, faces mixing. Blond hair. When Derek’s pain rolled over her, when he was flayed alive by his sister and Boyd, Joe had only seen the blond hair. Erica’s blond hair, but with Kate’s face. It didn’t help that Erica was half-mad herself, driven to the brink of insanity by the Alphas and the full moon. They had already been fighting for their lives when Joe lost it, lost control, lost her mind.

That’s what _they_ had wanted after all. The Alphas.

Did Joe kill her? She tried to. She did her best. Drove a branch through her stomach, panicked and delusional, and held it there. Held it there until Erica’s eyes dimmed.

Joe realized she was trembling. Her hands shook when she looked down on them. Her fists clenched, but the shaking continued. What was real and what wasn’t? Was this real?

“Did you kill her?” Derek repeated his question. Voice flat and dead. Demanding, even if he knew the answer.

Thought he knew, she reminded herself. Thought he knew. Or did he know? Erica was alive, wasn’t she? Not possible though, Joe had killed her. Her eyes had dimmed. Hurt to think. Joe’s arm throbbed. Derek had hurt her. He had hurt her when she thought he never would. Like she had hurt Erica when she thought she never would.

“Maybe,” Joe said, already retreating. Out of the loft, away from Derek’s judgment, his eyes, his pity, his disbelief, and anger. Shaking hands, trembling limbs. _You can barely stand._ Weak. Pathetic. “They didn’t give me a choice.”

Derek looked sick, also backing off. “There’s always a choice, Joe.”

“No,” she swallowed and blinked away unshed tears. “No, there’s not. Not with us.”

Unable to stomach his expression, she turned and walked out. Hide and heal — and Joe wanted to hide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, man...
> 
> Okay, so, obviously both Joe and Derek aren't functioning at their highest level here. Derek nearly died just before this argument and he's already spiraling under all this guilt he's been piling on. Joe's feeling the aftermaths of her three months of "vacation", combined with no sleep and insane levels of paranoia. And there's a reason she's not sure what's real or not, where a hint can be found in her conversation with Walker.
> 
> So, that being said, we are still aiming for a happy ending eventually. Just gotta break them down good and proper before we build them up. I'm once again asking for your patience 😅
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading and thank you so, so much for your comments! I don't know if I've said it before, but as much as I appreciate everyone who reads, you guys who are commenting and engaging are the reason I'm updating this so frequently and finding the motivation to write so often. I really hope you understand how much it means to me ❤
> 
> So please let me know what you think and otherwise take care of yourself and have a lovely day 😊


	65. The Detective

_You think we want to kill you? No, no. You have it backward._

“You know, this whole watching me sleep thing is not as romantic as Twilight made it out to be.”

Hiding deeper under the covers, Joe only grumbled in response.

“Maybe it’s because you’re not a hundred years old super hot vampire,” Erica mused as she flipped through the TV-channels, volume barely audible to Joe. “Or even a guy.” She seemed to settle on some talk show. “All I’m saying is that it’s creepy as heck.”

“Sorry.”

“Did you at least get any sleep?”

“Some,” Joe mumbled, still with her eyes closed. Rest mattered almost as much as sleep, at least she hoped so. And if she kept her eyes closed, she didn’t have to face the world with its new and exciting challenges. Derek’s face from last night popped into her head and she burrowed further into the bed. “I think.”

Erica made a sound of disbelief. Peering from under the covers, Joe found Erica to be looking better. Not okay, not yet, but at least better. This healing business did not seem like an exact science. On the outside, her wound looked almost completely gone, just scar tissue remaining. Based on how Erica moved though, how careful she was, it seemed like there was still some damage on the inside. It made Joe want to dissolve in guilt.

After returning from the loft — running through the rain all the way back to the apartment, very good for dramatic effect — Joe had found herself compelled to check if Erica actually was alive. Eventually, Joe had dozed off in the queen-sized bed next to her, getting fitful bouts of sleep and waking at random to check if Erica still breathed. If she was there at all.

“Are you real?”

Already pale, the mascara Jimmy had bought Erica emphasized her large eyes that turned to Joe in annoyance. “Do I _look_ real?”

Wrong answer. Joe began to pull away as Erica realized her mistake.

“ _Jimmy!”_ she called before she latched onto Joe’s arm, now healed after Derek’s claws yesterday. Like all werewolves, she was hot to the touch, but never burning like Derek. “Hey, hey, sorry. Sorry. I’m real. _Jimmy!”_ Erica refocused on Joe, now nearly hyperventilating. “Do you see me? Yeah, that’s one. Do you hear me? That’s two. Do you feel me? That’s three-”

The door flew open as Jimmy ran inside. He paused at the foot of the bed, purple eyes wide.

Erica refused to let go of Joe. “That’s three. Three senses, right? Three out of five. Majority can’t be wrong, okay?”

“Okay,” Joe whispered and pretended to not notice the look exchanged between Jimmy and Erica. “Okay.”

“I’m here and I’m real,” Erica said slowly and then nodded at Jimmy. “So is Jimmy.”

“Okay,” Joe said again and now Erica released her. Sitting up in bed, Joe rubbed the fatigue out of her eyes. “Okay. I’m good.”

_“What happened?”_

_“My fault. She asked if I was real and I answered with a question.”_

They weren’t whispering, not quite, so Joe still heard them with her oh-so-human ears. _Pathetic. Weak._ Concerned about her. Worried about her. They had it all wrong. Backward. She was supposed to look after them.

“I’m sorry,” Joe eventually said and Erica gave her an encouraging smile. Without the makeup, she looked even younger and only served to make Joe feel like a bigger failure. “Jesus Christ, I’m sor-”

“Yeah, we’re not doing the whole crying and apologizing for things again,” Erica cut in and turned back to the TV, folding her pillow so she could recline more than lie down. “I tried to kill you, you tried to kill me — we’re even. Full moon. Shit happens.” Her eyebrows rose while the moving images on the TV reflected in her large eyes. “I mean, ask Derek.”

Derek. Joe should have told him the truth yesterday, but she hadn’t been sure of the truth. The lack of sleep was messing with her mind. Unless Joe was actively looking at Erica, she could only remember those last moments where Erica had stopped breathing, when Joe finally saw Erica’s face instead of Kate. It was safer for Erica if no one knew she was alive, but now Joe had to live with Derek’s disgust instead. And anger. Hard to fathom how a person could keep on living with so much anger inside.

Maybe it would make him stronger, whereas Joe only made him weak.

Joe could feel Jimmy’s eyes on her a second longer before he glanced at the room in general. He’d obviously just woken up judging by the messy hair and he grimaced at the collection of wrapping papers and empty cans on Erica’s nightstand, making some offhand comment about a pigsty while he got a trash bag. Without the sunglasses, his eyes shone still. Deep-set trauma. He was still on high alert.

“ _You_ get any sleep?” Joe asked Jimmy for once and he shrugged.

When finished with the trash, he settled on top of the covers at the foot-end of the bed with one arm under his head to watch the TV. Instincts, Joe figured. Pack animals sleep together. Cuddle puddle. She snorted at the thought, earning her strange glances from both Erica and Jimmy.

The lights from Jimmy’s eyes dimmed steadily the longer they laid there, watching whatever Erica deemed interesting enough to settle on for more than a minute at a time.

Everyone pretending to be normal and that things were okay. False sense of security, Joe thought, but had no idea how to handle it. They were not out of the woods just yet. But a good soldier rests when he can.

She had _no_ idea where to go from here.

“Going after the Alpha’s emissary today?” Jimmy asked as if prompted, not sounding particularly interested.

Joe sighed. She had to, sooner or later, but she did not want to move out of the bed today. “Later.” A few seconds passed where she tried to figure out what was happening on the TV. “Can we order pizza?”

“No, you got messages from your aunt,” Erica said as if she’d just remembered it. She handed Joe the phone. “She wants to do dinner today. And since it’s three in the afternoon, you only have a few hours and you need them because you look like death.”

“Don’t read my texts, Erica,” Joe said half-heartedly and checked the messages herself. Ugh. That meant both showering and leaving the apartment. It meant dealing with the outside world. It meant coming clean to Aunt Mel. “Ugh.”

“There’s also a new string of murders,” Jimmy said after a while, not looking away from the TV and Joe groaned again. “Threefold deaths from what I can find out. Five victims so far. Might be something to worry about since it’s coinciding with the Alpha pack.”

Joe recalled the virgin sacrifices Stiles had talked about.

“Can’t everything just be someone else’s problem today?” Joe murmured and shifted so she could poke Jimmy with her foot. “Hey, Demi, step up to the plate here. Take your load of the problems.”

He didn’t even budge, so Joe turned to Erica.

“Beta,” Erica said easily and changed the channel again.

“Screw both of you,” Joe mumbled and untangled herself out of the bed.

As she stumbled into the bathroom, she could hear Jimmy and Erica bickering about changing the channel back again. Of all the unlikely duos in the world... After Joe and Erica rescued Jimmy on their little Alpha-organized field trip —another shudder at _that_ memory — Erica had latched onto him like a big brother figure and he had reluctantly committed to the role, not that she gave him much choice. Out of every bad thing that had happened the last few months, at least they were all closer to each other than before.

The Alphas had made sure of that. Pack bonding. To break a bond, there had to be a bond.

A shower and some coffee made her at least look human enough to get out of the apartment. She took the Corvette, still unsure of what had happened to the Ford. Her first car; bought with her own money. Piece of junk that it was, it was hers and she missed it.

Last time she saw it had been at the diner. After the wolfsbane-bomb, she had woken up in the vault with no recollection of how she got there. It still made her queazy at the thought of the vault being _in_ Beacon Hills this whole time. It would have been easier to accept if they had some sort of secluded hideout in the mountains instead of being a few streets over from the goddamn post office.

Whenever they transported her from the vault, which had not happened the first few weeks, they blindfolded her and put her in the back of a van. She could have been in Mexico for all she knew. And she was pretty sure she _had_ been in Mexico at some point too.

Maybe the Emissary knew what happened with the Ford. Joe would like to get her hands on the shotgun and pistol presumably still in its trunk. Tomorrow she’d build up the nerve to confront the Emissary. Tomorrow.

When she got to the McCall house, Joe had to sit in the car a bit and regain her breath. If she understood Scott correctly, he hadn’t told Aunt Mel anything. Not even the parts Joe had intended to tell herself before she left Beacon Hills, about Derek. _Don’t let emotions get the best of you._ Considering how well it had gone with Derek, maybe she shouldn’t tell Aunt Mel the truth just yet?

Listen to yourself, Joe. You’re just as bad as your dad. As Derek. As everyone else who’s ever lied to you. The truth is always best. _Even if it breaks you?_ The voice came unbidden into her mind. If Dad hadn’t told you the truth about your mom, you wouldn’t have sought out Derek, you wouldn’t have been in such a hurry to get out of town, you wouldn’t have been kidnapped again, you wouldn’t have-

Hyperventilating, Joe rested her head on the steering wheel. If Derek had told _her_ the truth from the start, things would have gone differently too. If he had tried to teach her control of the pain-bond or if he hadn’t tried to keep her out of everything supernatural-related all the time, things would have gone differently.

_‘Erica and Boyd are my Betas, Joe. Not yours.’_

That’s what he’d told her. Maybe he had hoped that was the truth, just like he had hoped she left town and stayed away on her own volition. Well, okay, he was sort of right about ‘Death before Dishonor’-Boyd, but Erica... Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the steering wheel. It wasn’t Derek’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

A shadow fell over her from outside the car and she froze, not daring to turn. What had she been thinking? Sitting here like an easy target, ready to be picked off. They weren’t out of the woods just yet. The Alphas were still out there, waiting for her, waiting for an opportunity like this. False sense of security. Shit shit shit.

_“Joe?”_

Scott. It felt like her soul left her body with the loud exhale. “Jesus Christ, Scott!”

_“What are you doing?”_ His voice came muffled through the car window. He stood on the curb outside the Corvette, bending over to peer in at her. As she shook her head weakly, he bounded over to the passenger side and got in before she could protest. Like speaking to a scared animal, he kept his voice soft. “Hey. Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“I’m pretty sure you were less sneaky than I was just not paying attention,” Joe said, head still on the steering wheel as she turned to look at him. “‘Sup?”

“I just heard your heartbeat going crazy when I passed the car,” Scott explained lamely. She noticed the backpack still slung halfway over his shoulder — he must have just returned from work or school. For some reason, his eyes glanced out the windshield at the house, before he leaned in and lowered his voice. “Hey, have you talked to Derek?”

“Oh yeah.” There had been too much talking for it to be healthy. A surge of panic gripped her, as her mind had temporarily suppressed yesterday’s argument and the implications it brought. “H-have you?”

“No,” Scott said, vanquishing her fears. “But, uh, he kicked Isaac out last night.”

The sensation in Joe’s chest reminded her of the first time she had felt Derek’s pain — when Peter had driven his claws through Derek’s lungs. Like a skeleton hand squeezing her heart. Isaac. Derek’s first beta. Kicked out. It must have happened after she was there. And that was probably the reason why it happened. It was Joe’s fault.

It also meant that Derek definitely knew what the Alphas wanted. For them to kill their own betas.

“Shit,” she said without thinking, but it was an appropriate reaction in any way. “Oh, man. Okay. How is he? Uh, where’s he staying?”

“Here. Mom put him in your old room. He’s okay, but, uh, kinda upset I think. Didn’t say much, just... According to him, it happened out of the blue when he got back from practice. No warning, some lame excuse about it getting crowded with Derek’s sister there, and... I was kinda hoping you knew more.”

Her mouth opened and shut a few times, not finding any words. It was cruel, heartless even, and Joe could not find it in her to be angry with Derek. Because he was just doing the same thing that Joe was doing with Cora. Pushing her away for her own safety. It bothered her for other reasons though, because it meant Derek did not have the same confidence in his own strength as Joe did.

And as much as it hurt, she could see Derek’s reasoning for choosing Cora over Isaac. He paid attention to people; he knew Isaac had sought out Scott when Erica and Boyd ran away; he’d seen Isaac volunteer to be Scott’s backup when they fought the kanima. It made sense in all the ways it didn’t. Derek had probably figured he could only protect one at a time. Boyd was out of the loft, probably kept at arm’s length now. Isaac had Scott, but Cora had no one.

Although she could vividly imagine Derek _trying_ to kick Cora out and coming face to face with willpower rivaling his own.

“Maybe it’s, uh, a good thing,” Joe tried eventually as Scott had waited patiently for her to gather her thoughts. “Means you won’t be on your own in case something happens.”

Scott didn’t say anything, but nodded slowly as he studied her. He did not look convinced, but if it was her words or her appearance that threw him off was hard to tell. “Are you gonna tell Mom everything now?”

Everything. The truth was an ugly thing at times.

“Yes,” she whispered, nodding mostly to herself. “I think so.”

“Are you sure?” he asked and as Joe nodded again, he followed up with: “Tonight?”

“Why does it sound like you’re trying to convince me otherwise?”

“I’m not!” Scott denied immediately, eyes wide. “I just wanted to make sure you were, uh, sure. It’s just, things have been going kinda well lately. Great, actually. And she was so happy when you came back and she’s already feeling bad for snapping at you in the hospital and maybe, I don’t know, maybe you should take some time to deal with it before you tell her so it doesn’t, I don’t know, get out of hand.”

Deal with it. The words cut into Joe’s soul. Joe had to _deal with it._ Even if Scott was not as adept as Derek, he was picking up on _something_ , that _something_ wasn’t as it should be with Joe. Probably the same reason Derek smelled tainted to Joe now. It wasn’t Derek. It was her. Tainted. _Broken. Weak. Pathetic._

“Yeah, maybe,” Joe said and avoided Scott’s eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

At least it wasn’t hard to pretend things were normal when Aunt Mel flew up from the couch as Joe and Scott came inside the house.

“Oh my God, the hair! I love it!” Aunt Mel exclaimed after hugging her fiercely. “With the bangs too, very chic.”

“Chic?”

“Just, let me try and keep up with the jargon here, Joe,” Aunt Mel pleaded. She turned to Scott. “ _You_ have homework. Don’t try and deny it, Isaac already confessed. Come on, upstairs. I’ll call you when dinner’s here.”

Feigning a grudge, Scott leaned to kiss Aunt Mel on the cheek before he heeded her orders. Aunt Mel led Joe inside the kitchen, offering her any beverage of choice. Joe accepted a glass of wine, but just the one since she was driving. Although she suspected she could have had the whole bottle without getting a buzz now.

“So, I thought about cooking and then I went to the grocery store and realized I didn’t want to, so we’re ordering Thai from this new place that opened downtown and-”

The sound of Aunt Mel’s voice talking about mundane stuff was like sinking into a warm bath after a long day in the snow. New York memories, not California ones. Joe perched on the kitchen counter while Aunt Mel talked, sipped wine, and tried to fill Joe in on all the hospital gossip that she’d missed out on when she was away.

“Listen, I’m sorry for being so short with you the other day,” Aunt Mel said as she leaned on the opposite side of the kitchen, giving Joe an apologetic smile. “I’m _really_ happy that you’re back. It was just this whole thing with Isaac, and then with Jimmy,” she wrung her hands together, “and I know, from those parental classes I took back in the day, that you’re supposed to _encourage_ positive behavior and _not_ reprimand when it finally happens.”

Joe took a large sip of wine to cover her nerves.

“And you’re a capable and smart young woman, so as long as you’re okay, I’m perfectly willing to pretend the last few months didn’t happen. I just,” Aunt Mel twisted her hands together again, “never want you to feel like it’s a chore talking to me. Does that make sense? I’m not your parent. I’m your cool aunt who you call when your dad’s being an ass, remember?”

Joe smiled and it was probably the first real, unstrained smile since she woke up in the Preserve. “I remember.”

“And speaking of your dad,” Aunt Mel’s expression turned apprehensive, “do you know he’s back in town?”

Joe gripped the wine glass so hard the stem snapped. “Shit.”

“Oh, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Aunt Mel hurried over with a new glass and took the broken one out of Joe’s unresisting hands. A clean break and nothing spilled as she poured the remaining wine over. She gave Joe a lopsided smile. “I take it that’s a no, huh?”

“What’s he doing back?” Joe asked, while her mind buzzed with the possibilities of Scott having called him, told him what happened, told him everything. Which made no sense, because Aunt Mel didn’t even know.

Aunt Mel took the broken glass to the cardboard box going with recycling. “Well, there might be a serial killer on the loose.” Straightening back up, she put one hand on the hip as she looked at Joe. “Now, if you want me to back off, you say so. You know I won’t pry, but I got the impression things had improved a bit between the two of you. He sounded kind of hopeful you’d call him and I guess you didn’t?”

Joe shook her head again. She had wanted to. Now she did not think she would be able to face him ever again. That wasn’t the worst part. If the Alphas found out he was here, he would be in danger.

And she couldn’t tell Aunt Mel where she had been the last three months because then Aunt Mel would insist they tell Dad and then he’d get involved and he would die. Shit. Joe hated this. Hated it so much.

“Okay,” Aunt Mel said, understanding as always, although now it was breaking Joe’s heart into tiny little glass pieces digging itself into her lungs. “Okay, I’ll tell him you’re unavailable. So, just so you know he’s in town.” She was spared saying anything else as the doorbell rang. “That’s gotta be the food. Can you set the table?” Aunt Mel went into the hall and shouted up the stairs. _“Guys! Food’s here!”_

Even if she knew it was just Scott and Isaac coming down the stairs, they still made it sound like two elephants were tumbling down instead.

“Hi, Isaac,” Joe said softly when his curly-haired self appeared around the corner, as his expression already tore at her insides.

“Hey,” Isaac said as a greeting, hands in pocket and head bent.

The term kicked puppy came to mind and it felt more appropriate than ever. Joe tried to breathe. She could understand Derek’s reasoning, but she still hated it. Isaac was probably safer here, but she _hated it._

“You okay?” Joe asked when Aunt Mel returned with the food and enlisted Scott to help. It was a stupid question, she knew, but at least she asked it. At least she could give some semblance of caring.

Isaac shrugged. He did not look scared of or disgusted with her, so she guessed Derek hadn’t exactly confided about Erica to him. He just looked lost. Probably with good reason, if he’d been by Derek’s side so long and now removed without further explanation. No way had Derek told him why he had to push him away, not Derek’s style at all. At least Cora knew why Joe tried to keep her at bay.

“Guys, come on, food’s here and I’m starving,” Aunt Mel urged them to get to the table and they all sat down. She handed the containers around, explaining the contents, and urged Isaac to take the first serving. “Isaac got your old room, Joe, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Joe said and passed the rice over to Scott. “It’s not my room anymore anyway.” Racking her brain for conversation topics fitting for dinner, something not involving blood or mayhem, she tried: “So, uh, lacrosse?”

Scott and Isaac laughed. “It’s cross-country in the fall,” Scott explained and Joe shrugged. “We’re going to a meet next week. Six-hour drive, but Coach made it mandatory.” He turned to Isaac with an almost proud smile. “Isaac’s actually our best runner.”

Isaac ducked his head under with a badly concealed grin. “I’m not that, uh, fast really.”

“No, he is!” Scott insisted and clapped Isaac on the shoulder. “Even before we were turned.” He must have realized the attention was making Isaac nervous because he changed gears and redirected the focus. “Uh, Joe played soccer in high school.”

“Oh really?” Isaac looked up, interested.

“Yeah, she taught me my first shoulder tackle,” Scott continued and Joe shook her head at the memory. That was back when Scott was severely asthmatic and scrawny. Now he’d grown, both in height and muscle mass. She could still take him, she figured, after eyeing his upper body. Easy.

“I got stuck in defense because I lacked the eye-foot coordination to actually pass the ball anywhere,” Joe explained, to distill some of Isaac’s admiration. “I was better at getting other people to drop it.”

Somehow this led to a play-by-play of the lacrosse finals game where Isaac tackled all his fellow players out of commission to get Scott out on the field. All in order to stop Jackson as the kanima. Isaac did not seem that bothered when the attention was more spread out and not all on him. Joe let them talk, still marveling at how distant all of this sounded. A different life, different Joe. Conversation flowed easily and if Aunt Mel noticed how Joe deflected all attempts to talk about the crime lab-stuff, she did not make a big deal of it.

For a while, at least, Joe could pretend things were normal. At least until Scott mentioned Allison regarding something with a motorcycle at the school yesterday.

“Wait, the Argents are back?” Joe’s voice came out harsher than she’d meant. “I thought they left for France.”

“No, Allison and her dad returned just before the semester started,” Scott stuttered. “Sorry, I thought you knew, I sent you a- Sorry. Uh, they got an apartment downtown and I think her dad’s gone back to consulting, not any of the other stuff.”

Aware of Aunt Mel’s watchful eye on her, Joe just nodded and tried to concentrate on the last pieces of food on her plate. With all the junk food lately, she would have to start running again to avoid getting lethargic or weak. _You are weak_. Joe noticed her hand trembling when she reached for her glass. Damn it.

“Uh, I need to get back,” Joe said, interrupting Scott’s retelling of something that happened during the summer. She got up too fast, almost taking the table cloth with her, and toppled her wine glass over. Both she and Isaac jumped at the _clink_ , even though it didn’t break, but the wine splashed across her own lap. “Shit, sorry, sorry.”

“Come on.” Aunt Mel darted up, near dragging Joe over to the kitchen to get a wet towel. The boys remained seated, although Isaac was looking pale and Joe would have thought more about it if she hadn’t been so hung up on her own thoughts. Wine seeped through Joe’s jeans and it didn’t help that it was red wine, leaving a large stain across her crotch.

“Since when did you become such a klutz?” Aunt Mel joked and handed Joe the towel to dab at the rapidly spreading spot. “You’re not staying for dessert? I got the good cheesecake from the store and everything.” Not even listening, too focused on the roaring embarrassment, Joe just tried to salvage what she could of her pants. “Joe? Hey.”

Joe looked up and saw the increasingly worried frown on Aunt Mel’s face. “What?”

“You okay?” Aunt Mel could wiggle a confession out of anyone. “Did something happen?” She lowered her voice as if that prevented the two werewolves in the living room from hearing it. “Did something happen with Derek? I mean, if he kicked Isaac out I guess _something_ happened, but are you two having trouble again? I just assumed, based on the hospital, that you had patched things up.”

“It’s, ah, um...” Joe realized the jeans were ruined for the time being and put the towel on the counter. “It’s not gonna, uh, work out with Derek, I think.”

Aunt Mel’s face scrunched together. “Is this about the text?”

“What text?”

“The text he sent you...” Aunt Mel sounded unsure, counting on her fingers. “You did get the text, right? As much as I hope you also missed your awesome family, I figured that text was at least seventy percent of the reason you came back earlier than expected.”

When had Scott told Aunt Mel her phone got stolen? When had Derek sent the text? Shit. This was why she hated lying; couldn’t keep track of everything.

“Uh, yeah,” Joe lied, trying to keep her face neutral. Aunt Mel raised her eyebrows expectantly. Shit. What was in that text? “Uh, it’s not _all_ about the text.”

Aunt Mel sucked in air through her teeth. “Ah, it was a fifty-fifty shot. I’m sorry, I helped him. He showed up here looking all lost and hurt and we talked and I told him the same thing I told Scott before the Winter Formal,” Joe had no idea what that was, “and I did warn him that you might not react as expected, it was still a risk and he said something about the reward being worth it and aaah, I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries.”

What the hell was in that text?

“I legitimately thought you liked him,” Aunt Mel continued to apologize while Joe’s brain tried to melt through her ears. “Again, I’m really sorry.”

“Uhh, it’s okay?” _If you just stop talking about it!_

“You sure? And you’re sure you don’t wanna stay for dessert? You can borrow some of my pants and I’ll make coffee and... Joe? Oh, no, sweetheart. What did I say?”

Joe was crying. She tried so hard to hold it in and just couldn’t. She hated it. Hated it so intensely.

Aunt Mel pulled her into a hug, almost automatically, without thinking and Joe could only think of _everything_ that had gone so, so wrong. And to top it off, Scott and Isaac were still at the table, hearing and seeing everything. Seeing her weak and pathetic with a large red stain on her pants like she was some kind of blubbering toddler.

“I really got to get going,” Joe forced out and forced herself away from Aunt Mel. To avoid having to deal with Scott, who had risen in his seat, she gave them a fast wave and hurried over to the door. “Thanks for the dinner, it was amazing, I gotta go.”

_“Joe, wait!”_

The slamming door cut off Scott’s voice. Wiping the stupid tears from her eyes, Joe nearly walked straight into Stiles Stilinski who was halfway up the steps to the house.

“Joe?” He sounded concerned, obviously noticing her state. “You okay?”

“It’s nothing, just go ahead,” she said and shook her head while stepping to the side to give him access to the door. “I gotta-”

“No, no, wait, I came here looking for you!” Stiles hurried down the steps after her. “I went to your apartment, but no one let me in and you didn’t pick up when I called, so I came here.”

Her phone. Joe was so used to being without one that she forgot to check it.

Stiles managed to stop her descent and she could just _not_ deal with anymore puppy-eyed teenage boys tonight. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Just the question made her let out a half-laugh, half-sobbing sound again. Derek hadn’t asked if she was okay. Scott hadn’t asked if she was okay. Stiles was the first one who knew where she’d been the last months to ask her that. And she couldn’t bring herself to answer honestly because she was _not_ okay. Not by a long-shot.

“I’m just being stupid,” Joe bit out and angled her face upwards to keep the tears in her eyes. She groaned to clear her voice and mind. “What’s up?”

“Uh, well, there’s that string of random sacrifices happening around town,” Stiles said in a nonchalantly excited tone. “And we think it might be some evil Celtic druid-copycat and you’re sorta our expert on all this folklore and magic stuff.” He swallowed and gave her a closed-mouthed smile. “So...you wanna help us?”

“Us?” Joe repeated and Stiles gestured to his Jeep where a mildly annoyed Lydia Martin sat. She waved. Joe hesitantly waved back. “Uh...I gotta go home and change.”

“Awesome!” Stiles exclaimed loudly, as usual, with his whole body. “We’ll meet you there!”

“No!” Joe couldn’t let them in the apartment, although she wasn’t really sure why. “Sorry. No. We can meet...somewhere else? Sorry, Jimmy doesn’t like house guests.” Which was true, to be fair. Her mind felt weird. Was that the whole reason?

Figuring she could kill two birds with one stone, she had them meet her in the coffee shop downtown.

By the time she got back to the apartment, Jimmy had migrated from the bedroom to his computer, hunched over while scrolling through what had to be emergency call-transcripts.

Her breath hitched when she noticed the sleeping Erica in the bedroom as she tip-toed in to get a change of clothes. Alive. Erica was alive. Of course she was alive. Keeping the noise to the minimum, Joe grabbed the first thing she found in the clothes-pile and noted the pill bottle on the nightstand. Still not fully healed.

“Where do you think you are going?” Jimmy asked when Joe emerged in what she guessed could be referred to as jeggings, which were just leggings of denim-like fabric. At her explanation, he got up. “I’m coming with you.”

“You really don’t have to-”

He was already shrugging on a pair of navy slacks and a thin knitted sweater. “Not a question, Delgado. She’ll be out for a few hours at least.” Sunglasses on, he gestured. “Let’s go.”

On their way down the stairs, she asked: “What’d you give her?”

“Benadryl.” He glanced at her as he opened the door. “Got them for you, but...”

“I’m done taking pills.”

“Even when the alternative is crashing and burning?”

Joe flexed her hands, but said nothing.

They made their way to the coffee shop on foot where they spotted Lydia and Stiles through the window. Whatever Stiles was gesturing to explain, Lydia looked completely over it already. This late, there was only one other couple in here and they looked deeply invested in a conversation far away in the corner. Jimmy muttered something about high schoolers and disappeared to the counter to order.

“Hey,” Joe said and gave Lydia Martin a nod when she sat down. She’d spoken to Lydia once before and hadn’t seen her since the whole shitshow with Jackson went down.

Not much had changed about Lydia’s pinched smile. “Hi.” Her whole demeanor seemed to shift a bit, tilting her head and uncrossing her arms to let them rest in her lap when Jimmy came over to the table. “Hello. Don’t think we’ve met...?”

“Jimmy Carter, no relation,” Jimmy said automatically, oblivious to the girl’s flirtatious behavior, although it was hard to tell as he still kept his sunglasses on. He did notice Stiles’ frown and gave him a nod. “Stilinski.”

Just then, Joe realized what Stiles’ frown stemmed from. Jimmy’s new appearance. At least Lydia seemed to appreciate it and Joe watched Stiles’ ears redden.

“I’m Lydia Martin.” Lydia was not giving up and extended her hand to Jimmy who glanced at it dismissively.

He sniffed and said: “Not interested. Come back in five years.”

“Oooookay,” Stiles intervened, a bit more attuned to Lydia’s mood-changes as her eyebrows rose high in indignance. Stiles opened up a laptop in the middle of the table. “So here’s what we got. Threefold deaths. First victims: Heather Custer, a sophomore. Ryan Clarke, junior and part-time lifeguard. Emily Perez, college freshman.” He scrolled through pictures, all looked like they came from a yearbook. “Next round: Kyle Buchanan, a senior. Mr. Hughes, our music teacher. And, possibly, Adrian Harris.”

“Your chemistry teacher?” Joe asked, recognizing the name from Scott’s assignments and feedback, usually in a lot of red ink. “And why possibly?”

“Well, he’s missing, but not found yet,” Stiles explained. “But it does match the pattern.”

“You’ve found it then?” asked Jimmy and slid the laptop closer to him, much to Stiles’ visible annoyance. The pictures reflected in his sunglasses. “They came in threes. The first ones, were they virgins?”

Stiles made a face. “Okay, you realize how suspicious that question is, right? Yes, they were virgins, but how do you know that?”

“Oh, I know a little about virgin sacrifices,” said Jimmy, with no indication that he was joking. As Stiles continued to get himself worked up, he sighed. “And Joe told me about it. Their ages were a solid clue anyway. All young, while the next ‘round’ seemed to have a more diverse cast.”

“They’re all connected to the military,” Lydia explained, cutting in front of Stiles. “What? They are. Kyle was in this ROTC-stuff, Hughes was a veteran and so was Mr. Harris, who also happened to be an alcoholic.” She shrugged daintily at their skeptical faces. “In case that was somehow relevant.”

“Virgins and warriors...” Jimmy mused. “Celtic rituals.”

Stiles spasm-attack nearly tore down the table. “Seriously? How do you know this stuff?”

No answer as the barista came over with their drinks and Joe eagerly took the oatmilk cappuccino, took a sip, and made a face. “Decaf? Seriously, Jimmy? _Et tu, Brute?_ ”

“How is that worse than just _knowing_ stuff we had to see Deaton to find out?”

Joe blew air out of her mouth, a little miffed about the lack of caffeine. “Stiles, chill with the suspicion, I already told him what you told me. Besides, it’s not just the Celts, a lot of cultures have ritual sacrifices and they’re not random. Vikings would sacrifice their strongest warrior to appease their gods to prevent storms when they were setting sail. That’s because their god of war was also their god of thunder.”

“Thor, right?”

“Mm. And in case of famine, they’d sacrifice virgins, because their goddess of fertility was also their goddess of abundance or something. Although take all of the goddess-myths with a grain of salt, because they’ve been massively corrupted through the male gaze of sexually deprived archeologists of the nineteenth century.”

“Okay, so...” Lydia started and sounded skeptical. “Whoever sacrificed virgins did it because they were worried about their harvest?”

“Not that simple,” Jimmy said and cleared his throat as if bothered. “Virgins are connected with a lot of things. Beauty, fertility, attraction, but also stuff like Joe said: food, energy, purity... It’s a long list. Warriors are simpler. That’s usually power or strength.”

“You look worried,” Stiles pointed out, not looking that pleased himself. “If the second, no wait, third-most creepiest guy I’ve ever met looks worried, I feel worried too. Why do you look worried?”

Joe squinted at Stiles and guessed while counting on her fingers: “Peter, Derek, and Jimmy? In that order?” He nodded and she did too. “Agreed.”

“I’m worried because _one_ virgin sacrifice is powerful on its own, and here someone took three. Then three warriors,” Jimmy tapped the laptop in obvious thought, “in that order.”

“Whoever’s doing this has a plan.” Joe guessed where Jimmy was going with this. “There’s a reason they started with virgins, they needed that aspect first. And they’re probably not done yet.”

“Yeah, because, power of three, right? We’re looking at three rounds?” Stiles said, excited again to contribute. His face fell when Joe and Jimmy shook their heads. “It’s not three? It’s threefold death and three victims in each category. Why not three?”

“Threefold deaths represents a sort of punishment to each part of the trifunctional hypothesis. It’s of prehistoric Proto-Indo-European society and postulates a tripartite ideology.”

“Right, three parts of life,” Lydia said in agreement, even if Stiles’ jaw had slackened at Joe’s words. “Sacral, martial, and economic, right?”

“Y-yes,” Joe said, again taken aback at this high school girl’s intensity. “Or, uh, three stages of life. Maiden, mother, and crone for example. Past, present, future — the Fates of Greek mythology. It’s sort of a holy death, how Odin killed himself to gain absolute knowledge and even Merlin predicted his own death to be threefold.”

“So why not three sets of victims three times?”

“Because the Celts believed a person’s soul was divided into five aspects. Or, four plus one. Four limbs plus the center. There’s a theory they divided their society into five classes as well. The symbolism got carried over to Christianity too, Jesus had five wounds. It’s at least a theory it came from the Celtic because of the-”

“Five-fold knot,” Jimmy said with a nod. He grabbed a napkin and drew four circles barely overlapping each other, then a final circle in the middle that connected all of them. “Five was a really sacred number for the old druids. Always four plus one. Four seasons plus the transition. Four elements plus energy. Four directions plus the center. Or, as Joe said, four limbs plus the body.”

The table fell silent for a while, everyone staring at Jimmy’s drawing.

“So whoever’s doing this is not even halfway?” Stiles exclaimed after a while. “They’re just getting started?” He rubbed his face hurriedly when Jimmy nodded. “Okay, how do we find out what’s coming next?”

“Depends on what this person wants,” Joe said and grabbed the napkin, tracing the circles. Overlapping. Four plus one. How many in the Alpha Pack? Four plus one. “The virgins is a strange place to start. If it was something superficial like beauty, it would come last. And yet, they needed whatever the virgins could give them before they needed strength.” She furrowed her brows, still tracing the circles.

“Do you have any suspects?” Jimmy asked and leaned back with his arms over his head. Joe noticed how Lydia’s gaze drifted appreciatively to the flexed arms.

“Uh, yeah, now I’ve added the two of you to the list,” Stiles muttered and got out his phone. “Peter, Derek, Cora, Deaton, Harris, the Professors, Jimmy, and Joe and, uh...”

“Me,” Lydia said with a roll of her eyes even if Stiles did not look ready to admit it. “Just because I keep finding these bodies all the time and because I kind of resurrected Peter Hale and not remembering most of it.”

Joe caught Jimmy studying the contents of his teacup, not looking up. Okay, if she didn’t know him, she’d be suspicious too.

“It’s not Cora,” Joe said instead.

“Really? No one knows anything about her and she just shows up out of the blue, not even Derek knowing she was alive and, you know, she’s Derek’s sister. Major creep factor right there.”

“For what it’s worth, and this pains me to admit, I don’t think it’s Derek either,” Jimmy supplied with a frown, fiddling a bit with his sunglasses. “As Joe wisely said once, subterfuge is not his ‘game’. And he would definitely have gone for the warriors first.”

Joe nodded in agreement. “Mm, for the strength.”

Stiles blew a raspberry and narrowed his eyes. “You’re not gonna deny it’s you?”

“Joe was still locked up during the first murder. I know _when_ it was because I read the newspaper, Mr. Stilinski,” Jimmy added when Stiles did not exactly look less suspicious at this. “A case like this would catch my attention.”

“Wait,” Lydia had a thin smile to her lips and tilted her head, “you said _Joe_ was locked up. Where were you?”

“Scheming,” Jimmy said with a grin and Joe nearly laughed when she saw Lydia fluster. Sometimes she forgot how attractive Jimmy was to the general society. “But unfortunately not to plan the threefold deaths of three virgins.”

They fell silent for a while, Jimmy still scrolling through the notes Stiles had made on his laptop. Joe saw some reference to mistletoe and a map of where the people were last seen and where they were found. All of them tied to trees, except the lifeguard who was in the high chair at a pool.

“I still don’t like this about the virgins,” Joe said after a while.

Stiles gave a shrug. “Well, yeah, no one really likes virgin sacrifices, Joe.”

“No, I mean, the motive bugs me. There’s always a motive, okay? My dad always says you have to follow the money when it comes to crime. There’s something to be gained. What could be so important for this person that they started with the virgins instead of warriors?”

Leaning back in his chair, Jimmy thought out loud. “Ritualistic sacrifices of virgins have been tied to achieving beauty, purity, power of seduction...” His brows furrowed. “You’re thinking it’s a woman?”

“Yeah, I kind of do. Men would typically start with the warriors, build strength first, gain power. It’s profiling 101. I mean, seduction sounds most likely, but who in Beacon Hills is worth sacrificing three virgins for?”

No one had an answer to that.

Stiles made a face. “If we’re looking for women, it means the only suspects are your professors.”

Joe thought about this. “I’m not writing them off completely, but they’re married, uh, to each other and did not look any extra beautiful or pure when I saw them last. And they’re not even in Beacon Hills. Why go here to do a bunch of murders?”

“To throw off suspicion? Lack of people with virginal qualities in Berkeley?”

“Too easy. I think we have to expand that list of yours with suspects.”

Preferably starting with a certain teacher at Beacon Hills High School — the Alpha’s Emissary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little "mundane" breather after the last chapter that got kinda heavy. 
> 
> And before you're coming for my boy Scott here, he has his reasons for acting the way he does. Not saying they're good reasons, but they're reasons. And he's not the most socially adept, so it's coming off as asshole-ish. 
> 
> Anywho, hope you enjoyed it! Loving all of the comments and discussions (and theories!) these last few chapters ❤ Please let me know what you think of this one too. Bonus point if you can figure out why the Alphas wanted Joe to kill Erica 😇
> 
> Thank you for reading! Have a great weekend, guys!


	66. The Teacher

_In order to unlock your true potential, you will be the one doing the killing._

“Farmers, bards, druids, soldiers, and kings.”

“No.”

“Slaves, freemen, warriors, artisans and nobility.”

“No.”

“Uh...Warriors, priests, mages, warlocks, and rogues.”

“Wait, is that an actual theory?” Joe asked and leaned over to look at Erica’s screen. It showed some colorful characters with larger-than-life weapons. Her face fell. “That’s the base classes of World of Warcraft.”

“Whatever. This was not what I meant when I said I wanted to help,” Erica pointed out and went back to the search engine. She was in good enough shape to walk around the apartment now, so they had moved out to the living room where she used Joe’s computer and Joe herself lay across one of the armchairs. “I’m sorry, but who cares about some random serial killer right now? We got actual mass-murdering psychopath Alpha werewolves to worry about.”

“They might be related. The timing makes it too much of a coincidence.”

Erica made an impatient sound. “It doesn’t make any sense anyway. Virgins are not a social class. I don’t go up to people and say ‘Hi, I’m Erica Reyes, virgin’, I say I’m a high school student or something.”

Joe put down the heavy textbook on Celtic lore. “You’re saying we’re taking this too literal?”

“Sure, if that’s what you got out of that.”

“Virgins and warriors...they both represent only an aspect of your personality. You can be both,” Joe said, thinking out loud to the generally disinterested Erica. “I’m worried this might be one of those where you need more victims before you can establish the next pattern. The only common link so far is the high school. Again.”

Even the college student had gone to Beacon Hills High just a few months earlier.

Erica agreed with that at least. She checked the local newspaper again, but no new disappearances. “Yeah, Beacon High is kinda a hotspot for weird shit.” Erica pulled up the missing poster for Heather, the first victim. “This one didn’t go to Beacon High though.”

“Really? Stiles said she was a Sophomore.”

“Not at Beacon High. I’ve never seen her before and it says here she went to that fancy private school.” Erica showed her the page. An outlier or representing some part of the pattern they missed? Erica fiddled with her frizzy hair and studied the picture of the pretty smiling blonde, but turned to Joe. “Where are you going?”

“Beacon High.” She’d shrugged on a pair of shoes. “Gonna get my phone back.”

Erica looked uncertain, mouth drawn in a line and eyebrows pulled together. “Shouldn’t you wait until Jimmy gets back?”

“It’s still in the middle of the day. School’s gonna be full. They won’t try anything in public,” Joe said and hoped it was the truth.

Noticing Erica glancing at her hands, she held them out. Barely noticeable shaking. She’d slept better that night — felt awful to admit, but a few virgin sacrifices took her mind off her own problems.

“Scott, Isaac and Boyd are gonna be there.” Not that she thought Boyd would do anything more than watch and possibly applaud if the Alphas came after her. “It’ll be fine, Erica.”

“That’s what you said last time,” Erica pointed out and Joe sighed heavily. “And look how that went. You nearly died, I nearly died, it was a lot of nearly deaths, Joe.”

Slumping back down in the chair, Joe tried to give a brave smile. “If you don’t want me to leave, I won’t.”

“It’s not that. It’s just, we’re not any closer to beating Dickalion and his Douchebag crew. You said it yourself, we need Derek and Scott and the others.”

“That was bef-”

Erica scoffed. “Before me, I know. I’m the problem. I’m _your_ problem.” She got up gingerly from the chair and went to the fridge, picking out a soda can. “They _made_ me your problem.”

“I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you. Neither would Jimmy. You’re not a problem, Erica, you’re an advantage. And now you’re hurt and Jimmy’s not up to full strength yet and I...” Joe swallowed and dropped her head back. She finished weakly with: “And I’m not either.”

The petulant teenager showed when Erica muttered into her can. “Would’ve been stronger if you _did_ kill me.”

“Jesus Christ, Erica. That’s not the kind of strength I want.”

“Maybe that’s the kind of strength you need.”

And at that, she left Joe in the living room, slamming the door to the bedroom behind her. Leaning forwards, Joe took a deep breath. She could either stay here and analyze everything to death or she could go to the school and potentially beat up the Pack’s Emissary. Easy choice.

Jimmy had taken the car, leaving Joe to go on foot. Two birds with one stone, she could work out some excess energy. She wore running tights, a sports bra with a light top over it, and sneakers, allowing for full movement. Stuck to the crowded streets as she ran, no shortcuts through desolate alleys. No chance of an ambush.

The high school students milled about when she got to the school — must be between periods as the hallways were full. No one seemed to pay her any attention, she guessed the outfit made her look younger. As she didn’t know the full name of the Emissary, Joe just headed for the direction of the administration’s office. Either bluff or break into the database to find their roster. She kept a lookout for any familiar faces of the friendly kind as well, but it was impossible to tell one high schooler apart from the other.

At the sound of high heels tapping down the hall, Joe turned around. It was a teacher, but it wasn’t _her_. This was a white woman; a pretty and slim brunette in a pencil skirt and a blouse, clutching a stack of books to her chest. Something about her looked familiar — Joe only realized she was staring when the teacher held her gaze, even looking over her shoulder before getting into a classroom.

The hallways cleared pretty quickly around Joe, everyone heading for a class or free period. Shaking off the weird feeling — she was so sure she’d seen that woman before somewhere — Joe continued down the hall.

Another set of footsteps clicked behind her, more evident from the lack of people now.

_“I assume you’re looking for me?”_

Fists clenched, ready for a fight, Joe turned around. _This_ was her.

Early to mid-thirties, thin medium stature with light brown skin and long straight hair. Dressed as a typical high school teacher with black slacks and a green top — pencil skirt and blouses were not that typical. Completely relaxed, not surprised to see Joe at all. Same small smile as when she’d first seen Joe at the diner and Joe could feel her hackles raise at the sight.

“Mind if we do this in my office?” the woman asked and tilted her head to have Joe follow her. Despite her misgivings, Joe did — it’d be fewer witnesses in the office.

“Are you seriously the school’s guidance counselor?” Joe had to ask when they reached the door with the sign saying just that. The woman nodded patiently as she unlocked the door, holding it open for Joe. “Explains _a lot._ ”

“I’ll have you know, I have a Master’s in psychology.” The woman indicated Joe to take a seat in front of the desk. “As well as three hundred hours of supervised training.”

Something about those words rang a bell and Joe recalled a conversation with Stiles a long while back. “And you also teach French?”

The woman tilted her head, almost looking impressed. “You’ve done a background check on me?”

“Let’s just say that I’ve heard of your work and I can’t say I’m impressed,” Joe leaned forward to read the nameplate on the desk, “Miss Morrell. Kids in this school are messed up.”

Miss Morrell smiled again. Something familiar about that too, but not on this face. “Call me Marin.”

“I’m not gonna call you shit. I want my phone. Walker told me you have it.”

Putting her hands together in a pyramid, Marin leaned over her desk. “I don’t have it anymore.”

“You have _got to be kidding me!”_ Joe rose from her chair in an instant, placing her fists on the desk and leaning over herself to stare down at the woman. “What is this, Super Mario? ‘Thank you, but our princess is in another castle’? Who the hell has my phone?”

Marin did not back down an inch. That same Mona Lisa-smile always on her lips. “ _She_ does.”

_She_. Joe took a step back, hands shaking.

“They want you back, Josefina.” Marin pronounced the name almost with a French accent. _Sho-se-fina._ “They’re not unreasonable. They can wait.”

“No,” Joe said, no hesitation, although not sure if she was answering or just denying everything.

“And he wants both of you,” Marin continued as Joe kept backing away, stumbling over the chair. “Derek told you they came to see him? You must have felt it at least, when Kali impaled him on a steel pipe.”

Instead of answering, Joe retreated blindly towards the door. Her chest tight, as if impaled all over again. “Shut up.”

“Josefina, I’m on your side. You know that, deep down. I’ve been helping you. That is why I took your phone and told Professor Walker to cover for you.”

“Cover for me by letting me be held captive for months.” Refusing to acknowledge the contradicting statements, Joe focused on details. “How do you know Walker?”

“I’ve been an Emissary for a while,” Marin said calmly. “Sarah and I go way back. And Bridget, of course, even longer.”

Something about the way she said that. A small tilt to the head, a glint in her eye. It reminded Joe too much of the only other Emissary she had ever heard about. So much she forgot what Marin actually said. “You and Deaton...”

“Also go way back,” Marin said, now with a half-smile, as if pleased with Joe.

“Oh my God. Do you lose the ability to answer questions when you take your druid-exam?”

Marin looked even more pleased with Joe and articulated each syllable carefully with her plump lips: “You didn’t ask me a question, Josefina.”

Technicalities, thought Joe and tried to get her bearings. “You’ve been answering my texts, right? How did you know about the jacket I wanted to give Scott?”

It might have been her imagination but Marin’s smile seemed to stiffen a bit. “Do you remember everything from your time with,” her straight white teeth came into sight momentarily, “ _them_?”

Joe’s hand was halfway up to her neck before she caught herself. Was Marin asking to give her a hint or because she didn’t know? Every nerve ending in Joe’s body screamed about this being some kind of trap. “Why would I talk to any of them about Scott’s jacket?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

The words sent chills down Joe’s spine — those were Derek’s words.

“I wouldn’t,” Joe said, but could hear the hesitation in her own voice. “Right?”

“Are you asking me,” Marin raised her delicate eyebrows up, “or telling me?”

“Both. I don’t know. Uhm...” Without intending, Joe focused on her hands. Steady. So why did she feel so confused? The anger and intent she had entered the office with had waned. Joe rubbed her forehead to try and piece together her thoughts. “My car. Where’s my car?”

“Your car? I don’t know. What’s so special about your car?”

“It’s mine.”

A small pause. “I see. There’s a chance the same _people_ who took Mr. Carter, took your car as well. If you want, I can look into it.”

“No.” The answer came without hesitation. Joe did not want to owe this woman any favors. Right now she just struggled to breathe. “I’ll find it myself.”

“Fine.” Marin tilted her head to the side again, the lack of smile indicating that play-time was over. “You should get some sleep, Josefina. You look a little _rough_.”

Another hint? Taunting? How much did she know?

“Now if you’d excuse me, Josefina, I have an appointment in a few minutes.”

Somehow, Joe managed to get out of the office without passing out.

Marin’s words roared in her ears. There was a power to that woman. With Professor Walker, Joe had been ready to fight hard from the get-go, but with Marin, she lost her nerve. Just in her head or a little Emissary _juju?_ Could she picture that woman performing virgin sacrifices?

No, she realized. He wouldn’t let her. It would make her too powerful. Or was that exactly why she was doing it?

Joe looked at her hands as she walked — still only a mild tremor. She took a deep breath and flexed them. Hard to tell if there was any improvement or not. So focused on her hands, she nearly missed the familiar lanky boy slouched in a chair outside the administration’s office.

“Stiles?” she asked and he did a double-take in his seat, putting a magazine over his face. Eyebrow raised and Marin momentarily forgotten, Joe walked up to him. He had obviously been looking through the windows into the office and-

“Shit!” she yelped and ducked down. Sheriff Stilinski had nearly spotted her. In a crouch, she waddled over to Stiles and hissed: “What are you doing?”

His nostrils flared, annoyed at her presence. “Spying on our dads.”

“Why?” She crawled into the seat next to him, keeping her head down. The talking inside was barely audible, just a murmur.

“They’re investigating the sacrifices,” he whispered.

Joe tried to glance through the windows, but only saw the back of a dark blue jacket moving around. “Have they found the Chemistry teacher?” Stiles shook his head no. “Wait, _our_ dads?” She took another look and sure enough, Special Agent Rob Delgado in sunglasses and FBI-jacket. “Motherf-”

“He’s heading the task force for the FBI,” Stiles confided and looked in again. Unless he had somehow also acquired super hearing lately, she had no idea what he was hoping to gain. They were just talking in there, no maps or pictures. “They think it’s a serial killer.”

“Tough call with that victimology list. They’re all over the place.” Gender, ages, ethnicities, and status. No common link. Speaking of. “Hey, Stiles.”

“Mm?”

“That girl Heather, the first victim,” Joe whispered, leaning over to Stiles. “She was the only one without a connection to the high school. And she was the first victim. So she might be more significant than the others, more symbolic, you know? Do you think we can find out more about her? Do you know anyone at her school?”

“Uh, no,” Stiles admitted, looking down at his hands. He swallowed. “But, uh, I was there when she was taken.”

Joe blinked. “What?”

In a rush, Stiles explained that they had been childhood friends and she’d invited him to her birthday party and...

“And?” Joe prompted, still keeping half an eye on the men inside the office in case they suddenly appeared outside.

Stiles cleared his throat and the words came even faster, if possible: “And uh, she took me down to the wine cellar with the announcement that the only thing she wanted for her birthday was not to be a seventeen years old virgin. We, uh, didn’t have a, uh, condom, so I ran upstairs to get one and when I came down, she was gone.” He laughed awkwardly, picking at his fingernails. “I figured she’d just changed her mind and was too embarrassed to face me, so I grabbed Scott and left.” He took a breath, obviously glad to be over with telling Joe that. “What? Why are you giving me that look?”

“Stiles, are you- or were you?”

He gave her a side-eyed look with his mouth locked in a tight ring. “Not answering is the same as answering here, right? There’s no way out of that question.” Stiles cleared his throat again as if shaking off the awkwardness. “Yes.” He blinked. “Wait, you don’t think?”

Joe shrugged now. “I don’t know, but you said it yourself. You ran upstairs to get condoms, which by the way I am so proud of you for being responsible,” Stiles looked like he wanted to sink through the chair, “and she was gone when you came back. You might have been the actual target.”

“So it’s my fault that-”

“No! No, no, no, no!” Joe exclaimed hurriedly, holding up her hands to stop him from talking. “God, no! It’s not your fault, Stiles. The fault lies with whoever is actually doing the murdering. And it’s just a theory, nothing more. But if it’s true, then the high school is definitely the center of this whole mess.”

Stiles gave her a panicked look. She’d been too loud. No chance of avoiding the inevitable. They both flinched as the door opened next to Stiles’ head and even though he slid down with a magazine in front of his face, his father did not seem particularly fooled.

“Long time, no see, Joe,” the Sheriff said tiredly, hands in his belt and leaning against the doorframe. “How’s that degree coming? Heard you’re getting published.”

Trying Stiles’ tactic, Joe also sank down in the chair and gave the Sheriff two thumbs up. She had to get out of there. Just make a run for it. She could _not_ face her dad right now. Could not, would not, should not. If she saw him, she’d cave and come clean and he would be dead. And, depending on the outcome of her confession, she might be the one doing the murdering.

The Sheriff looked exasperated at Stiles, who tried to convey something with a lot of frantic hand motions. He gestured to Joe, to the door, shaking his head, miming to keep his mouth shut. Bless his heart, Joe thought, but the Sheriff had already said her name loud enough for everyone to hear.

Just as Joe got ready to actually sprint out of here, the Sheriff glanced inside the office for a second. He looked confused, almost non-verbally asking ‘Are you sure?’ then shrugged and started closing the door on them.

“You two, get to class or...go home. Just get out of here.”

The door clicked shut and Stiles gave her a big relieved grin. “Close one.”

“I think that counts as more than close, Stiles,” Joe said and got up, careful to keep her back to the window. If she ignored him, she could pretend he wasn’t there. If he thought she was angry with him, he was safer. And to be fair, she was kind of angry with him, she just didn’t know if it was justified or not.

She kicked Stiles’ foot to make him get up. “Dude, come on. What class are you skipping to be here?”

“Just English, of which I am pretty fluent,” Stiles mumbled, but did get up to follow her. He checked his phone. “And it should be over right around...now!” On cue, the doors started opening in the hallways and students began filing out again. Stiles smiled happily at her. “And now it’s lunch!”

“Whatever, smartass,” Joe said and swatted lightly at his head. They stopped at a corner to avoid getting swallowed by the student mass. “Hey, listen, do you know where the Argents live? Scott said it was downtown, but that was all he said.”

“Uh, yeah, I have the address.” Stiles got out his phone again and sent it to her. “I’m assuming you’re not planning a girl’s night with Allison?”

Joe laughed without humor as she saved the address. “Just gonna collect some debt.”

Her words drifted off. She felt watched, again, as if she was undoubtedly someone’s sole focus of attention. Slowly, she looked up. The classroom door to where that teacher had gone through, the one in the pencil skirt, was open and people were coming out. Among them-

“Ethan,” she whispered at the sight of one of the twins.

One of the Alphas. Here. At the school.

Like his brother, Ethan was lean and muscular with light brown hair and wearing a black leather jacket. He seemed as surprised to see her as she was to see him. Hands shaking, she put down the phone, not hearing Stiles’ questions or seeing the hand waving in front of her face.

They were _here_.

Where was the other one? They were never far apart from each other.

Joe stared at Ethan who stared back, both unmoving. Tunnel vision crept in, blurring everyone else out. She curled her fingers into her palm and enveloped them with her thumb, keeping it aligned and tight to get maximum impact when throwing a punch. Clenched fists — Ethan noticed and he blinked, eyes opening to shine red.

Gritting her teeth, she began moving forwards and got one step before someone else jumped in front of her. Scott.

“Whoa, hey, Joe!” he said and put a calming hand on her shoulder. He’d blocked Ethan from her sight and she tried to peer around him, locate her target and Scott was mirroring her. “Joe. Joe!”

“What?” she snapped, finally paying him attention. Ethan was gone anyway.

He blinked, obviously taken aback. “Uh, hi? What are you doing here and,” he lowered his voice and dragged her to the side of the hallway so her back was against some lockers, “why do you smell like you want to kill someone?”

“Because I want to kill someone.” No need to sugarcoat it, but she tried to take a calming breath. She was supposed to be the adult here. “Why didn’t you tell me _they_ were at the school? Where’s his brother?”

Isaac appeared from nowhere and leaned against the lockers at her side. “We sort of got him suspended the other day.”

“And not to be the voice of reason here,” Stiles slammed against the lockers on her other side, trapping her in a teenage boy cage, “but attacking an Alpha werewolf seems kind of dumb. As a human myself, I see many, many violent and painful problems with that, in fact.” Stiles drew in a deep breath. “And not to be a creep, but you are definitely not concealing a shotgun anywhere on your person. At least nowhere that’s still PG-13.”

“Shut up,” Joe muttered and shrugged Scott’s hand off her. She pushed all of them away, to give her some damn space. Her hands shook and she flexed her fingers. “Go to class or whatever.”

Stiles addressed his classmates. “Am I losing my mind or is she _becoming_ Derek by now?”

“Okay, you know what, maybe Derek had the right idea?” Joe tore around and gestured at Stiles, who immediately retracted into the lockers. “I’d be constantly pissed off too if I had to spend all my time with a bunch of incompetent high schoolers.” She gestured to the general direction of where Ethan had gone. “And by the way, those two are _not_ high schoolers, and the fact that they’re posing as some is so disturbing I can’t even-”

“W-w-well, how old are they?” Stiles stuttered and straightened up a bit from where he had tried to physically conjoin with the metallic lockers.

Hand shook so much it was only a matter of time before Scott would notice. She rubbed her forehead, pressing her hand against her skin to keep it steady. “I don’t know! I don’t care.” Out, she had to get out. “Oh, and by the way, your guidance counselor’s one of the bad guys.”

She was already halfway down the hall when she heard Stiles’ call of: _“Like evil druid kind of bad guy?”_

“Maybe!”

* * *

_I don’t care what Duke says. Either you learn or you die, Sefina._

Running back downtown cleared her mind somewhat. It also made her break a sweat and that was one of the downsides with bangs, she thought, as she pushed them out of her face for the hundredth time or so. Rationally, she knew she should go back to the apartment. Go back to Erica and Jimmy, safety in numbers and all. Still, as she flexed her perfectly human hands devoid of claws, she felt she needed something to compensate.

The address Stiles gave her led to another high-rise apartment complex in Beacon Hills. This one also refurbished in the past decade or so, while maintaining a lot of the 60s style decor and accents. Stiles had not given her an apartment number, but he didn’t need to. A sign in the entrance hall listed Argent Arms International in number 402.

The trembling started back up just by looking at the nameplate. Argent. Kate. Gerard. Hunters. According to Scott, it was just Chris and Allison here.

In the elevator, Joe rubbed her face, trying to work out the frown it seemed to be permanently set to these days. Maybe this was why Derek never smiled. Muscle memory setting the default to pissed off. Joe always had a case of resting bitch face, but nothing about her felt resting anymore. Bitch part checked out though.

Going up to one of the higher stories, Joe found herself outside apartment number 402. Same sign on the door here as in the entrance hall, so she guessed Chris must conduct some of his business from here. Swallowing, wishing the tights had pockets so she could put her hands in them, she rang the doorbell.

Not hearing anything, Joe looked at the peephole with what she hoped was a neutral friendly expression. The door opened a few seconds later to Chris Argent’s confused face. He looked exactly the same as the last time she saw him, albeit even more tired if possible.

“Joe Delgado,” he said and silently stepped aside to let her through. “I don’t know why I’m not surprised anymore.”

“Welcome back from France,” Joe mumbled and entered the apartment.

Color-scheme and decor reminded her of their impressive house she had visited on a few notable occasions. Still, something seemed amiss, as if Chris had copied, but was unable to replicate exactly what she assumed was Victoria Argent’s original idea.

Not in the mood for much more bullshit today, she turned with her arms crossed. “I want a gun.”

“And here I was going to offer you coffee,” Chris said with a small smile.

Her social skills were severely lacking lately, Joe thought. “Okay, fine, that sounds great. But I still want a gun.”

Chris led her down the hall to the corner of the apartment, with a view overlooking Beacon Hills. No pictures on the walls, at least not yet, because they couldn’t have been living here for long. They had installed one of the fancier coffee-machines, using capsules instead of grains, and he had two cups ready in just a minute. He handed her one and placed himself by the windows while she sat down in an armchair.

“How was France?” Joe asked after racking her brain for anything appropriate to say.

Chris gave a not-bad-nod. “Uneventful. How was California?” At her narrowed eyes, he explained. “Allison heard from Lydia who heard it from Stiles. As I said, we are not in the habit of stalking people. Besides I am staying out of,” vague hand gesture, “all of this. Allison and I have a deal.”

“Really?” she said, not answering his question. The less he knew about her three months MIA, the better. They sipped their coffees in silence for a while, each staring out the window.

“What happened with the shotgun?”

“It was stolen,” Joe said, figuring it was as close to the truth she could get. Last time she saw it, it had been in the car. Alphas wouldn’t have bothered to take it, it was probably wherever the car was — and judging by Marin’s words, that might be in Mexico. “And I don’t want a shotgun. I want a rifle.”

At that, Chris raised his eyebrows and sighed. “You want a rifle?”

“Yeah.”

“What for?”

“To kill an Alpha.”

“Which one?” Chris realized his mistake when she raised her eyebrow. “I am _trying_ to stay out of it, at least. Scott asked me for help to track down the beta killing machines during the night of the full moon. And I tracked, before you ask, didn’t hunt.” He took another sip of coffee. “Not a hunter anymore.”

Not sure what to say to that, Joe just shrugged and finished her own coffee. Did that help or increase her trembling hands? Hard to tell. Was Chris being sincere in his statement about not being a hunter? Also hard to tell. Irony at its finest that she had missed out on the chance to be a walking lie detector, instead she only got this stupid healing and strength.

“Come on,” Chris said after a while. “I want to show you something.” Getting up, she followed him back down the hall into one of the first doors. His office, by the looks of it. Legitimate business, at least from what she could tell, with brochures, catalogs, and product samples.

What he wanted to show her, was less legitimate. He unlocked his computer to pull up a large interactive map, with different dots in the US, trailing down well into the Mexican borders. “Kate’s movements. Lost her trail down south, but I’ve got feelers out in the border states if she shows up there.”

With so much damage Kate was doing just in Joe’s head, it was almost unbearable to think of her showing up again.

“And what are you going to do if she does?” Joe turned her head from the screen to look at him, but his expression was neutral as always. “You know what she is now.”

“Bites from an Alpha either turns or kills,” Chris said evenly. “Bites from a Demi? Who knows?” He snorted at her expression. “My family’s been doing this for a long time, Joe. I know what a Demi Alpha is. And I know how they’re made. I know your friend had to be regularly ingesting wolfsbane for months before being bitten. I know he had to keep ingesting it for months after being bitten, I know the toll it took on his body and how his control might have varied throughout the process.”

He folded his arms and turned off the computer. “I’ve seen plenty of Omegas follow the same path, or try to. Where most fail is the discipline to their mind and body to rely only on themselves for strength, a discipline most commonly associated with monks.”

“Yup,” said Joe, thinking of the meditation tapes and chamomile-tea. He was not supposed to have caffeine, didn’t even eat meat. She knew all of this. And she had also seen the consequences of him losing control, but at least it seemed those news hadn’t reached Chris yet or he had at least not connected the dots. “Kate’s still on the FBI’s most-wanted list. I’m not worried about her right now.” A blatant lie, but a necessary one. “I’m worried about the Alphas.”

“You’re not the only one,” he said in a low voice, almost so low she didn’t catch it. “As I told you before, the gun matters less than the accuracy. And with Alpha werewolves, even a headshot is only enough to slow them down.”

Joe groaned and sat down in Chris’s office chair. “So I need wolfsbane bullets? What else can kill an Alpha?”

“Apart from another werewolf?” Chris seemed to mull over the question, not noticing Joe’s newfound attentiveness. “Keep them wounded long enough for them to die. Keep them from healing. Decapitation does the trick. A bisection is necessary to keep them from being resurrected. Problem isn’t killing them, it’s getting to that point. They’re faster, stronger, and usually not alone.”

“True power of an Alpha comes from its betas,” Joe murmured, having been told it repeatedly lately. “And these guys straight up absorbed that power, which should have left them alone, but then another sociopath comes along and bands them together.” She threw her head back with a groan. “Can I get an assault rifle that’ll make someone’s head just burst like a dropped watermelon?”

“I’m guessing your dad’s lecture on guns ended with .22 pistols.” Chris leaned on his desk as he explained. “You don’t want an assault rifle, you want a marksman rifle.”

“Like a sniper rifle?”

He snorted again. “Do you have the skills and training to take out these Alphas from a thousand yards? Thought not.”

Chris got up from the desk and opened up what had looked like to be a regular filing cabinet, but with a serious heavy lock that he now opened. The drawers pulled out with a release of vacuum, signaling a bit more sturdy construction than she first realized and he pulled out a sort of Call of Duty-gamer’s wet dream of a rifle. All smooth fiberglass in a dusty gray color and an optic scope on top.

“This is an eighteen-inch M1A with a suppressor and a Blackfeather RS stock,” he explained appreciatively and turned the weapon over. “Semi-auto, medium power scope, red dot backup, and .416 Magnum caliber. Enough to take down the African Big Five, and as it turns out, most American ones. Never failed me once.” Chris smiled at her over the rifle as he held it up to his shoulder. “You’re not getting this.”

Joe gaped as he put the rifle back into the filing cabinet. “What, but I thought-”

“You thought I was going to hand over an illegally modified military-grade weapon to a civilian? Look, if you want to protect yourself from werewolves, you’ll do better with a taser wand.”

“I don’t want to protect myself, I want to-”

“Kill them, I heard.” Chris’s disappointed expression hurt more than she thought it would. “Allison and I made a deal to stay out of this. Something you might want to consider.”

She threw her head back with a groan. “I can’t. I can’t stay out of this. They’re after Derek and...”

To her utter humiliation, Chris nodded knowingly. “The mate thing.” He gave her another disappointed look as if she should know better than to be surprised by now. “I was there when you tore Scott a new one, I can connect the dots. Sharing pain is the most obvious sign of a mate-pair. I’m guessing Kate knew, which is why she worked so hard on getting you away from him.”

“Yeah, she figured it out before me,” Joe muttered, now back at all the memories with Kate, none of the good kind. Drawing out the words, as if she hadn’t chanted it to herself in vivid nightmares for months now, she said: “Separate the mates.”

She must have looked pretty down, as Chris sighed and went back to the filing cabinet. He opened a different drawer and extracted a familiar-looking pistol. The 9mm, either the same or identical to the one Kate had used. Kate. Always Kate. Kate Kate Kate.

“For self-defense,” he said and handed it to her along with a clip of ammo. “Regular bullets. It’ll slow them down. Give you time to get away.”

Not what she had envisioned, but what she was getting. “Thanks.”

The top she wore was loose enough to conceal the pistol stuck in the waistband of her tights. Chris offhandedly told her they made special clothes for concealed carrying and he had a brochure if she wanted. She declined his offer and thanked him again before heading out to the elevator. Half the day had gone by and she had to get back to the apartment. The thought made her pause in the hallway — why did she need to get back to the apartment? Because of Jimmy?

There seemed to be a lot of people living or working in the building, but Joe got lucky and the elevator was empty when she stepped in. She hit the button for the ground floor, but for some reason, the elevator went up first to the penthouse. Maybe some override-function because whoever lived in the penthouse was probably rich enough to own the entire building.

Joe leaned against the wall, waiting for the doors to open so she could roll her eyes at whoever thought their time mattered more than hers.

The doors opened to an empty hallway. Joe rolled her eyes anyway and leaned forward to push the button again. The doors closed maybe an inch before a slim hand shot in and stopped them.

Black painted fingernails. Not claws. Not yet.

Joe would recognize that hand anywhere and she backed into the wall again.

“Hello, _Sefina_ ,” said Kali and came into the elevator. She smiled. “Going down?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another "short" one to catch our collective breaths.  
> Not the showdown with Marin as some might have expected, but those druids aren't lightweights either.
> 
> Cannot express how much I'm loving all the theories you guys are coming up with. Some are better than what I actually have planned, but gold stars to all of you basically. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed it and please let me know what you think ❤  
> (This is the second chapter in a row without Derek, but he's back in the next one. Don't worry ❤)


	67. Kali

_Okay, let’s try something else. You either learn — or_ they _die._

Not wearing shoes, the claws on Kali’s toenails clicked one after the other on the hard floor. She seemed to smile at Joe’s attempt at remaining still; not letting her fear get the best of her; not falling down to a whimpering puddle.

As always, there was a dangerous glint in Kali’s eyes as she took up position next to Joe by the far wall of the elevator. The doors finally closed and they headed down.

Taller than Joe by an inch or so, she looked down with the same lingering smile on her lips. Beautiful as she was, there was something in her expression that made people think twice when seeing her for the first time. Calling her beautiful seemed inadequate in fact. Head-turning might be more appropriate. Striking features, medium brown skin, and she usually wore leggings with a cropped shirt, like today. No shoes. Never shoes.

Joe flexed her fists so hard her knuckles were turning numb. Not letting them shake, not here, not in front of _her_. It made the rest of her tremble instead, a minuscule vibration, like a shaken can of soda ready to burst.

She closed her eyes when Kali let a clawed finger trail Joe’s cheek, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear. The claw scratched her skin, producing a small stinging welt of blood that immediately closed. The more experienced Alphas knew how to wound without the extra healing-time; knew how to just prove a point.

“You cut your hair.” Kali sounded pleased and caressed Joe’s cheek again, this time not cutting into her skin. Kali herself had long straight hair, the same dark color as Joe. “It’s a good look on you. Practical.”

Breathe, just breathe. Don’t listen, don’t react, don’t panic.

“Where have you been hiding lately? We stopped by Derek Hale’s place. Thought we’d find you there.” Kali finally retracted her hand and Joe tried not to flinch at every single movement. “We did find Derek Hale.” She snorted. “Can’t say I’m impressed. Takes after his mother.”

The words blurred into Joe’s mind. Kali had stabbed Derek with a steel pipe. Just the thought, just the memory of that pain, that physical object lodged through Joe’s chest... Joe swallowed, hoping to leave more room for air down her system. Her breath trembled too, only entering her lungs in small scared bursts.

Kali continued talking, as if unaware of Joe’s condition, as if the fear didn’t reek off of Joe. “Duke says he has potential. Says the _two of you_ have potential.” She made a small contemplative noise and crossed her arms. “We’ll see. I’m guessing you’re the reason he’s still alive. Did you take some of his pain? His injuries?”

Already feeling tiny beside Kali, Joe wanted to shrink even further. Like Isaac, she tried to hunch her shoulders, disappear into herself, bending her head down. Not here. If she just became small enough, she wouldn’t be here at all.

Joe flinched as the clawed hand came back to her cheek and trembled when it went down to her neck.

“If you’re not gonna answer me,” Kali whispered as she bent towards Joe’s face and even in the corner of her eye, Joe could see the red glow from Kali’s irises, “there are other ways I can find out.”

Feeling of claws in her neck. The sensation of memories muddled and looked at. Just the thought was enough to make Joe duck away from Kali’s arm, flinging herself into the corner of the elevator. Muscle memory finally kicked in and Joe reached back to her waistband, to the 9mm, hand closing over the grip.

Kali’s face split into a large smile, displaying a lot of straight white teeth. Including a set of canines that lengthened. “Are you gonna shoot me, Sefina?” She must have smelled the gunpowder or something. “Really? I mean, look at you, you can barely stand.”

She was right. Joe’s body trembled so hard now she had enough just to keep balanced, to remain upright. Pistol still in the waistband, hand still gripping it, but not pulling it out, not aiming, not shooting. Too scared. She’d miss or even if she did hit, it would only slow Kali down. Maybe hurt her, but not enough.

And then she’d retaliate. Joe knew it in her bones, broken over and over by those clawed hands.

Right then, the elevator dinged. They’d reached the ground floor.

With a lingering smile over her shoulder, Kali exited. “Pathetic.”

Not even noticing the crowd coming into the elevator, Joe finally let out a breath she’d been holding since she first reached for the gun. She slid to the floor in the corner, careful to conceal the pistol under her shirt again. Breathe, just breathe.

Some of the newcomers — normal people, without a clue of the danger they were in — gave her strange looks, but no one offered her a hand. No one offered her help. Probably looking a little too deranged for that, she thought, and a wild laugh escaped. No help for Joe.

Joe bolted out the next time the door opened. On the third floor, and she headed for the stairs instead of the elevator.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! They weren’t gone! They hadn’t forgotten her! She’d let herself be tricked into believing it was over, to let her guard down, but they were still here. Still waiting. At the school, with Scott. In the apartment building, with the Argents. They’d been at the loft, with Derek. At the hospital, with Aunt Mel.

Shaking so hard she had trouble breathing, Joe stumbled into the alley behind the building. Her breaths came in with harsh sucking noises, desperate for air, not getting enough. When she rubbed her face, her hands slid over the sweaty skin. It stung her eyes. God, she hated this. She hated this so much.

Couldn’t stay. Not here. Not this close. They weren’t keeping tabs on her, she realized, they were waiting for her to come crawling back on her own. Apartment still safe? No idea.

In a daze, Joe found she had automatically headed for the loft. Stupid goddamn instincts! Instead of going inside, Joe slumped down next to the front doors of the building. Stupid. She couldn’t go inside. Couldn’t go to Derek. The look in his eyes, when he asked about Erica, when he realized what she had done...

Joe gritted her teeth together, hoping to keep the noise inside, not letting out a heavy heart-bursting sob. Every inch of her itched to just go upstairs — to him — but she couldn’t. They’d kill him. No matter what Deucalion said. They’d make them kill each other.

_“Now, this is a welcome change.”_

Wiping her face again, she looked up at the familiar voice. Peter Hale, dressed in a smart light gray jacket and a pair of jeans, strolled up to her on the otherwise empty street. He smiled that half-smile of his, like he and he alone was in on a joke.

“I mean, you pining over Derek for once,” he clarified and sat down on his haunches next to her, leaning against the building like she was. “These past months have been brutal. Derek’s been Bella Swan-ing all over town. You know, I threatened to break his phone if he didn’t stop checking it.”

“Please leave me alone,” Joe mumbled, already thinking of the handgun in her waistband. It had been a long day already and it was still light out. Shooting Peter Hale sounded really tempting by now.

“Now, now, why don’t you tell Uncle Peter what happened?” Peter said, not moving an inch from his position. Joe kept her gaze trained on the sidewalk in front of them. “Was it that visit from the Alphas? Did Derek learn something he shouldn’t have?” When Joe did not answer, Peter sighed a bit and shrugged. “Not sure why he’s all high and mighty about it, he’s done plenty of mistakes himself. Rushing to action, our Derek. Not much of a planner.”

“Why don’t you go try this sympathetic uncle-routine on your actual niece or something? Leave me alone.”

“Interestingly, Cora has been sulking even worse than Derek lately. She was always a strange child the way I remember her. Quiet, always lingering in the shadows, listening to things she shouldn’t be.”

“Fascinating.”

“Not particularly,” Peter disagreed. “Want to hear something that is though?”

For some reason, he held out his hand where his claws extended with a faint _snip_. It took everything Joe had not to recoil immediately — she forced herself to stare at his face with detachment. Part of her wished he would try something. Give her an excuse. She could take him _easily_.

“I’m, as you know, a born werewolf and I know a few things about our instincts and general behavior. A werewolf will, in most cases without exception, always use their claws when attacking. Did you know that? A clenched fist is, of course, still a viable option when less-than-lethal force is required. But, in fact, it takes practice — especially for someone bitten — to _not_ use their claws. ”

Joe sounded hoarse. “What’s your point?”

“My point is,” the claws went back into his hand, “that our boy Jimmy was _punched_ , not clawed when I found him staggering through the woods. However, with his injuries, it would seem his attacker was doing more than just trying to prove a point.” Peter tilted his head towards her. “See where it doesn’t add up?”

“Yeah, big mystery. Why don’t you ask Jimmy about it? Now, _please_ leave me alone.”

“And his wounds healed slower, so it had to have been an Alpha. Only one without claws...”

“I said,” Joe got up while reaching back for the gun, making sure he saw it, “leave me alone.”

At least Peter stopped talking, although he still smiled when he held his arms up. “Not to point out the obvious, but I’m not sure shooting me will bring you back into Derek’s good graces.”

“Considering how he slashed your throat once — with _his_ claws — I doubt he’d be too heartbroken.”

A glint in Peter’s eyes as he got up slowly, holding his hands up in surrender. The playfulness was gone, replaced by suspicion. “Funny, I can’t tell if you’re bluffing or not.”

“I’m not.”

“Hm. You’ve changed, _Josefina_.”

She took a deep breath, failing to get back in control. “You haven’t.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asked and before she knew it, he had disappeared inside the building.

It took some willpower, but she managed to let go of the pistol and back away from the door. He’d tell Derek, she realized. Did it matter? Did anything? She was losing control now. Seeing Ethan and Kali so suddenly threw her for a loop. She wasn’t sure about anything.

Not even sure how she managed to get back to the apartment. Already before she opened the door, she could hear the loud voices inside. She unlocked the door in the right order and wasn’t surprised to see Jimmy and Erica locked in an argument.

“ _Where the hell have you been?”_ Erica screeched the second Joe stepped inside. Her lips trembled as if they couldn’t find the right word to settle on.

“What’s going on?” Joe asked, even though she had a suspicion. Instead of the pajama pants and t-shirt, Erica was now dressed in jeans and had shoes on. She’d put on makeup as well, but it was already running down her face from sweat. Getting dressed hadn’t come cheap. “Erica, what do you think you’re doing?”

“She was already down the hall when I came back.” By the looks of it, Jimmy had just gotten back himself, still wearing both jacket and sunglasses. He tore the glasses off to snarl back as Erica turned to him with glowing eyes.

“Because both of you disappeared for the whole fricking day! You left me here, all alone, _for the whole day!”_

Joe’s insides went prickly and numb. “Did something happen?”

“No!” Erica roared and pulled on her hair. “I thought something happened to _you_!” Her lip pulled up, finally looking properly at Joe, more specifically, her hands. “And something obviously did.” There was no hiding that Erica took a step back, even if her voice laced with concern, trying to stay brave. “Are you okay, Joe?”

“No,” Joe said honestly and put the handgun on the kitchen island with a bang that made both of her roommates jump. She went for the coffee machine, letting her hands do the thinking. Instead of acknowledging Erica and Jimmy’s glances at each other, she focused on Jimmy. “Where were you?”

He seemed to hesitate to answer, not sure if he should let her shift the attention. Jimmy licked his lips, nervous in the presence of the gun. “I found the Chemistry teacher. The Stilinski-kid was right. He’s strung to a tree in the Preserve — strangled, throat cut, and head bashed in. Threefold death.”

“Mr. Harris?” Erica swallowed, putting an edge in her voice to sound tougher than she was. “Yeah, he’s a douche, he probably had it coming.”

Problems upon problems, Joe thought and watched the simplicity of the coffee machine run hot water through the grains. Leaning forward on the counter, she sighed. “Okay, did you call it in?”

Jimmy shrugged. “I wanted to run it by you first. Because of your dad and all.”

“Can’t at least _you_ try to think for yourself for five goddamn minutes?” Joe snapped, a bit harsher than intended, but instead of backing down, she followed through for once. Turning to Erica, she demanded: “And you? What was your plan if something had happened to us? You were gonna go after the Alphas on your own and what? Sway at them?” Joe scoffed, slipping back around to the coffee machine. “Look at you, you can barely stand.”

A few heartbeats of silence followed before Jimmy ordered: “Erica, go to your room.”

She was already well on her way there. The walls rattled when she slammed the door after her. Typical teenage behavior. _Stupid_ teenage behavior.

“You are being a little irrational,” Jimmy pointed out calmly, but Joe had caught how he had taken a deep breath to stay calm. “This isn’t Erica’s fault.”

Joe glared at her hands that would not stop trembling. Peter had been right. She _had_ changed. “I know! It’s my fault. But to my defense, I’m too young to effectively parent a sixteen years old werewolf _who is a total brat!”_

Erica’s voice came in a roar from the bedroom: _“Bite me! Oh wait, your boyfriend already did!”_

Joe felt her lip curl as she struggled with a comeback, everything from ‘You asked for it!’ and ‘He’s not my boyfriend!’, all sounding equally juvenile and stupid. A roar rose in her own throat and she swallowed it down, even if she knew she could put Erica back in her place with it. _Back in her place_. Jesus. Listen to yourself, Joe.

Hands still trembling, she crushed any reply and focused on the coffee. She knew Jimmy was looking at her with concern, she knew he had that same look as Derek from earlier — how he worried she was going to fall apart in front of him. She hated it.

“For what it’s worth, it’s equally my fault.” He had decided to back down, but she saw the muscles shift in his neck as he forced the transformation back. “I had not planned to stay for so long, but I was looking for clues.” Jimmy pulled something out of his pocket. It looked like dirt in a sandwich bag and Joe only raised her eyebrow at it when he put it on the counter. “See those small white beads? Berries. From mistletoe.”

She did see those white nubs in the middle of the soil. Joe rubbed her face and tried to think.

“Mistletoe. That’s what the Alpha’s emissary tried to use on me back at the diner.” It hadn’t worked and Joe had no idea why. “She used it on you, right?”

“She did,” a slight pause as Jimmy bit back a growl, “when the wolfsbane failed. Mistletoe is, hm, a versatile plant. Know anything about it?”

“Uh...Miracle plant.” That’s what the Celtics called it and Joe racked her brain for more info. “Super sacred, especially if it grows on oak.”

“It’s a parasite.” Jimmy leaned against the counter, keeping his distance from the gun. “It grows on trees, like you said, and feeds off them. Sucks the life out of it. That’s why it’s sacred, not holy. It grows out of nothing, flourishes when other things die, and can’t be controlled. Big hit among the druids, who sought balance above all else. Mistletoe can both poison and cure.”

Sighing, Joe studied the small plastic bag again. Big words for what looked like unripe blueberries. “It’s a clue?”

“The Celtic believed the mistletoe plant sucked up the essence of whatever tree it grew on.”

“Like the druid serial killer is doing with the different victim classes,” Joe continued, seeing where Jimmy was going with this. “Virgins and warriors. Who’s next?”

“Not sure. Could be scholars, healers, thieves...anyone’s guess. But when they start on a new set of victims, they work quickly. Did you find the Emissary?”

“Yeah,” Joe said and gave him a brief summary of her day. The Emissary, Ethan, Chris, and Kali. As she re-told the short elevator ride with Kali, she tried to clench her hands together. “She asked me all these things, scratched me and I just froze. Didn’t say a goddamn word, Jimmy, I just...froze completely.”

Coffee machine done, she was about to grab a cup, but Jimmy shut the cupboard door.

Noticing his purple eyes on her, she sighed. “What now?”

“You are running on an average of three hours of sleep, Joe. It’s not sustainable.” He brushed away her second attempt at opening the door. “You won’t be able to fight anyone if you keep this up.”

“Great, then it can be someone else’s fault.” Joe swiped at the cupboard, but Jimmy had several inches on her and simply moved his hand up without taking pressure off the door. “Jimmy, I swear to God, move your arm.”

“Can you at least try the Benadryl? Erica and I’ll both be here, you’ll be safe.”

Slamming her palm against the cupboard, she yelled: “I’m not taking any more pills, Jimmy! _Never_!”

He nodded in understanding, but never moved his arm. “Are you holding all the pain to your side now?”

“Always.”

That was the truth. It was impossible to turn off now, to let some of it go at all. Muscle memory, ingrained by months and months of forced practice. She was not sure she could have managed to shift the balance that way even if she tried — or even when Derek grabbed her and ordered her to.

Pushing that memory away, she narrowed her eyes at Jimmy. “Why?”

Jimmy nodded again without answering, pulling his sleeve up on one hand. “Good. Ride or die, right?”

“Ride or die, but-”

She barely had time to wrinkle her brows before his fist came straight to her face. One punch knockout.

* * *

_There you are. Feel that? Feel how strong you are?_

It was dark when she woke up. Completely pitch black. She flailed around, constricted by something, and for a brief second, she was back at the vault. Back hearing how the others moved around inside while she was held outside, tended to by Erica, reshifting her slow-healing cuts and bruises. Now her night vision kicked in and she realized she was in Jimmy’s bedroom.

Her nose throbbed gently — it had been a proper sucker punch. From a Demi Alpha, so who knew how that affected the healing process. Showed how much she let her guard down these days if even Jimmy could get to her.

“Son of a bitch,” she swore into the empty room, just because she could and to remind herself she was still human. Hah, okay, semi-human at least. Groaning, mostly because of muscles now stiff and uncomfortable after hours of lying dead in the bed, she tumbled to the floor.

Something shifted around behind her and she turned to see that it was Jimmy, fast asleep with his mouth open.

She emerged to the hallway where the lights were still on. A harsh transition from the dark bedroom.

“Motherf-”

Stumbling to the bathroom, she squinted at the intense light that seemed to follow her and did her business, grumbling under her breath. A quick look in the mirror showed she had a fading bruise around the bridge of her nose. Not swollen, so if it had been broken, it was healed now. Recounting how she acted, she guessed she had it coming. Jimmy was not normally prone to violence unless pushed into a corner.

How long had she been out? The living room windows showed a dark sky outside, but that could mean anything from a few hours to a full day. Judging by how stale the coffee still in the pot was, it was closer to the latter. Quiet apartment, so she tried not to make too much racket when brewing up a fresh pot. Her phone relayed how Scott had texted her asking if she was okay. Now he worried, huh?

While the coffee made itself, Joe answered him saying that she was. A lie. Nothing was okay and she did not really know how to fix it anymore. All those weeks plotting to make a plan to escape, foiled because Derek walked right into the trap the Alphas laid out for him.

Kali was a master mind-manipulator, no doubt she had planted several layers of false memories in Isaac’s mind. They’d wanted Derek to find the vault. They’d wanted him to break in and give two half-crazed werewolves their first taste of moonlight in months. Joe shook her head. No, their plan had failed before that, hadn’t it? But it had been salvageable until Joe lost it and attacked both Erica and then Jimmy who tried to stop her.

She missed Derek.

In the privacy of the kitchenette, Joe allowed herself a minute of silent crying. Of just being sad and lonely and hurt. When Erica had gone missing, it had felt like Joe had lost a limb. Now it felt like she had lost her heart. Hollowed out, not a full person.

Without thinking, she touched the inside of her wrist, where a kiss as gentle as sunlight had landed. She wanted that. She wanted Derek first thing in the morning, with sleepy eyes and messy hair, and soft kisses. The mate-bond still scared her. The thought of committing so thoroughly to one person scared her. And still, she wanted him. More than physically, she wanted all of him. Mind, body, and soul. Everything he was willing to give and she would match him equally.

She wanted his deadpan attempt at humor. She wanted his slight smile when she ranted about her work. She wanted his stubborn, stoic and strong self. All of him.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, huh? Or two months where she had no choice but to listen to Erica dissect and analyze every aspect of her and Derek’s relationship. This wasn’t how she had pictured coming back to Beacon Hills.

The fact that he had not missed her the three months she was gone, that he hadn’t known she was taken, that he was glad she was gone — it cut so deep into her it felt like a never-healing wound. And still, she knew she’d take his pain — all of his pain — in a heartbeat if necessary.

The 9mm lay imposing on the kitchen island where she left it. Jimmy wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole if she knew him correctly and Erica probably hadn’t come out of the bedroom since she stormed in there. Joe drank her coffee slowly, savoring the bitter aftertaste, studying the weapon, wondering what she was going to do with it. Or anything.

They were three people living in a two-bedroom apartment. If this arrangement was to continue, they had to find a more permanent solution. Not that Joe had much need of a bed, but it would be nice to have a place for her clothes at least.

No, Joe thought and closed her eyes in defeat, angry with herself. This was not permanent. Erica could not permanently stay hidden here — her family was still looking for her. This was just until they could figure out a way to beat the Alphas.

Not that Joe had much faith in her ability to do so after the fiasco with Kali. Frozen, like a coward. _Helpless, weak, pathetic._ So she had a gun. What good would it do?

The door buzzer sounded and Joe leaped to attention. Half of her wanted to go wake up Jimmy to have him listen to whoever was downstairs, but he needed the sleep too if he hadn’t already woken up from the sound.

Instead, Joe got the 9mm, loaded the clip, and checked the peephole of the apartment front door. Empty. The buzzer rang again.

She pushed the button to talk. “Hello?”

“ _Uh, hi, Joe? It’s Allison.”_

Of every bad thing Joe had expected, the youngest Argent wasn’t among them. Joe shrugged on her shoes and went downstairs, tucking the 9mm back in the waistband of her running tights. Allison stood clearly visible outside of the apartment building doors — she had cut her hair over the summer and lightened it, but otherwise looked the same. Nervous expression and all.

“Hi,” Allison said when Joe pushed the door open and stepped out, after checking to all sides. Allison must have noticed her perimeter sweep. “Uh, I’m alone.”

“Hi,” Joe said warily. The last time she saw this girl, she’d shot a tranquilizer dart into her neck and almost gotten her killed by the kanima. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, uh, well, no.” Allison hugged herself and took a deep breath. She wore an oversized knitted sweater that covered her hands. “Have you talked to Scott? Obviously you’ve talked to Scott, but today?”

“Not since,” Joe tried to piece together what day it was, and then just decided to wing it, “since earlier. Did something happen?”

Allison worried her lip and burst out: “I think they’re planning an attack. He and Derek and the others. On the Alphas.”

The words made Joe’s skin tingle. She listened to Allison explain what she knew. And more importantly, what she didn’t know. While she had overheard Scott agree to meet Deucalion — or this blind guy, as Allison called him — alone at a specified location, she didn’t know where Derek and the others held up in order to warn them.

“He can’t go alone, it’ll be suicide. But, uh, I’m not sure they’d listen to me,” Allison finished, smiling close-lipped and uncertainly at Joe. “It’s a trap. I mean, it has to be, right?”

“Sounds like it,” Joe agreed and tried to gauge Allison’s sincerity or motive for coming to her. “How, uh, are things between you and Scott now?”

“Good,” Allison said a bit too fast, caught herself, and laughed in an embarrassed manner. “I mean, it’s weird. I broke up with him, you know, after the whole-” She waved her hand around vaguely. “And he wasn’t even sad, because he said something that we’re meant to be together.”

Joe rolled her eyes, making a mental note to slap him for that later. “Oh Jesus Christ, seriously?”

“Yeah, I know, it’s weird, right? It’s not just me?” Allison asked and in a few seconds, reminded her a lot of Aunt Mel. “Anyway, it’s been kind of awkward since we haven’t talked in four months and now Dad wants us to stay out of this and I just...” Allison bit her lips together. “I just can’t, you know? It’s not- it’s not even about Scott, it’s that I don’t want anyone to get hurt again. Not if I can do something to stop it.”

Joe understood what she meant. “So what do you want from me?”

“Can you talk to Scott? Or Derek even? I-” Allison made a strange facial expression, raising her eyebrows and rolling her eyes at the same time. “I’m not Derek’s biggest fan, but anything to keep the Alphas from killing anyone.”

“I mean, I can try,” Joe said, already sounding doubtful at the prospect. Could she convince Derek this was a trap? It wasn’t about how much he trusted her, it was more how much he distrusted her these days. She gave Allison a concerned look. “Do you have a plan B?”

She did and Joe promised to contact her after talking with Derek and the others. Based on what Allison told her, Scott was going to meet up with Deucalion tomorrow, so they didn’t have much time.

Instead of going back into the apartment, Joe waited until Allison got in her car and sped off, leaving Joe free to run down to Derek’s apartment building. It was still kind of early in the night, she determined, based on the number of people still wandering around so she should be okay.

This was gonna be awkward, Joe thought and took the elevator up to Derek’s loft. Door already halfway open, she apparently arrived in the middle of a planning session with all her favorite werewolves huddled around the dining room table, sans Isaac. Derek and Peter were facing the doorway, glancing up at her arrival, but had probably detected her minutes before she walked in. Boyd, Scott and Cora stood on the other side of the table with their back to her.

Did her stomach turn to mush at the hard look Derek gave her? Absolutely. Did she have to physically force herself to keep walking instead of just running away? Also yes.

Only Cora and Scott seemed halfway happy to see her, Peter looked bored as usual, but she could have lived long without having to face Boyd. His jaw clenched and he looked decidedly away from her. On top of everything else, he had been close to Erica. It was unlikely he would try anything here in front of Derek — instincts and all — but she still found herself eyeing him just in case as she sat down on the steps just inside the doorway.

“Joe, what are you doing here?” Scott was the first to ask, the only one oblivious to the tense mood. The only one who didn’t know what she had done. “Is everything okay?”

“No.” Even at this distance, she could see what they were looking at and Joe nodded at the visible blueprints. “You’re walking into a trap. Again.”

“It’s called a pre-emptive strike,” Peter supplied helpfully with the ghost of a smile on his lips. Derek already had his arms crossed and focused on the table instead of her.

“It’s not pre-emptive if they’re expecting you.”

“They’re not expecting us,” Cora argued, glancing between Joe and Derek. Her usual stoic expression had shifted into excitement, not a good sign. “We followed the twins to the apartment building where they live.”

Scott nodded in agreement. “Yeah, and I met that blind guy, Deucalion, in the elevator earlier-”

“And I met Kali in the same building,” Joe cut off Scott and leaned back with one elbow on the top step. She was aware of Peter’s eyes on her, but tried to ignore him. It didn’t matter. “So we have three instances of them _wanting_ us to know their location, all in the same day. How much more obvious does this have to get?”

Derek finally spoke and his voice rubbed across her nerve endings like sandpaper as he did not even look at her. “We can still take them by surprise. They won’t know when or how.”

“They won’t care!” Joe said and knew immediately her voice was too high, too harsh. “They’ll be waiting for you anyway. You’re already outnumbered and it takes more than three betas to take down even one Alpha. You don’t stand a chance.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Peter said and turned to Derek with a ‘told you so’-smirk. “My point exactly.”

Without acknowledging Peter’s existence, Derek let out a small breath. “We’re going after Deucalion.” He kept his neutral expression, but his eyes seemed to linger on Boyd for a fraction longer than necessary. “Just him.”

“But we could use more help,” Cora said, addressing Joe. “Like your friend — Jimmy.”

Without hesitation, Joe said: “No.”

“Why not? With the way he handled those hunters-”

The loft fell silent as Cora cut herself off under the intensity of Joe’s glare.

“Look at that, she’s practically a Hale already,” Peter commented drily on Joe’s glare, but the smile was forced as he tilted his head. Looking between Joe and Cora, who were both locked in a staring competition, he asked: “What hunters? Exactly?”

“I don’t know,” Joe spat, not taking her eyes off Cora, and now Joe crossed her arms. “Why don’t you ask Cora since it sounds like she’s the expert?”

It was a dick-move to throw Cora under the bus, but she was acting like a child and she had no idea what she was talking about. She hadn’t been there when Jimmy ‘handled’ those hunters. She hadn’t seen the blood or entrails coating the walls, she didn’t wake up in a cold-sweat with that memory imprinted on her brain. Everything she knew stemmed from Erica’s re-telling of what had happened.

“Very well,” Peter conceded and turned to Cora. “What hunters?”

Like her brother, Cora was not particularly prone to blushing, but Joe recognized the tightening of her jaw as a sign of her discomfort. Embarrassment, usually coming across as anger. She held Joe’s stare for a second longer before she wisely broke off to the side. “Forget it.”

Tempted to say ‘That’s what I thought’, Joe decided to not rub it in and gave Cora a short nod of approval.

“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I am feeling incredibly convinced by that,” Peter said with a waxen smile. His eyes narrowed as the smile waned. “Come on, you gotta do better.”

“Why?” Joe asked immediately. “I thought knowledge was a valid currency these days.”

At that, Peter gave her a sardonic smirk — even if he did not approve of her methods, he grudgingly respected them nevertheless.

Scott looked confused. “But there aren’t any hunters anymore. The Argents retired.”

“The Argents aren’t the only werewolf-hunters in the world,” Derek said, careful to keep a neutral expression and Joe saw his gaze flicker to Boyd again. She wondered what kind of signals Derek was picking up on — probably nothing good.

Because if Boyd tried harder to avoid looking at Joe, his neck would snap from the sheer effort. Hell, even Joe could practically hear the leather creaking of the vest Boyd for some reason wore as he tightened his arms across his chest.

“Considering our history,” Peter leaned towards Derek, obviously trying to appeal to him, “I’d still like to know if there are going to be surprise-hunters showing up on top of everything else.”

Before Joe could reply, Boyd cut in:

“There won’t be,” he said, voice low and steady, eyes never wavering from Derek. “Because they’re all dead.”

As Joe closed her eyes in silent defeat — because _of course_ Boyd would just out Jimmy like that — a long silence followed.

“Okay, that’s certainly one way of handling things,” Peter said with a nonchalant shrug. “Guess we have nothing to worry about then.”

“Wait, hang on,” Scott said, trying to keep up with this new information. He glanced at Joe. “Jimmy killed someone? Jimmy? Your roommate Jimmy?”

“Jimmy, the guy who helped me escape from the Alphas,” Joe corrected, tilting her head to the side so she could stare down Scott. “And it doesn’t matter. What you’re planning is still suicide-”

“So we do nothing?” Boyd snapped, head tilted a fraction her way over his broad shoulder. “Sefina?”

The name sent spikes up her spine and choosing her words carefully, Joe bit out: “I’m not sure what killing yourself is gonna accomplish.” She met his stare without hesitation and added: “Verne.”

Just as Boyd’s eyes started to glow just a bit more yellow, Derek cleared his throat pointedly.

“You,” he addressed Boyd, who had snapped back to attention, and nodded at the blueprints, “find the most viable point of entrance.” Derek finally directed his bright eyes towards Joe. “You. A word?”

Without waiting for an answer, Derek left the table and stalked past Joe out into the hall. Rolling her eyes, mostly because of the audience, Joe got up to follow him and tried to ignore the queazy sensation in her stomach. Her talks with Derek hadn’t exactly been pleasant lately.

Her eyes narrowed when she saw him already in the elevator. Getting inside, she leaned against the opposite side of him and watched him push the button for the ground floor.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m being sent to the principal’s office?” Her voice was again sharper than necessary, but this was a change of pace and she didn’t like it. “Are you kicking me out?”

On the other side of the elevator — which was not far enough for either of them to escape the scent — he focused on the floor instead of her and heaved a sigh. “No, I wanted to talk in private.”

“You soundproofed your room.” It sounded like an accusation. Why would he not want her in there anymore? Another part of her was panicking about what he wanted to talk about. How bad would it be?

“I did,” he agreed, “but it’s not a hundred percent and I’m also suspecting Cora messed around with it. She was always a notorious eavesdropper.”

Always, Joe thought and wondered again how weird it must be for Derek to see her again after all these years. After six years of thinking she had died in the fire and then having her pop up alive and relatively well in a vault where he had expected to find Erica. Erica. Joe’s stomach churned just by thinking of that name, of what she had done to Erica, of how she had lost control. She couldn’t even blame Boyd for hating her.

“And I figured I’d separate you and Boyd before it got violent,” Derek commented drily as if he’d read Joe’s mind when they reached the ground floor. “Do I need to be worried?”

Shrugging, Joe exited the elevator. “That’s an open question. The answer’s probably yes, but you need to be more specific.”

Joe took up the spot against the wall outside of the elevator doors, cold bricks digging into her back through the sweatshirt. She tried to focus on her anger instead of the indentations in the bricks left by his claws several months ago. A different life, a different Joe.

This was obviously not going to be a repeat as Derek went to lean against his own wall on the other side of the hallway, probably twelve feet away. “What’s going on with you and Boyd?”

The words flew out Joe’s mouth before she could think them through: “Besides the obvious?”

Joe thought she would suffocate on the silence that followed.

“He knows?” Derek asked quietly after a while. No need to elaborate. They both knew what they were talking about.

“I think so.” Heart hammering hard in her chest, Joe tried to remember to breathe. “You didn’t tell him?”

“No.” Without looking at him, Joe only heard the deep breath Derek took. “You said ‘besides the obvious’. Is there anything else?”

“Ask him.”

“I did. He’s not saying much. Neither is Cora.” His voice was flat and indifferent. “And it’s starting to get old forcing them to talk. They’re saying I should ask you, so now I am.”

Shit. Misplaced loyalty. Folding her arms and forcing herself to not just run out the front doors, Joe sighed. “Death before dishonor.”

“What?”

“Death before dishonor,” Joe repeated in a louder voice. “Semper fi.” At Derek’s furrowed brows, Joe huffed. “You know his old man was a Marine, right? Afghanistan, two tours, died in combat? His ultimate hero and the one he was constantly comparing himself to?”

“I know.” Derek still looked nonplussed. “What’s that have to do with you?”

“Well, Boyd’s pretty big on loyalty. And he was kinda kicking himself for running away in the first place,” Joe kept her gaze firmly locked on the floor — that had been Erica’s idea and she had convinced Boyd to follow along, “and you might want to have some kind of talk with him about that because he was feeling they deserved to be captured by the Alphas because of their ‘desertion’, deserved everything that happened to them.”

Another uncertain nod from Derek. “And?”

Joe sucked in a harsh breath. “And Boyd probably thinks I should have resisted more.”

The tense silence dragged on for a while, neither she nor Derek looking at the other. Neither wanting to poke into that infected ball of discomfort. Joe hated this. It wasn’t the whole truth either, but it was part of it. That was the part she could take the blame for at least. The rest — refusing to let Boyd get himself killed because of that honor — was a decision she’d defend until her dying breath.

“Maybe he’s right,” Joe continued when Derek hadn’t said anything — she expected him to ask if she agreed with Boyd and decided to beat him to it. “Maybe he’s projecting his own issues onto me, I don’t know. Probably a combo. Don’t take it out on him, I can deal.”

“Joe-”

“I can deal,” Joe repeated and gave Derek a defiant glare, challenging him to disagree.

He looked resigned. “Okay. And Jimmy?”

Joe immediately pushed off the wall, paced around while shaking her head. “He’s not like you, Derek, he’s not a fighter. You can’t ask him to join you on this. He’s not been able to turn off his eyes for a month now, he’s not-

“I just,” Derek raised his voice slightly to cut her off, “want to know about the hunters. If it’s gonna be a problem.”

“No.”

He sighed. “Care to elaborate?”

“No.”

“Was Boyd lying?”

“No.”

“Joe.”

“What?” Joe snapped and turned to face Derek who had, like her, folded his arms across his chest. “What do you want me to say, Derek? Yes, Jimmy killed some hunters. Yes, it was self-defense. No, it wasn’t pretty.”

“How did hunters get into the vault?”

“Oh my God,” Joe groaned and rolled her eyes. “Cora really hasn’t told you anything, has she? Okay, fine. When Cora made her way from Venezuela up here, she picked up a tail of some South American hunters. The Alphas got her just a few days before me and,” Joe swallowed harshly, “they didn’t want Jimmy. They left him as a diversion to throw the hunters off Cora’s tracks.”

For a while, Derek just looked at the floor and she got the feeling he was listening for any signs of falsehoods. Unfortunately, there were none. His bright eyes glanced up at her. “And then he killed them?”

“No, then they forced him to shift completely and kept him in a cage for two months.” Even if she sounded detached, her hands shook and she tried to stuff them into the opposite armpit to make it less obvious. “Then when he got out, it was the half-moon and he lost control and _then_ he killed them. Happy?”

An involuntary shudder passed through her at the memory again. Fully shapeshifted Jimmy backed up in a corner was not to be trifled with. Derek opened his mouth like he was about to ask for more details, but he stopped himself. She could guess her chemosignals weren’t exactly reminiscent of kittens and rainbows right now. As his focus shifted to her hands, she flexed them hard to stop the shaking.

“How’s your arm?”

“What?”

Derek’s eyes flickered up to hers for a second before they dropped lower, silently indicating her crossed arms that despite her best efforts were still noticeably trembling. “Your arm. I didn’t- it’s not- it’s okay? Are you hurt?”

“What?” she asked again before connecting the dots. Her arm. Without thinking, she unfolded them and waved her left one around. “It’s fine. Healed.” More waving to prove it and she folded it back across her chest. “Don’t worry about it.”

His voice was so quiet and directed at the floor that she almost didn’t catch it. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

“Dude, you’re a werewolf.”

At least that made him look at her, his attention snapping to her face. “That’s,” he said slowly, “not an excuse or an explanation.”

“Any of this sound familiar to you?” she asked drily, tilting her head. No answer and she gave him another shrug. “You’re a werewolf, I get it. You guys play rough. It’s fine. I’m healed.”

He regarded her for a second and judging by his expression, he was not soothed by her statements. Rather the opposite. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I’m sorry that I did.”

The contradiction in his statement was almost too obvious for her to throw back at him.

“I just-” Like before, he dropped his gaze down, unable to look at her. Endless festering guilt.

“Wanted to see how bad it would get without you feeling it?” Joe guessed, ice coating her words. Now he closed his eyes, head bent down fully as he nodded slowly. “Yeah, then I’m sorry to say that you gotta try harder than that.”

As he bent his head down further, Joe felt the pang of guilt herself. This was not fixing anything. Making him feel worse did not make her feel better. The lack of sleep, the run-in with the Alphas, the thought of Derek’s and Scott’s suicide mission. Everything had her on edge today.

“I’m sorry.” It was Derek who spoke first, obviously forcing himself to look at her, and her thoughts melted into nothing when he did. “There’s no excuse for what I did, but I’m still sorry.”

“I said it’s fine.”

“Joe, it’s not.”

Joe rolled both her eyes and head around. “Deja vu, anyone? Stop trying to dictate what I should be okay with or not.”

“You should never be okay with me hurting you.”

“Right back at ya.” As usual, their conversations were full of words and no communication. She folded her arms again and leaned back against the wall. “Look, I didn’t come here for some half-assed apology from either side. You’re walking into a trap. Again.”

He remained quiet and she could see the muscles shifting under his shirt as he seemed to brace himself. “I know.”

That had not been the answer she expected. “You know?”

“I know,” Derek repeated slowly. “Scott’s gonna meet Deucalion alone tomorrow. I know. Cora and Boyd overheard.” Another deep breath. “How are you sleeping lately?”

“What?” This was not the turn she had expected for the conversation. “How I’m sleeping?”

“Cora told me some things,” Derek admitted. “So yeah, how are you sleeping?”

Traitor, Joe thought of Cora and shrugged. “Fine.”

“Are you sure?” Concern laced his voice and his brows were pulled down in a frown as he studied her. “You look a little-” He must have realized his faux pas as he cut himself off.

“ _Rough?_ ” Joe guessed, quoting Marin.

“I was going to say tired,” Derek ran a hand through his hair, “but I’m not sure that’s any better. I didn’t mean it like that. Joe, you’re beautiful as always, I’m just worried about you.”

“Yeah?” It felt a little too late for that, even if her heart skipped at the sudden compliment. Too little, too late. “I’m sleeping fine.” By now, Joe was getting kinda good at spotting when Derek was listening to more than her voice and she cocked her head to the side. “And I’m not lying.”

He did not look convinced, brows drawing together in puzzlement.

Taking pity on him, Joe let out a bitter laugh. “I’ve learned a lot these last months. Finally figured out the difference between lying and withholding information. And the difference between telling the truth and being honest.” Joe raised a lazy eyebrow at Derek. “Guess we really are equal now, huh?”

At least Derek caught on quickly. “You’re _not_ sleeping.”

“But when I am, it’s fine,” Joe said and shot him a pair of finger guns with a completely humorless smile. “Now can we get back to how you’re planning a suicide mission?”

“No,” Derek re-crossed his arms, “you need to rest, Joe. Sleep. Heal.”

“And you think I’ll be able to do that knowing you’re planning to ambush Deucalion?”

Joe pushed off from the wall and placed herself at arm’s distance from him, hoping to talk some sense into the most stubborn werewolf in history. He seemed to grudgingly hold eye contact.

“Derek, you don’t know what you’re up against. Even if you managed to catch him alone — which I highly doubt — he’s not a lightweight. Losing his sight didn’t only sharpen his other senses, it made _something_ in his mind snap. He’s fanatical. Walker says his motive is power, but I’m not even sure it’s that. Half of me thinks he’s only doing this to see if he can.”

Even if Derek nodded, she got the feeling it wasn’t because she’d convinced him. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask you this,” he said at a familiar slow pace, “but do you remember everything from the last three months?”

The question felt ten times worse than his claws had done. Instinct had her take an automatic step back as she hugged herself, as much for protection as to keep her hands still. Reflex wanted her to reach for her neck, to feel the smooth skin where claws had pierced. A range of answers and questions presented themselves, first and foremost who had told him. Cora? Boyd? Kali herself when she dug the steel pipe through his chest? It didn’t matter though, not really.

Sometimes she hated how good he was at reading her. No answer was answer enough.

“How much is missing?”

A good question. As much as she wanted, she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Or lie to him. Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, she stared at the floor. “Weeks. Maybe a month.”

“Okay.” Sensible as always, Derek nodded even if he sounded defeated. “Okay, we’ll figure it out.”

Her eyes closed on their own as he reached over to coax her hands out from the fold, clasping them in his to stop the shaking. A part of her brain flooded with endorphins at his touch, another threatened full shut-down because of what her hands had done, how he shouldn’t want to touch her at all.

“I promise, Joe, we’ll figure it out after-”

With a groan, she pulled her hands back. “You can’t beat him like this, Derek. He’s _always_ ten steps ahead. We have to outsmart him somehow, I-”

“I have to try.” Again he grabbed her hands, but only to pry them loose from each other where she’d unconsciously wrung them together. “And I’m going to have to ask you to stay out this, Joe.”

Joe threw her head back, hoping his ceiling would give her strength. “Jesus Christ, Derek, how many times are we gonna have this conversation? If you’re not gonna change your mind about attacking him, at least let me help.”

“No. Out of the question. We’ve never had this conversation before,” Derek said slowly, “but we can’t trust you.”

The words rained down like hail on her skin and before she could muster up any reasonable response, he continued:

“You said it yourself, you have a whole month you can’t even remember. I’m sorry, but I can’t take that risk right now.”

He smelled weird. The thought butted itself upfront in her brain now that she was this close. His scent was wrong. Or was it just her response to it? How much pressure can a bond take before it breaks? Anything will break under enough pressure. She _had_ changed. Had he? Or was this the same distrustful Derek as always?

The words rang inside her skull. She preferred him digging his claws into her arm. Preferred the physical pain.

“Oh,” was all she managed to say, wondering how much of her utter humiliation and sadness he managed to catch of _her_ scent. “Right.”

“Joe, it’s not for good, it’s just until it’s safe and we can figure out what you’re missing-”

“No, I mean, I get it,” she babbled, not really hearing him, just trying to distract from the tears in her eyes. “We had this conversation before at least. You don’t trust me, it’s fine.” Except it was _not_ fine, like at all, but she would rather cut her own throat than admit that right now. “But you obviously have everything under control, so I’m gonna leave. Um, sorry I came here.”

“Joe...”

Out, out, out. She had to get out. Avoiding looking in Derek’s direction, not that it mattered because her eyes were so clouded with tears anyway, she retreated from his touch, moving backward towards the front doors of the building.

At least now it was obvious why he brought her down here. It had nothing to do with Cora being an eavesdropper. He’d pumped her for information and now dismissed her. _Worthless, weak, pathetic._ Couldn’t even blame him. How was she going to convince him to let her help when she was crying and trembling all the time? Like a child? A whimpering pathetic human child.

A strain built in her throat as she struggled to keep her composure until she was well away from the building. Not willing to break down completely so he saw, she waited a few more minutes before sniffing heavily and wiping her eyes. Pathetic. Weak.

The same second she was out on the main street and she could let her guard down slightly, she called Allison.

“They’re screwed. Plan B is a go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so there's a lot going on in this chapter. Just one happy moment after the other...not. As usual, the only marginally bright spot is Jimmy. Not sure how many had caught on that he didn't spend the full three months in the vault, but now you at least know a bit more.
> 
> So, I just gotta repeat this: There will be a happy ending. We're not quite there yet though.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! Love your comments on the latest chapters, you make it worth keeping such a tight updating schedule ❤ Please let me know what you think of this one too - any favorite parts? Any new theories based on the clues/answers in this chapter? Is Derek out of the dog-house yet? 
> 
> Anyways, stay safe, guys, wherever you are in the world 😊


	68. Deucalion

_I don’t know what you are, but I know what you were supposed to be._

You could cut the tense atmosphere in the room with one of the Chinese ring daggers Allison twirled around her fingers.

They were getting ready to implement Plan B in Allison’s bedroom of all places, which had the same monochromatic color palette as the rest of the apartment. No pictures, no posters, nothing that looked like it held any sentimental value. A grown-up’s bedroom, Joe figured, but for a seventeen years old girl.

Joe loaded up the eighteen-inch M1A-rifle with bullets as long as her index finger. Chris hadn’t been kidding when this caliber could take out the African Big Five: lion, leopard, rhinoceros, elephant, and buffalo. She hoped that meant it could take out an Alpha’s Alpha as well. At Joe’s request, Allison had ‘borrowed’ the rifle from Chris’s gun safe without his knowledge. That, along with the 9mm pistol, would be Joe’s weapons of choice for the evening. She wore leggings as usual now, with a tight black sweater and a sports bra. Full movement, okay camouflage — GI Jane as Jimmy had called her once.

“You, uh, want a hair tie?” Allison asked, holding one out awkwardly. She’d pinned her own hair up to avoid it getting in the way.

Joe ran her hand over her short strands that barely reached her shoulder blades now, curling up so it was actually closer to her chin. “I think it’s too short.”

“I can braid it,” Allison suggested brightly and then made a face. “Sorry, I don’t mean- uh, I just, I had short hair before, so I know how to braid it so it doesn’t get- you know what, I’m sorry, just forget it.” She dropped the arm holding the hair tie and turned back to fastening a thick black coat with special cutouts to allow for full arm movement when she used her bow. “It’s not that I’m suggesting we sit here and braid each other’s hair and gossip.”

Before Joe could say anything, Allison span around again.

“Actually, we’ve never really gotten a chance to talk-”

“No need for it now either,” Joe tried to intercept, but Allison wasn’t listening.

“I, uh...I’m _really_ sorry for everything that my family’s done to you.”

“Please don’t do this. I’m begging you.”

Allison’s voice shook, but she pushed through. “And I’m sorry for the part I played in Erica and Boyd’s abduction. I know it’s not an excuse, but I was _so_ angry after what happened with my mom and-” Joe’s worst fear came true when Allison pushed her fist up to her mouth, obviously holding in tears. She cleared her throat. “You have to believe me, I had no idea that Kate-”

As Joe physically flinched at the name, Allison finally stopped talking. For a few seconds at least. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Dad never told me what happened. I’m not sure if he even knows, but what did-”

“What happened?” Joe asked while tilting her head to the side, looking at Allison who resembled Kate in so many ways. Same jawline, same eyes. Except for the expression — Kate never looked nervous like that. “What is it with you guys and wanting to know what happened? It’s not gonna change anything. It won’t make me feel better to tell you, it won’t make you feel better to know, so what’s the deal? Why do you want to know?”

The girl at least had some backbone. With a slight shakiness to her voice, Allison held her chin up. “So that when she comes back, I’ll remember she’s a horrible person. So I won’t let myself be manipulated by her again.” Her lithe neck muscles worked as she swallowed. “But if you don’t want to tell me, I understand. I’m sorry.”

Manipulated. The words sent chills down Joe’s spine. It was hard to remember — especially after Erica had explained exactly _how_ they were captured by the Argents, not that Joe hadn’t seen the clearing littered with arrows herself — but Allison was just seventeen years old. Young, impressionable, and taken advantage of by full-blown psychopaths like Kate and Gerard Argent.

After a moment’s hesitation, Joe asked: “Scott didn’t tell you anything?”

Allison shook her head.

“Fine. Short version? Your aunt _Kate_ strung up my friend Jimmy in a cave,” Joe kept stuffing bullets into the magazine, “tortured him for days,” _click click click_ , “shot him several times,” Joe thumped the magazine to align the bullets, “lured me out there,” she slammed the magazine into the rifle, “and tried to kill both of us.”

Except that wasn’t the worst part. Spilling all of Derek’s dark secrets had been the worst part.

Rifle ready, she looked at Allison again. “And then Jimmy bit her and she ran away and no one lived happily ever after. Okay?”

“Okay.” Allison nodded while her lips moved silently. “What do you think she’s doing? I know Dad tracked her to Mexico, but-”

“Killed a bunch of people.”

Allison’s eyes flared up wide. “What?”

“Most likely at least. There were some hunters following her, but somewhere along the line she managed to shake them off and they picked up Cora’s trail instead. Because, you know, going after innocent teenagers is kinda your thing, isn’t it?”

“Uh...” Momentary speechless, it unfortunately didn’t last long this time either. “What hunters?”

“I don’t care,” Joe interrupted, which was a blatant lie, but she could not _afford_ to care about Kate right now. “She’ll be back eventually unless the feds don’t get her first. Now, if you want to prove you’re one of the good guys, help me stop the Alphas instead of having a heart-to-heart right now. Don’t take it personally, but you and I aren’t friends. We have a mutual enemy and a mutual goal, that’s it.”

Because if Joe had to be honest, just working together with Allison felt insulting to Erica’s memory. Still, if Joe had to be honest, she needed backup and Allison was a decent shot.

“When we get there,” Joe kept her voice flat, “stay out of sight as long as possible. Long-range attacks only. You can _not_ take these guys hand-to-hand. Keep at a distance at all times so you have a headstart if you need to run.”

Something had obviously struck a nerve with Allison as she squared her chin again. “I can take care of myself. Besides, I thought you said we weren’t friends.”

“Yeah, but your dad’s a nice guy, so if you even think about getting too close, I’ll dropkick you through the fucking ceiling. Understood?”

They stared at each other for a few seconds, but Joe knew her glare held some weight.

Joe raised her eyebrows. “Remember the plan?”

With a grim nod, Allison returned her focus to preparing her bow, a heavy compound device made for hunting. Appropriate at least. According to her, Chris was adamant about staying out of this, so they could not count on him for help. In fact, she would prefer he wouldn’t be told of their plans at all.

To her credit, Allison never asked about Jimmy either. It tugged on Joe’s heartstrings to lie, but Jimmy-boy, who had not been able to turn off his werewolf-eyes for weeks now, was not fit for combat. Oh, he snarled and acted tough, but she doubted he would be able to fight the Alphas at the moment.

Besides, if things went as they planned, they would not need his help. If things did not go as planned, they were all dead either way.

Joe hefted the rifle up to her shoulder, getting acquainted with the optic scope and general weight. For the bullet size, it felt kind of light. Allison was not that interested in guns — she stuck with her bows — but had mentioned the range of the rifle was around 200 yards. Their destination would not allow for such distances though, and Joe hoped she would be able to make the shot at a closer range.

It was one thing firing a gun in anger or desperation — now she would have to take aim, make a decision, and then shoot to kill. Premeditation versus crime of passion or heat of the moment. _You think you’re ready?_ Joe flexed her fingers, hoping to keep her hands steady. She would only get one shot, and she was lucky to even get that.

“Uh, do you want a headband?” Allison offered before they left. She smiled awkwardly again. “I just- it would kind of suck for you to miss a shot because your hair’s in the way. It’s, uh, happened to me before, so...”

“Fine,” Joe said and accepted the elastic black strip of fabric she used to push her hair out of her face. It beat having Allison braid her hair back. “Ready?”

With a quiver full of flash bolts, Allison announced that she was. They snuck out of the apartment and Joe could hear Chris on the phone with someone in his office — an overseas client according to Allison.

It was a calculated risk, but Derek had mentioned a secondary location and the only secondary location Joe knew the Alphas used was the abandoned mall. If she’d been local, she might have recognized it the first time she was taken there to ‘train’, but she wasn’t and had never connected the dots that it was technically in Beacon Hills. Until she had mentioned it to Allison, she hadn’t known Beacon Hills even had an abandoned mall.

It had all the makings of a perfect spot for an ambush. The mall laid conveniently out in the middle of nowhere, part of a suburb that died before it was ever fully realized and the investors ran out of money. She and Allison had consulted a layout plan for it earlier — malls had several entrances, a fact that would serve them well. They parked Allison’s car by the main road and went the rest of the way on foot.

Abandoned warehouses were creepy, but abandoned buildings intended for a lot of people were worse. Like empty lecture halls, it gave Joe the sensation of unfulfillment. This one had been built in the 80s by the looks of it when a lot of curved angles and edgy details were popular.

They paused at the sight of a familiar dirtbike resting near the main entrance. Scott was already here. Joe tried to remember her breathing — just like the night of the full moon, the building laid dark and forbidding ahead of her. She wiggled her toes, almost wanting to take off her shoes for better balance.

Allison gave Joe the sign to keep low and right, flush to the building so they could make their way to the back. Joe could at least appreciate someone else knowing tactical hand signals, even if she did not like taking orders. She never got Jimmy to use them and Erica kept mixing them up.

Not much had changed since the full moon when they’d pitted Erica and Joe against each other. The broken lock still hung on the rusted chain from where they had burst out into the woods. Running. Running and running and running. Joe suppressed the memories. She had to focus.

A heavy layer of dust and crumbling concrete covered every surface inside. Joe noticed both of her and Allison walking in the same manner, rolling from heel to toe, trying to keep quiet. They shouldn’t have bothered.

The sound of echoed fighting reached them soon enough and Joe swore under her breath, as much at the timing and the small jabs of pain. Derek was keeping most of it to himself, but some leaked through.

She picked up the pace, not registering that Allison failed to keep up.

One shot.

The words went on repeat. One shot, she got one shot. If she missed, she was dead. If she missed, they were all dead. Scott, Derek, Cora, Boyd — all of them, the whole pack. Judging by the sounds, Deucalion had _not_ come alone.

Aware of her heavy breathing, aware of her aching shoulder just from carrying the rifle, she followed the sounds of snarls, crashes, and grunts. Breathe, just breathe. Don’t panic. _Panic is your enemy._ No, those jacked-up werewolves down there was her enemy.

Parts of the floor had fallen down or never finished construction, and she came out on a landing overlooking the whole scene.

In the middle of a pair of escalators stood the ringmaster himself, surveying what was happening with whatever senses he used without his vision. Joe’s stomach knotted just at the sight of him and she flung herself behind a rusted metallic bench that looked like it had once been part of a cafeteria.

Breathe, just breathe.

The loud echoes of the fight overpowered the sound of her own heartbeat. Peering out, she took stock. Everyone was fighting except Deucalion.

The twins had conjoined into the Mega Wolf and were fighting off what looked like Isaac and Scott with ease. _Don’t panic._ Cora and Boyd worked together to take down Ennis, a futile match if she ever saw one, and that left Derek alone to handle Kali. _Don’t panic_. She’d kill him. _Don’t panic._ No sign of Peter, not that she was surprised. Joe winced at a harsh sting in her cheek — Kali’s foot claws hitting Derek in a roundhouse kick. She’d kill him. _Don’t panic._

One shot. She had one shot.

Hefting the rifle to her shoulder as she laid down, she tried to focus, tried to achieve the same tunnel vision she had trained on. Seeing everything through the optic scope with a small red dot in the middle made that easier.

Steady. Keep steady. Find target. The red dot replaced Deucalion’s head where he stood with his hands on his white cane, like a knight holding his sword. Completely unmoving.

One shot. Breathe, just breathe. Don’t panic.

How long had it been since she fired a rifle? She’d been sixteen, right, when her dad took her out to the range in New York? It had been heavy and she’d involuntarily squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath when she fired, afraid of the kickback and the noise. Breathe. In and out. In and out. Slow it down. Don’t panic.

They were losing! Two versus one in most cases and they were losing even before Deucalion joined in on the fight. Did not like to get his hands dirty, that one. He would if necessary and they’d definitely lose.

Derek was losing. No, don’t think of him. _Focus, Sefina!_ Make the hard call. Focus focus focus.

_Breathe!_

The red dot went up and down with each in- and exhale. Trick was to fire between natural breaths. Squeeze the trigger, don’t pull it, you’ll shift the aim if you pull it. _Squeeze_ the trigger after you exhale, but before the next inhale. Natural respiratory pause, you know this, kid. Just keep focus, Josie. Hold your breath too long and your heartbeat goes faster, makes your pulse jump, causes the gun to move. Don’t want that. If you hold your breath, start again. Come on, breathe, kid.

Inhale. Dot going over Deucalion’s head.

Exhale. Dot replacing his head.

Inhale. Dot up and over.

Exhale and _squeeze_.

The gunshot blasted out, for a split millisecond drowning out the noise of the fighting werewolves.

_“Ah!”_ Even though Joe had pushed the rifle stock so far into her shoulder it hurt, the kickback still burst into her joint, near throwing it out of the socket. This caliber was no joke.

No joke. The recoil was enough to realign her aim — it would still have hit, at least partially, but Deucalion dodged with inhuman speed. The bullet tore through the handrail of the escalator instead, leaving a large head-sized hole.

It also gave away her location as too many pairs of glowing eyes looked her way. Not all of them. Where was Kali?

“Shit.”

With frantic movements, Joe reloaded, remembered it was semi-automatic and she didn’t _need_ to reload, and slammed down on her back, rifle up to her shoulder again.

The same second, an avenging spirit in the form of a pissed-off Alpha werewolf flew through the dim light. Joe fired. This shot went into thin air, too hurried as Kali crashed onto the platform next to her.

“I wondered where you were,” Kali snarled with glee and Joe tried to reload _again_ without needing to before just firing.

Too slow. Shot missed by a mile and with a quick swipe of her long leg, Kali knocked the gun out of Joe’s arms. It clattered to the side, out of reach.

“Shit,” Joe swore again and somersaulted backward to avoid the next strike. Too slow again. She dodged the foot claws that raked across the concrete, but Kali spun around and hurled her other heel into Joe’s stomach.

The impact knocked her breath out and sent her flying out from the platform.

Crushed concrete dust erupted around her body, pushing up her nostrils and down her lungs when Joe plowed into the floor below. Bones breaking, shifting, already healing — pain excruciating, but numbed by the adrenaline. At least some of it.

The impact shook up her thoughts, going momentarily cross-eyes as she tried to get her bearing. Through the haze of confusion, she still thought of Derek. _Are you watching? See how much pain I can take?_ Because he wasn’t feeling a thing from her.

_Focus!_

With a harsh cry, Joe got up. Too slow _again_.

Kali leaped down from the platform and landed heavily next to her, one foot hammering into Joe’s chest, holding her down. Joe automatically tried to push the foot off with both hands, tried to keep the claws from tearing into her exposed neck, but Kali only grinned above her, showing a wide row of glittering white teeth.

“That’s the best you got?” she asked, dark red eyes glowing. Different from Derek’s, not like Derek’s. “Come on now. Where’s that _strength?_ ”

“Aaah!” Joe shrieked as Kali pushed her foot down and dug her claws through Joe’s shirt, into her skin, blood welling up, hot and wet, spreading over Joe’s chest.

Kali turned her head and snarled at an approaching figure.

“Ah ah ah!” she tutted and judging by the infuriated grunting, like a buffalo getting ready to charge, she was keeping Derek at bay. “Watch your step, loverboy.” Another snarl, another direction. “You too, little sister.”

Breathe. Just breathe. Easier said than done. Joe choked and groaned, both of the pressure and the blood running down inside her throat from where Kali’s sharp claws pierced her esophagus. Breathe. Don’t panic. To her side, she saw how Ennis had Boyd down too on the floor. The Mega Wolf held Scott and Isaac.

Defeated. It was over. Because she’d _missed!_

“Hmm.” Kali made a pleased sound, bending over Joe to push her claws in further. “Is that all? Come on.”

Kali’s dark eyes flickered to the side, to Derek. He was fully wolfed out, snarling at Kali, but keeping back. The red in Kali’s eyes disappeared briefly as she rolled them in disappointment — Joe was holding onto her pain like a lifeline, leaving Derek unaffected.

“Let it go.”

“Bite me,” Joe croaked slowly, still pushing with everything she had on the foot. Bloodloss leaving her dizzy. At least her words made Kali grin.

Deucalion’s strong voice rang out in the mall: “Go easy on the girl, Kali.”

“She can take it,” Kali retorted without even looking at Deucalion. “She’s stronger than she looks. Although,” Joe grunted when the heel of Kali’s foot pushed down, “I thought she’d be stronger by now. What’s wrong? Didn’t we make your bond to the little blondie strong enough?”

“Kali...”

“She can take it!” Kali snarled over her shoulder, eyes returning to Joe instantly as if challenging Joe to prove her wrong.

“I trust your judgment on that,” Deucalion said in a dry tone. “As for you,” he addressed Derek, “kill him.”

Him? Shit. Boyd. Downtrodden Boyd. Coughing up blood on the floor, grunting in pain. Instead of turning towards them, Joe kept her focus on Kali, anchoring down to keep her pain from paralyzing Derek. He had to be strong. Stronger than her.

“The others can go. You're beaten. Do it, Derek. Take the first step, as your _mate_ has already done.”

At that, Joe squeezed her eyes shut. Erica. They made her kill Erica and now they were making Derek kill Boyd. Why? For _what?_ What did Deucalion gain?

“Are we serious with this kid?” Kali spat, not taking her pressure off Joe’s chest. “Look at him. He's an Alpha? To what? A couple of useless teenagers?”

Calm as ever, Deucalion answered: “Some have more promise than others.”

“Let him rise to the occasion then. What'll it be, Derek?” Kali’s fangs distorted her words somewhat, but the smile remained. “Pack,” she turned to grin at Cora, “or family?” Joe let out a grunt of pain as Kali leaned over her again, cooing: “Or maybe Josefina here?”

“Kali,” Deucalioned warned, but the woman did not pay him any attention. He sounded mildly annoyed, like someone had gotten his orders mixed up at a restaurant. “We did not spend three months on her for you to kill her now.”

Only eyes for Kali, whose long hair hung around her face, Joe didn’t know what anyone, least of all Derek, was doing. Apparently taking too long as Kali dug her claws in even deeper into Joe’s throat.

“Let it go,” Kali sneered and Joe’s arms shook from the effort of holding the foot away from crashing through her collar bones completely. “Let it go or let it out, Sefina.” Biting her lips together, Joe tried to shift the weight, tried to get loose. “Let - it - go! Come on, it’s so easy, just let him take some of it. Come on, let the pain _go_!”

Never.

Eyes rolled back in Joe’s head. It was too much. Just like the night of the full moon, when it was Derek’s pain, it was getting too much. Ears filling with the roar of her own heartbeat. The long-haired being over her was no longer Kali, it was Kate.

Kate, down in the dungeon, holding her down with her foot. Pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe after just kicking through Joe’s ribs. “Is that not downright romantic?”

“ _Let it go or let it out!”_

Kate. Kate Kate Kate. Always Kate. Only Kate. “Aww, would you look at that? Is that not downright romantic? The innocent schoolgirl coming to the rescue! There you are, babe, I’ve missed you!”

Tied up, helpless, and gagged. Joe bared her teeth as Kate leaned down. The blonde hair hung around her face like a halo, beautiful like Lucifer himself. Evil malice in her smile. A deranged look in her eyes, happy now that she had Joe where she wanted her. “I gotta say though, I’m impressed. Where’d ya learn to fight, Berkeley?”

_Juvie hall,_ thought Joe wildly and reached back for the 9mm.

The loud bang snapped her out of her delusions just so she could see the bullet graze Kali’s cheek, leaving a wide stripe of burnt and bleeding flesh.

The pressure lifted from Joe and Kali roared with pain and anger. Gurgling from the pierced throat, Joe pulled her knees back almost to her shoulders and kicked herself up to her feet. Turn, aim, and fire. She shot at Kali again, who staggered back. Another ear-piercing roar told her she had hit something.

Instincts took over. Ennis still stood over Boyd — _her_ Boyd — and Joe span around to face them.

His large bald head made the pointed ears more prominent as Ennis grinned — or bared his teeth at her. A large foot pressed Boyd’s face into the floor, the younger werewolf grunting in pain. The grunt skipped Joe’s ears completely, went straight to the primal part of the brain, the part that made her blood boil hot at someone attacking someone in _her_ pack. They dared? They _fucking_ dared?!

“Nice try, kid.” Ennis laughed, a low and guttural sound. “You think you got the ball-”

_Bam bam bam bam bam_

Not thinking, no room for thoughts — the bullets tore into Ennis’ chest, some lodging into his muscles, other exiting out his back in a juicy spurt of red blood. It was enough to make him stumble backward, but not fall.

With gritted teeth, Joe kept squeezing the trigger until the magazine clicked empty.

Rivers of blood ran down Ennis’ shirt; the shots stitching inky red stains across his chest. And yet, Ennis grinned again when the gunshots stopped.

Thank God for Allison.

A faint whistling noise distracted Ennis enough for Derek to leap at him, knocking him off Boyd, while another slimmer figure slammed into Joe.

The first flashbolt struck in the center of the Mega Wolf and intense light erupted in the mall. A werewolf, not sure who, shrieked at the next arrow hitting the floor. And they kept coming!

_“Your eyes,”_ roared Deucalion somewhere in the confusion. _“Cover your eyes!”_

Too late for Joe and she was forced to fight Kali blindly, eyes running with tears. The empty gun scattered across the concrete, giving her no chance to reload.

Through the haze, she saw the red eyes approaching along with the Cheshire Cat-grin. By sheer muscle memory, Joe dodged the first swipe of Kali’s clawed foot. Eyesight was the only point they were halfway equal — Kali’s other enhanced senses made her impossible to fight like this.

_“Ah!”  
_

The fist struck Joe in her chest while Allison kept raining flash bolts down on them. Around them. Everywhere. Shock and scatter-tactic, deploying nonlethal missiles to saturate all the photoreceptors of their eyes, stun them and make them run.

Except Kali was not running. Through the roaring and bangs, Joe heard her laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll go _easy_ on you.”

Shooting Ennis had probably not been a good idea, Joe had time to think.

Kali accompanied her statement with a heel to Joe’s temple. It was called a spinning hook kick and that knowledge did not deter from the nauseating flare of pain exploding from the impact. She’d follow up with a front kick and that knowledge was enough to allow Joe time to dodge it.

Side-stepping, Kali’s foot went flying into the air instead of Joe’s chest.

“There you are,” Kali said appreciatively and now Joe knew Kali was just toying with her.

It had been the same out in that desert, where Kali first took her to train in the shining light of a half-moon.

The freezing air biting Joe’s exposed feet, the harsh sand digging into her toes — no shoes for combat training. Joe had resisted at first, just to spite these lunatics. After getting knocked to the ground too many times to count, half-exhausted just by keeping all the pain in herself, she’d had enough.

“There you are,” Kali had said when Joe parried one of her hits, forearm against forearm with a mindnumbing brunt shock. “Feel that?” Kali repeated the motion, slow enough for Joe to parry again, bone threatening to break at the impact, the alternative being getting the full punch in her face. “Feel how strong you are?” Once more and Joe bit in a cry. “That’s it. Come on. Let it out.”

When Joe finally gave in — abandoning her foolhardy attempt at resistance even though she had practically surrendered weeks ago when they threatened to starve the betas, _her_ betas — Kali slowed things down and took Joe through it step-by-step.

The older werewolf fought in a kick-heavy mixture of different martial arts, utilizing her hidden advantage in the deadly sharp claws on her feet. Some of the moves were from the Israeli style of _krav maga_ she explained, some from the Korean _tae kwon do_. The common denominator was offense, attack — block and parry when you have to, dodge to avoid hits, but attack! Not self-defense, not survival, but defeat and victory.

As an Alpha, you’re supposed to be strong!

Read your opponent’s eyes, watch for clues to their next move — a missed hit costs twice as much as one that lands. Joe learned that her best chance came from dodging Kali’s spinning kicks, a brief half-second where she had to reorient herself if she missed and Joe could sidekick into her chest. Speed is more important than strength, but when you strike, hit with all you have. Stay on your feet. If you want to stop the fight, you have to fight back, Sefina!

Endless repetitions. Endless slashes and jabs and hits to Joe’s body. At least until she learned to fight back.

Back at the mall, present-day, Joe’s vision had cleared just enough to see Kali slashing her foot down. Joe somersaulted backward and kicked out, getting Kali in the jaw. True to her nature, Kali laughed.

“There you are!” she snarled again; wilder, ready for a real fight. “Let’s go!”

Their movements blurred. Joe only really saw Kali’s dark red eyes, but it was not enough. High-velocity kicks and jabs, most of them dodged, some of them landing _hard_. Joe caught the next high kick with her shoulder, swept at Kali’s other foot with her leg, but missed. Spinning around to plant her shin into Kali’s side, it was blocked by a strong arm.

“ _Aaah_!” Kali roared, in anger and not pain, and she grabbed onto Joe’s leg. She threw Joe around like it weighed nothing so she landed hard on her back, bones cracking at the pressure. Illuminated by the dim light of the mall, Kali’s silhouette flew around with a long mane of hair behind her and her heel hit the concrete with an ear-deafening crack — Joe flipped over at the last possible moment.

In the midst of getting up, Joe lost her footing at a hard punch landing on her face. Derek’s face. So focused on Kali, she’d forgotten the rest of them were also fighting.

Blinking her eyes, Joe tried to take stock, saw Derek and Ennis engaged in a rough fistfight. Ennis was a good boxer and Joe grunted when he landed another hit on Derek. “Shit!”

“Let it go, _Sefina!”_ Kali snarled and kicked out sideways at Joe’s chest, slamming her back into the concrete. “Look at him, he’s doing it! He doesn’t care if you get _hurt_ ,” again her long toenails cut through the air just where Joe’s face had been, “because of him!”

Already on the ground, Joe swept out and kicked Kali’s feet from under her before pushing herself up. Kali caught herself too fast and flipped back, ready to block Joe’s two hard hits to her face — Joe swung wildly just to get space, to get distance, but it left her open for another front kick that struck her solar plexus with a lightening of pain and she staggered back.

The kicks and hits kept coming, relentless, endless, and Joe ducked the fist heading for her face. It left her off balance, not helped by claws raking into Derek’s chest.

_“Mmmh!”_

Joe tried to bite in the scream, to not distract, but she doubled over. Clutching at her unscathed chest, knowing it should have been torn wide open, she limped around trying to find Derek. Her heart threatened to stop altogether at the sight.

Two large figures that had to be Derek and Ennis were locked in a power struggle with only the empty space of the floors below behind them. On the ground, Scott stumbled forwards and struck at Ennis’ calf with his claws.

In a few shallow heartbeats, Ennis tumbled off the platform and dragged Derek along.

_“Noooo!”_

Not even aware of where the harsh scream came from, not realizing it was her own body emitting the heartbreaking wail, Joe reacted on instincts. She dashed forwards, leaping after Derek, stopping midair when something caught around her midriff.

It was a long way down and she did not even see the pair land.

An awful scream pushed out her lungs, overpowering the echoed crash when she felt the impact in her own body. Bones shattering when two hundred pounds of werewolf crashed into the escalator steps several floors down, the groves left from sharp claws still digging into her flesh — Joe buckled and fought to get loose, just to escape the pain and she hit around blindly.

Screaming and shrieking like a rabid animal. She dug her blunt fingernails into the arm holding her, slipping uselessly over thick leather instead of skin, but the force was enough to make her assailant grunt in pain.

_“Joe!”_ someone roared into her face, a flash of red eyes.

She wanted to roar back, but her throat was stuffed full of another scream, the pain unbearable. Striking out, anyone with red eyes was an enemy, and Scott let out a howl of pain when the heel of her hand broke his nose.

“Damn it! Come on, we have to go!”

“Scott! A hand here?”

Through a foggy haze of pain and hurt and anguish, she recognized Isaac’s desperate voice and he yelped as she struggled to break his hold on her. Derek, she had to get to Derek!

“Joe!” Scott yelled again with yellow eyes flashing. Yellow, not red. “We have to go!”

Another set of hands joined Isaac’s — the higher-pitched growls from Cora, shouting at her in Spanish that they had to _go_ — now _!_

Whimpering, as much from the ache in her heart as in her body, Joe fell limp in Isaac’s arms.

Function. She had to function. She had a function. As Isaac carried her, she focused on pulling on all the pain she could from Derek. As long as she could feel it, he was alive, right? He had to be alive.

Please let him be alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action chapter! Looks like the Alphas did more than just torture Joe for three months, they trained her too. 
> 
> Not much more to say. Next chapter's gonna be heavy. 
> 
> As always, I find it hard writing fighting sequences, so please let me know what you guys think. Tried to make it come across that Joe's fighting style has changed since her brawls with Kate, she's more in-tune with her instincts now and actually has some technique. Did that come across? Yeah, anyway, please tell me what you think! (And sorry for stringing you along with the previous chapter-title 😄)
> 
> Thank you guys for reading! Have a nice weekend ❤


	69. Ennis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Reference/description of non-consensual sexual experience.

_Something went wrong. Bad genes, probably._

She cried the whole way back to Beacon Hills.

Curled up in Allison’s backseat as the girl drove with a heavy foot on the gas. Pulling the pain to her, even though it hurt, even though it was making Joe lose her mind. Every time she blinked, Allison’s face replaced with Kate’s smirk. Scott’s concerned brown eyes replaced with the red eyes of the Alphas. She buckled and writhed, hands pressing against her torso, trying to stem a blood flow that wasn’t even there. It wasn’t her pain. It was Derek’s.

And they’d left him there!

Outnumbered, wounded — it was the smart move. The right move. And Joe still hated it. They had _left_ him!

“What’s happening with her?” she heard Allison shriek and Scott hurriedly try to explain the link, the bond, how she and Derek felt each other’s pain.

_Shared it,_ Joe wanted to scream. Divided it, not equally, not now. She had tipped the scales to her side. And - it - _hurt!_

They took her to the McCall house even though she begged them not to. The Alphas could follow. They could ambush them. They weren’t dumb predators, they were smart, they planned, and they were cruel.

“Mom!” Scott shouted as they burst through the front door. He had Joe in his arms, even though she could feel his blood from his torso seeping through to her skin. Injured. They were all injured — except her. Kali _had_ gone easy on her.

“ _Mom!_ ”

“Oh my God, what happened? Joe? Joe, sweetie, look at me, it’s going to be okay,” Aunt Mel said, appearing out of nowhere and brushed a hand over Joe’s sweat-slick face.

Things went in a blur. Scott put Joe down on the couch and Joe tried to twist away from Aunt Mel’s hands as she struggled to get Joe’s sweater off. Everything ached, like claws still gripping into her flesh, tearing up nerve endings and twisting into her muscles.

“There’s nothing here. She’s not- she’s not hurt, what-”

“Derek’s hurt,” Scott gulped and fell down next to Joe on the floor, out of breath and probably still in shock.“She feels his pain. It’s this bond-”

“Scott,” Joe choked out. Not important why. Not now. She grabbed Scott’s arm. “Find him. Please.”

Scott’s eyes were wide with tears. “Joe, he’s- he can’t have survived that.”

“It had to be at least an eighty feet drop.” Isaac paced the living room somewhere, talking fast and agitated. “And he was already injured.” He broke off and let out a painful roar, one that shook Joe’s inner core, triggering an instinct to _help_ him like she had tried to help Boyd. Her betas, Derek’s betas — was there even a difference? “Shit!”

Aunt Mel tried to calm everyone. She used her nurse-voice, staying rational even when blood coated the walls and the patient was flatlining. “Okay, but if it’s just pain, not damage, painkillers will help, right?”

“I can’t,” Joe croaked, again her throat clogged with a scream, “I can’t take pills, I can’t sleep, he’ll die.”

It was the same thought that had kept her insomnia alive for weeks now.

“Okay, okay, but, uh, local anesthesia?” Aunt Mel sounded frantic and her wide eyes appeared above Joe’s face. “I have an emergency kit upstairs. One dose, okay? Until you find him? Please, Joe, just let me help you.”

“I have to feel it,” Joe tried to explain, hiccuping and coughing with each word. “I still have to feel it, it’s the only way I can hold on to it, if I can’t feel it, it’ll all go to him.” She wasn’t making much sense, speaking in broken statements, still half-blind with pain and hurt. “Please, I have to be able to still feel it.”

Aunt Mel’s voice trailed off as she presumably ran upstairs. _“I don’t understand this! I don’t understand what’s happening!”_

Allison’s voice filtered in: “Where’s Cora and Boyd?”

“They’re getting Jimmy. He’s her friend, he knows about this stuff,” Scott answered quietly, his breath still shaking.

Jimmy. He was going to be so angry with her. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Derek was alive, she knew it, he had to be. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to feel his pain. If it even was his pain.

The treacherous voice made her sob loudly on the couch. Was this just her own body hurting, her grief projecting into her veins, making her feel it physically instead of in her head? What was real and what wasn’t? Had Kate been there? Was Kate here?

“Shh, shh, Joe, please,” Scott sounded close to crying, stroking her face, just like Aunt Mel. “Please, I’m so sorry, it’s my fault.”

“I’m gonna be sick.” Isaac again, pacing, his shadow visible from where Joe laid. “Oh God. Oh God.”

Aunt Mel returned carrying a heavy first-aid kit. “This is meant for cuts,” her voice trembled as she unzipped it, “or getting stitches, it’s not that effective.” Her palm grazed Joe’s skin, looking for broken bones and slashes that weren’t there. “Where, you gotta tell me where it hurts, Joe.”

Everywhere hurt.

Concentrate. It was worst in her stomach, where Ennis’ heavy claws had struck so deep they hit bone. Grunting and pointing, Joe tried to convey that to Aunt Mel. Would Derek be able to feel the anesthesia? How did this work? Why had no one made a rulebook for this bullshit yet?

“Okay, stomach? Ribs? Okay, sweetie, just hang on.” Joe focused on Aunt Mel’s voice as she prepared the needle. “This is lidocaine, it’ll be effective for a couple of hours maybe, if we’re lucky, I don’t know about you guys anymore, nothing makes sense.”

She rambled, probably to distract Joe from the needle — Joe hated needles, but Joe was too far gone to care. Now that she blinked, she saw Kali’s red eyes look down at her instead, a large smile stretching her face, tearing it in half.

“Hold her!” Aunt Mel shouted and several pairs of arms did just that as Joe tried to retreat, to back away, to get away from Kali and her claws and her smile. “Joe, listen to me, focus on me, you’re okay, it’s okay.”

A small sting in her stomach, hardly felt over everything else, and she struggled against the Alphas who held her down. Kali, Ennis and the twins, all pushing her down, holding her, forcing her to heal against her will. “ _Let me go!”_

_“Should she be this strong?”_

_“I don’t know! Joe, calm down!”_

Hands shaking, both of pain and fatigue, and she screamed at them. Kali wanted her to let it out and here she was, letting it out! The noises coming out of her mouth were halfway between animal and human, but wrought with despair. Enraged and hurt, she let it out!

Sound of a door opening and slamming shut broke through her haze of deliria. A pair of purple eyes appeared, like a lighthouse in a storm. “Joe,” he said calmly and his eyes bore into her while his voice laced itself with a wolf-like growl, “ _listen to me!”_

Jimmy. Her friend. Jimmy. Her roommate, her packmate, but not her mate. Jimmy. Breathing heavy, she stopped struggling, even though the hands never left her arms and legs. “He’s not dead, he can’t be.”

The others explained rapidly to Jimmy what had happened — what had happened with Derek. He probably already knew. Smart guy like Jimmy. Scheming and plotting away. The purple lights dimmed as he blinked and then returned.

“You _have_ to let some of it go, Joe,” he ordered and she shook her head. “This is how it works.”

Cora appeared next to him, wild brown eyes ringed with pink from crying. “He’s right.” Shaky voice, putting on a brave front. “That’s how it works. When one falls, the other one must rise.”

Falls. In Joe’s mind, she saw that one crucial second over and over again, when Derek fell.

“You’ve saved his life,” Jimmy glared intently at Joe, forcing her to focus on him, “he’s healing, but you’re no good to him half-crazed in pain. You have to let some of it, not all of it, go.”

Aunt Mel sounded distraught and full of tears. _“What is he talking about? I don’t, I don’t understand this.”_

_“It’s okay, Mom.”_

“I can’t,” Joe whimpered and clutched onto Jimmy’s hands that held hers. Already, the pain was numbing down slightly, the anesthetic kicking in. She still felt like she couldn’t breathe, but it wasn’t the pain, not anymore. “I can’t. Please, Jimmy, find him...”

Not in the habit of sugarcoating things, he leaned in and hissed: “Then you’re both dead. And they win.”

Joe tried to nod and shake her head at the same time. “I can’t give him mine.”

“You don’t have to. Just let him take half of his.”

Half. Equal. Don’t panic. Breathe. Function.

Staring into Jimmy’s purple eyes, she found some semblance of peace. Peace, because no one else had purple eyes. No one else had the strength and discipline to go through with what he had. No one else was like Jimmy. Where every other face shifted and transformed, Jimmy was Jimmy. Good and bad, Jimmy was Jimmy.

“Okay,” she whispered and concentrated. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t die, please, please, please._

Balanced was easiest and she tipped the scales back — scales were the simplest way to imagine it, but in truth, it was so abstract that made no sense either. She just hoped it wouldn’t end with the pain disappearing completely if Derek blacked out or died.

Joe squeezed her eyes shut, praying to open them to Aunt Mel’s living room with friendly faces and not the vault with the Alphas looking at her. It worked. She hoped this was real. “Okay.”

“Oh my God,” Aunt Mel breathed out, still clutching the syringe she had used to inject Joe with the lidocaine. “Okay, can someone explain what just happened? Joe, are you-”

“Better,” she said — that was the truth. It hurt like a bruise now instead of an open gushing wound. She could think, she could function, she could remain not panicked. Unfortunately, that meant she could hear the half-shouting argument out in the hall.

_“He’s not dead!”_

_“We don’t know that, but we would have been if we stayed!”_

Gritting her teeth, Joe pushed off from the couch, aided by Jimmy. She pulled down her shirt that Aunt Mel had lifted to check for injuries and stalked out into the hall where Allison worked as a mediator between an equally agitated Isaac and Boyd.

Semper fi, Joe thought and noted the red ruins of Boyd’s shirt. Always loyal, even to death. Considering how Boyd leaned against the wall, barely able to stand, he’d probably been half-carried out of the mall just like Joe.

Boyd’s glare landed on her and for a second she braced herself for an attack, but his nostrils flared as he seemed to bite his teeth together. “We left him.”

Before she could respond, Scott pushed himself out into the hall next to her. “We didn’t have a choice!”

“Because you went behind our backs!” Boyd almost roared and Isaac immediately launched himself between him and Scott. “Again!”

“I was going to try and reason with him! To find out what he wants and-”

Tensions ran high and Joe was not surprised when Boyd’s eyes glowed yellow, fangs lengthening in a snarl. And even while injured, Scott returned the sentiment. Things could get out of hand — quickly.

She hated this.

“Hey!” Joe yelled, getting the attention of everyone. “Who the hell is helped by you guys getting into it right now, huh? The answer is no one, so _knock it off!”_

There was still anger in Boyd’s eyes, but not the hate she had seen at the loft. “We left him,” he repeated in a low voice. “We just _left_ him.”

Leave no man behind, another one of those military honor codes. “I know.” No tears, no weakness. “We’ll find him.”

“His instincts will make him look for you,” Cora supplied by Joe’s side. A criss-cross pattern of blood decorated her shirt. “Unless the Alphas already got to him.”

Joe closed her eyes — she could not bear to think of that option. “They don’t want him dead.” She felt all their eyes bore into her and she squirmed. She hated this. “Uh, anyone else needing medical attention? Boyd?”

He ground his teeth together, but shook his head ‘no’.

“We’re healing,” Isaac volunteered weakly. He looked sickly pale, still lodged between Boyd and Scott, and probably had injuries too somewhere under his leather jacket. Joe could see the impression her fingernails had left when he literally stopped her from jumping to her death. “But, we have this cross-country meet we’re supposed to attend and,” he rubbed his head, “and I don’t know. Getting kicked off the team doesn’t really sound important right now.”

“We can’t go, we have to help find Derek,” Scott said and Isaac nodded while Joe shook her head.

“No, you’re all hurt or exhausted. Go to the meet. There’s safety in numbers and you’ll be out of town. That’s good, they won’t be able to find you until you’re done healing.” With every breath, she could think a little clearer. She glanced at Cora, who was biting her lips together, concealing the fear and pain the best she could. “Hide and heal, right?”

Cora nodded without looking at her, blinking her eyes rapidly. Found a brother, lost a brother — no one deserved that. What was she going to do with Cora? More problems; one at a time.

“Go to the meet, all of you. Jimmy and I’ll find Derek.” _Hopefully alive._

Like Isaac read her mind, he cleared his throat, still sounding groggy when he asked: “Is there a guarantee he’s alive since you’re still alive?”

_“What? What did he just-”_

Joe winced when Aunt Mel swung her head around in panic. “I don’t know,” she held her hands up to stave off the millions of questions she could see behind Aunt Mel’s worried brown eyes, “I’m not sure anyone knows the rules for sure. I think he’s alive, I can feel him.” _I hope it is him at least._

As she should have expected, Boyd crossed his arms across his chest. “I’ll help you find him.”

“No.” Joe watched the heavy muscles shift under Boyd’s shirt, more alike Derek than either of them were aware of. “You can barely stand, Boyd. You want to help? Heal. Live to fight another day.”

His nostrils flared — he was _trying_ to stay in control. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She hated this. Hated it, hated it, hated it. Maintaining eye contact with strong, _loyal_ Boyd, she whispered: “Don’t make me force you.”

Bad choice of words.

“You can _try!”_ he snarled, taking a step forward, mouth opening with teeth bared. Both Isaac and Scott latched onto his sweater again. “Come on!”

As Joe’s hands involuntary clenched, Jimmy cut in front of her, his whole face morphing and stretching as he growled, an obvious threat.

Tensions ran high, all the werewolves were affected, and not for the first time she wished Derek could be here. Derek, who _knew_ about werewolves, _knew_ instinctively how to handle them, how to subdue, provoke, or just read them; who was an Alpha in his own right, not just by proxy.

“Okay, can we just all take a deep breath here,” Aunt Mel suggested thinly — Isaac and Scott still held Boyd while Joe and Cora physically blocked Jimmy. “This house is built to withstand the occasional earthquake, not,” her hands waved around “whatever you guys are trying to do.”

“Jimmy, back off,” Joe bit out and used her shoulder to make him retreat into the living room. “You three,” she indicated the boys, “go to the meet. Stay together and keep your cool. Jimmy and Cora, you’re with me.” She raised her voice. “That’s _final_.”

Allison shifted, throwing nervous glances at Boyd with the leather of her archery-coat creaking. “Okay, but one of the Alphas is also on the cross-country team. And his brother’s got this thing with Lydia.”

“He won’t try anything in public, not alone,” Joe explained. She knew Ethan. He would not do _anything_ without his brother. She winced when turning to Allison — Derek was definitely not healing yet. “Can you keep an eye on Lydia? Keep her away from Aiden until we know more, until we can regroup.”

“Yeah,” Allison said, jaw setting in a firm line. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Scott shook his head and put his hand on Joe’s shoulder, eyebrows pulled together in both pain and worry. “I don’t like this, I don’t like leaving you guys on your own.”

“The Alphas took a hard hit too,” Joe said, hoping it was true. “It’ll be fine. Go, Scott, please. Get out of town.” She hated this. Hated taking responsibility, hated being a leader. Hated it, hated it. “Let me deal with this.”

Eventually, they agreed, although Joe could see Boyd’s jaw flex and how dark his eyes became every time he looked at Allison. Problem for another time. The cross-country team’s bus was scheduled to leave the school in just an hour and since everyone was covered in dust and blood, they raided Scott and Isaac’s closets for clothes.

Aunt Mel grabbed Joe around the wrist and took her aside, like that would make any difference at all. “Joe, what the hell is going on here?”

For a second, Joe just stared into Aunt Mel’s eyes. Like Scott’s, like her dad’s, not like her own. It was so tempting to just confess everything, leave the problem with an actual adult, but she couldn’t. “I’ll explain later. Do you have work today?”

“Yeah, but not until the afternoon.”

“Go now. Cover a shift or something,” Joe said, trying to keep her voice low, hoping Scott wasn’t focused on her voice as he was still upstairs. “I don’t think you’re a target, but I don’t want to take any chances.” Biting her lip, she made a hard call, sacrificing her closest ally. “Jimmy’ll take you there.”

At that, Aunt Mel glanced over at Jimmy, who gave her a solid nod that would have been more reassuring if it wasn’t for his glowstick eyes. “Okay, Joe, I don’t like this. I think I should call Rob-”

“No!” Joe said, too loud, too harsh. Fighting to keep her voice steady, she tried again. “No, keep him out of this. Trust me, please, he _can’t_ get caught in the crossfires.”

Waiting for Aunt Mel to agree, which she did however reluctantly, Joe ran both hands through her hair, removing the stupid headband Allison had given her.

“I’ll take your aunt to the hospital, but then I’m going back to the apartment,” Jimmy said in a low voice, keeping his back to the other guys who had trickled back downstairs.

“Good call,” Joe nodded and rubbed her abdomen where she felt the remains of Derek’s injuries. “If he’s running on instincts, he can show up there.”

Jimmy hesitated, the purple fading as he narrowed his eyes. “Yes, and...the other thing.”

“What?”

“There’s,” he spoke slowly, brows furrowed in uncharacteristic concern, “another reason I should go back to the apartment, remember?”

She nodded again. “Yeah, the mountain ash lining. You’ll be safe there.”

“No, that’s not-” Jimmy cut himself off, glancing behind him to the attentive gaze of Cora. “Nevermind.”

Everyone prepared to leave, an absurd time-out from the intense battle just hours ago. Joe hoped she made the right call forcing the boys to leave town, to hide and heal. God, she wished Derek was here. Leaning over the kitchen counter, she pulled some more of his pain, just to feel it. He was alive. He had to be.

* * *

_Who knows what you can become?_

Now, the throb in her abdomen felt reassuring as she stepped over the broken concrete that littered the escalator. Looking up, she gauged it to be at least eighty feet, if not more. Isaac was right. It was a hard fall, even for an Alpha. And two Alphas had fallen and now none were left. Hissing through her teeth, Joe knelt down to touch the pools of blood. One smelled like Derek.

“Ennis landed here,” Cora announced from a few feet away. Her sense of smell was, of course, a thousand times better than Joe’s. Although injured, she seemed to have mostly healed from the fight, but dark rings lined her undereyes. Could also have been from crying. “Do you still feel him?”

She asked every ten seconds or so.

“Yeah,” Joe said, wincing a bit. Claw marks down the sides of the escalator handrails — instincts making him reach out for something to hold on to. “I feel him.” She picked up a smashed cell-phone, looking remarkably like Derek’s. “Guess we know why he’s not picking up. Can you get a sense of direction?”

“No. No scent at all after they landed.”

It made sense, Joe supposed. As an Alpha, Derek would be able to mask his scent. She hoped that meant he had left on his own. Where would he go? Both Cora and Jimmy insisted that if Derek was running on instincts — like she had when waking up in the Preserve — he would try to find her. The difference was that he had more senses than Joe and would try to find her in real-time, not her most likely location. Well, here she was, wanting to find him and he was nowhere to be seen. How far could he have gone?

“You got something?” Joe asked as Cora had knelt at another spot in the dust.

“Not Derek,” she said quietly, running her hand across what looked like faint scratches in the concrete. “This is where they took you, isn’t it? The night of the full moon?”

Another kind of pain clutched Joe’s chest at the memory — Cora had caught Erica’s scent. In her mind’s eye, she could see two figures tussling on the floor, fighting for the upper hand. At that point, it had been for show, trying to convince the spectating Alphas that it was a fight for life-or-death. Make it believable enough that when Joe tried to escape by running out into the night, they would let Erica follow, confident of the desired outcome. Joe was supposed to use mistletoe to subdue Erica when they reached the safety of the deep woods, but both Joe and Jimmy had underestimated Erica’s strength.

The full moon, the chase, the bloodlust — it had taken over Erica, making her attack Joe for real this time, but Joe managed to hold her off, waiting for Jimmy to help or for sun-up. Then Derek’s pain came and she snapped. Just like she snapped a branch of a tree — no claws or fangs, she would make do with any kind of weapon — and then she had used the branch to stab-

“It should have been me.”

Cora’s voice made the images fade away and Joe blinked away a few treacherous tears poised in her eyes.

“Please don’t say that,” Joe whispered, rubbing her ribcage, right around where the branch had pierced Erica. “It shouldn’t have been either of you.”

“I have more control. The Alphas knew. That’s why they picked her.”

“From what Scott told me, you weren’t exactly the definition of self-restraint yourself that night.” Joe swallowed, feeling the fatigue clutching at her spine now. When was the last time she slept? Not wanting to draw attention to her hands, she kept them in the pockets of her denim jacket. “Besides, she spent less time in the vault than you.”

“Yeah, but bitten werewolves have-” Cora broke off, staring towards the top of the escalator.

Knowing better than to ask if she heard something, Joe just assumed she did. When Cora turned sharply towards the upper platform, Joe reached back for her pistol, recovered when they first got here and reloaded with a fresh clip.

The noise Cora heard wasn’t one of the Alphas. Not one of the present ones anyway.

“It's just me,” Peter Hale, back in his immaculate gray coat, announced. “Your uncle, Uncle Peter.”

Not sounding too impressed, Cora said: “Uncle Peter who killed sister Laura.”

“Uncle Peter who killed a lot of people,” Joe murmured from her position, still trying to make sense of the marks on the floor.

“Mm, not my finest hour, no,” Peter admitted, watching both of them warily as Cora stalked closer to him, instincts driving her to keep herself between him and Joe. “But I'm hardly the only dysfunctional family member. Did Derek mention that he killed me too? Slashed my throat, ear to ear.”

Cora’s voice was flat. “So that means I should trust you?”

“Actually, I'm wondering if I can trust you.” Peter’s voice brought a chill to Joe’s stomach that made her stand up, although still a bit dizzy from blood loss not even hers.

As expected, it took a lot to throw Cora for a loop. “You've known me for seventeen years.”

“I knew you for eleven,” Peter corrected smoothly, “leaving the last six unaccounted for. And I'm not particularly fond of things unaccounted.” He glanced down at Joe. “Don’t think I’m blind, Joe, or ignoring the obvious signs like Derek. I can tell how you’re acting. You’re hiding something. Both of you are.”

“What are you doing here?” Cora asked, again stepping physically into Peter’s line of sight, blocking Joe.

“Same as you. Wondering where the bodies went. Wondering if they were carried out, or maybe if one of them managed to find enough strength to push himself up off the floor and walk out, leaving us standing here to answer the all-important question.”

“Which one?” Cora swallowed. She looked down at Joe, hope in her bright brown eyes, eyes that looked so much like Derek’s. “Joe still feels him.”

His steps echoed as he sauntered down. “Do you now? That’s convenient.” A flash of a smile. “So tell me, where is he?”

“I don’t know. Yet.” Joe swallowed, still tempted to reach back for her gun. “Want to talk about convenience? Where were you during the fight?”

His smile never reached his eyes. Like Gerard, it was a dead man’s smile. “I don’t engage in fights I won’t win.” Nothing kind in his face, nothing but suspicion. “Even though I don’t trust you, I still agreed with your sentiment at the loft. This _was_ a trap.”

Feeling sick, Joe shook her head to clear her mind. “They’re several steps ahead of us all the time. With the vault. Here. They know if they make it too easy we won’t take the bait, every trap is layered.”

“And as good little flies, we walked straight into the web. I’d be impressed if it wasn’t for the fact that they want us all dead. Oh, don’t give me that look, Joe. I wanted revenge for my family, this is just a mindless power grab.”

Not that mindless, Joe thought, but remained quiet. She could tell by Cora’s narrowed eyes that she was on edge. As much as she would like an outlet for all her emotions, getting into a fight with Peter Hale was not on her list of priorities right now.

“Well, Miss Mate,” Peter seemed to enjoy riling her up as he leaned on the banister of the escalator, “tap into that connection of yours and find my nephew, if you’d be so kind.”

That rulebook would have been nice by now. Touching Derek’s blood gently, Joe brought her fingers up to her nose. It was him, but it was tainted, layered with something sweet and bitter. Almost like vinegar? Last time she had ever smelled anything like this was at the clinic when he was hit with a wolfsbane-bullet, but then it had been rotten and infected. Now it was just...wrong.

“I can’t,” Joe said eventually, wiping her hand off on her leggings.

Peter did not sound or look impressed. “Can’t or won’t?”

“I can’t,” Joe repeated and glanced guiltily at Cora. “Not that I knew how anyway, but there’s something wrong. Ever since I came back, there’s been this...layer to his scent. I thought it was because of me, because of everything that’s happened, but now I’m not sure anymore.”

“Everything that’s happened?” Peter repeated. “Care to elaborate? What _did_ happen those three months you were gone, Joe?” Again, the ghost of a smile, but hard pale eyes that for the first time highlighted how much he and Derek actually resembled each other. With Cora it was obvious, but with Peter it was subtle, in the movements and nuances of expressions. False kindness in his voice as he asked: “What changed you this much?”

No one said anything for a few seconds and Peter’s smile became a bit more sincere as he unsheathed his claws. “There are other ways I can find out-”

That was as far as he got before Joe pulled out her pistol, but Cora had already wolfed out and snarled down at him. She leaped up to the handrail; trembling, ready to spring at him.

That was apparently exactly what Peter was after as he put his hand down slowly. His smile disappeared as he looked at Joe.

“A Beta’s instinct is always to protect their Alpha. This explains a lot.” Focusing on trigger discipline, Joe tried to breathe. As if he did not notice both Joe and Cora ready to kill him, Peter shrugged. “Explains why Cora’s been giving Derek a run for his money when it comes to sulking lately. You forced her to stay with him when all she really wanted was to be with you.”

Sighing, Joe put her gun back and gave Cora a nod that it was okay. “Only because the Alphas forced _us_ together first. I shouldn’t be her Alpha, never wanted to be.”

“I tried telling her that’s not how it works,” Cora said in a hard voice to Peter as she slid down from the handrails, face back to normal. “And with Alpha Mates, you can still have two Alphas in the same pack.”

“Yes, that’s the _only_ way you can have to Alphas in a pack. Unless the entire pack is made of Alphas of course. So,” Peter swiveled to give Cora another smile, “you, my little niece, are bonded to not one, but two inexperienced Alphas with a habit of biting over more than they can chew.” Peter sighed and crossed his arms, giving Cora a defeated look. “No pun intended.” Looking over at Joe, he said: “But speaking of bite...There’s never been a mate bond between a werewolf and a human before. And I’m guessing it still hasn’t happened?”

“It’s complicated.” That was as far as Joe was willing to explain for the time being. “And not important, not right now. We need to find Derek sooner rather than later.”

“You know the Alphas better than anyone-”

How much did he know? It was hard to tell with Peter, he always sounded smug and like he knew more than you. Don’t panic. He had no way of knowing. She had to stay calm.

“-what would they do if they found him first?”

She cleared her throat, not looking at either Cora or Peter. “Depends on how hurt Ennis is. If he dies, Kali won’t stop for anything.” Joe rubbed her stomach absentmindedly, the pain still throbbing there. Not healed, but not dead either. “I don’t know where the Alpha pack is, but I know someone who can find them.”

“Who?” Cora asked, dark brows pulled down in a frown, like Derek.

“Their Emissary,” Joe said, still not a hundred percent sure what that word even meant. “She’ll be at the school. I’ll head there.”

At her words, Peter looked thoughtful while Cora nodded and said: “I’ll go with you.”

“Actually,” Peter interjected and made everyone pause in their descent from the escalators. He looked at Cora. “There is someone else who might be worth talking to. I could use some back-up.”

As probably everyone expected by now, Cora looked at Joe for confirmation. Joe hated this. With a sigh, she nodded. “It’s okay. School’s public, there’ll be people there. Go with your uncle. Keep me posted.”

_Get the hell away from me so I don’t kill you too._

Cora glanced down and Joe squeezed her fists tightly together, knowing what confirmation she was looking for. Her hands were steady-ish; not too bad. Not shaking outright, not when she used all of her willpower to keep them from doing so. She’d be fine.

No need to tell Cora to be careful around Peter; like most Hales, she had plenty of trust issues already. Still reluctant, but not one to disobey a direct order — a fact Joe hated to take advantage of — Cora left with Peter in his car while Joe took the Corvette. She checked her phone, but still no word from Jimmy, only a text from Scott asking if they’d found Derek. Instead of answering, she put the phone back in her pocket, hoping she could give him better news pretty soon.

Dark thoughts clouded Joe’s mind as she pulled up in the high school parking lot next to a shiny red Toyota Prius. Finally alone, without Cora or Jimmy or Scott hanging over her, she allowed herself ten seconds to cry. Ten seconds, Joe thought. Ten seconds to just let it all out and then you _get_ out. Ten seconds and you get out and you _function_. She counted to ten, slowly, in her mind, sniffling pathetically, fighting to keep in the scream that had been lodged in her throat since she saw Derek fall. Ten seconds. And then she got out of the car.

No idea what time it was, but it might be a half-day at the school or something because it looked like people were leaving. Or they’d found another dead teacher or student and they sent everyone home. Dead virgins felt like the least of Joe’s problems right now.

With every step, Joe’s ribs twinged, a sign he was still out there. If the Alphas had him, how would she get him back? When her stupid self couldn’t even make the shot to take out the head of the snake?

Reaching the guidance counselor’s office, she found it locked. Don’t panic. Breathe. With a harsh swear, she opened the door anyway. The lock gave a metallic crunch as she broke through. Joe realized her other hand had reached back into her waistband, for the pistol, but the office was empty. No sign of the Emissary. Shit.

Shit, shit, shit! She hated this! She was the most useless goddamn Alpha ever to exist and she did not want to be one, it should not even be possible, but as Derek once said, ‘here we are’. From what he had told her once, she shouldn’t even exis. There was no such thing as-

“No more denying the facts, babe, you gotta face it head on.”

“Shut up,” Joe snapped. Her hands trembled and she focused on making them steady again; focusing on her hands instead of the leggy blonde leaning against Marin’s desk. “You’re not real.”

“That’s what you said about werewolves, remember? Back in the day?” Kate sounded nostalgic as she crossed her long legs, peering at Joe through thick lashes. Her voice was normal, like before Peter slashed her throat open. “Everyone tried telling you. Every _thing_ told you what was going, but nooo, you stuck in your own bubble of textbooks and journals. Come on, who knows what’s real or not? I could be somewhere in _México_ with a medium using mystical powers to astral project myself here, just to be with you.”

Joe rubbed her head, everything shaking from the movements of her hands. “No. No, that’s not possible.”

“Oh, that’s where we’re drawing the line? Werewolves, moon-induced mate bonds, homicidal vengeance spirits — and you don’t believe in astral projection? I mean, come on, the guy who tried to kill me,” Kate gestured at herself and now the red line appeared over her throat, like bad CGI, “was resurrected by a high school girl who ‘allegedly’,” Kate used air quotes and her voice turned sweet, “doesn’t even remember what she was doing.”

“There’s gotta be rules,” Joe mumbled and stumbled to sit in the chair. Her entire upper body hurt, her head throbbed — when was the last time she ate something? Drank something? Slept? Just needed a quick second to catch her breath.

Kate scoffed, not sounding too impressed. “Nah. You think so? In a world where everything you thought was just fairytale monsters turns out to be real? Rules are for science and this,” her smile was devilish, “isn’t an exact one.”

“Shut up.”

“But okay, let’s say that high school chick tells the truth, she doesn’t remember anything. She didn’t have a choice, Peter was in her head. How do you know I’m not doing that to you? I mean, I’m obviously in your head, but how do you know I’m not controlling you? Pulling your strings one - by - one?”

“Shut up.”

“Mmm,” Kate leaned back again with an appreciative sound, stretching her long lean body over the desk. “Truth is, I don’t even need to control you, do I, babe? You’re making all the wrong choices by yourself, right? Failing at every step you take.”

Without thinking, Joe leaped up and tore Marin’s name sign off the desk, hurling it at Kate. “ _Shut up!”_

Of course, the sign went straight through empty space and several inches into the back wall. Empty space, because Kate wasn’t there. Never was. Damn it! Function, you have to function, you have _a function!_

Panting in the middle of the office, she almost missed the slight knock on the door before it opened.

_“Everything all right in here-”_ Her dad froze, as did she. “Joe?”

“Shit,” Joe swore and looked at the window, gauging if she could just jump through it. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“What the hell are you doin’ in here?” her dad asked, coming fully inside and closing the door after him. Except it wouldn’t close because Joe had broken the inside mechanism. Work, he was working, she realized, because he wore the dark blue FBI-jacket. He looked from the handle to the sign stuck in the wall. “Joe, what’s goin’ on?”

“I can’t,” Joe breathed out, at least trying to breathe, but her throat constricted. She couldn’t breathe. He still stood in the door, blocking her escape. “I can’t, I can’t do this, Dad, not now, I have to go.”

“Jesus Christ, kid, you look half-dead.” Her dad took a step closer, but stopped when she backed off. He held his hands up in surrender and she _hated_ the way he looked at her — fragile, weak, pathetic. “All right, all right, kid, it’s all right. Did somethin’ happen?”

“No, no, nothing happened.”

“Okay, Joe, listen to me, it’s gonna-”

“No, no, no,” Joe mumbled, rubbing her hands over her face. “I can’t do this, Dad, not now, okay? You can’t be here, you can’t-” Everything hurt. “I can’t take you being nice now, Dad, okay? I need you to still be angry with me, that you don’t want to talk to me because I said I’d call and then I didn’t for three months and-”

“ _Mija_ ,” he said slowly, “I’m not angry with you. This ‘bout the other day when you were with Stilinski’s kid? I had no idea you were back in town, kid, I wasn’t tryin’ to invade your space, that’s-”

“No, Dad, no! You have to be angry, I can’t-” Joe hiccuped, gesturing weakly to just _everything_ that was wrong and it was _everything_. She couldn’t lie to him. She couldn’t take him being nice and understanding because him just being here put him in danger and she could not take losing him too.

“ _Josefina, mija_ , what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Joe Delgado was a horrible liar. And her dad knew her too well.

He caught her before she collapsed, fatherly instincts kicking in probably, and pressed her face hard into his chest as she sobbed loudly.

Ugly, scared, open-mouthed cries escaped Joe and she held in a scream.

Her dad held her tight, sinking down to the floor with her, not shushing her, not patronizing her, just holding her. She hated him. She hated him so much! And yet, at that moment, he was the only thing keeping her from breaking into pieces.

Human blunt fingernails dug into his jacket as she cried. No coherent words, no chance of explaining, just vile sobs that racked through her whole body. She was four years old again and slipped on the swing, cutting open her knee. She was eleven, when the boy she had given a Valentine’s Day card showed it to his friends and laughed. She was fourteen, watching her best friend get her stomach pumped at the hospital. She was fifteen, being told she was going to Tryon Residential Center for eight months. She was twenty-three, believing the man she loved was either dying or already dead.

Loved.

It only made her cry harder, not wanting to admit it, not now. Not wanting to think about how she used the past tense.

Dead, because of her. Because she’d missed. Because she had been kidnapped. Because she hadn’t been strong enough. Everything because of her.

Somehow, her dad got her up from the floor and placed her back in the chair. He produced a handkerchief and like she was a goddamn toddler, he wiped roughly around her face.

“Jesus Christ,” she croaked and pushed his hand away. “What am I? Five years old?”

“I dunno, you tell me,” her dad said gruffly and made another swipe, this time for her nose. Joe nearly broke her neck trying to dodge it. “Think that’s the last time you got so upset you couldn’t talk. Come on, blow.”

Handkerchief under her nose and she glared at him. He was trying to get a rise out of her, to distract her. It kinda worked. “Screw you.”

“There she is,” he laughed and pocketed the handkerchief, without noticing how her entire body froze up again. “Come on, kid. Talk to me. What’s going on? Why are you breakin’ into the guidance counselor’s office? This ‘bout that college girl?”

Despite herself, she wrinkled her brows. “What?”

“The girl, Emily. She was a freshman at your institute. Thought you might have known her, considering how she was in your Prof’s class and, uh, was a...” Not giving her dad the easy way out, she waited for him to say it. “A lesbian.”

“Jesus Christ, I didn’t know that girl! What, you think I know every lesbian at Berkeley?” Joe gave it half a second’s thought — the LGBTQ+ community was generally a close-knit one. “Maybe like a few years ago, but not anymore. I don’t even live on campus anymore. I don’t attend lectures or-” She shook her head. “I don’t have time for this. Dad, listen to me, you need to quit this case. You need to get out of town _now_.”

He just stared at her, eyebrows rising to meet his thinning hairline. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I have _never_ asked you to walk away from a case,” Joe’s voice shook, but she pushed through, “but I’m asking now. Please, Dad, just...please. I can’t lose you too, I can’t, I just-”

“Is someone threatening you, kid? What’s going on?”

“Dad, please...”

She broke off. Something was happening.

A noise, like at the far edge of her consciousness, trembling through her spine up into her heart and then finally her mind.

A howl — pain, anguish, fury, heartbreak, everything laced into a noise that she should not have been able to hear. A sound that was not supposed to be made or heard by humans. Far away, but not subject to the regular laws of physics — she could hear it.

Joe looked at her hands, saw the slight tremor, but not like before, this was real. This was _her_. Kali.

“I gotta go.”

“What?”

“I gotta go! Sorry, I love you, but I gotta go!”

“Wait, Joe, what, hang on!”

Leaving her dad in the office, she ran out of the school, dodging teenagers left and right. If that howl meant what she thought, she had to find Derek _now!_

The Corvette stood alone in the parking lot now and she hurriedly unlocked the door. Joe gasped when her hand came back bloody. Blood on the car door. A large red handprint on the window. Derek’s blood.

No doubt in her mind and there was more of it on the pavement, but no sign of him.

“What?” she whispered to herself and span around. “No, no, no-”

No other cars. No other people. No Derek.

The trail of blood ended at her car. No, wait. Droplets went from her driver's side to where the Toyota had been parked. Had someone else found him? One of the teachers? If he was half as injured as his pain let on, someone could have taken him to a hospital. Except, knowing Derek, he would waste his final breaths on telling someone _not_ to take him to a hospital.

“Derek?” She had to try, maybe he was still here, but nothing in the air except the smell of his tainted blood. He’d tried to find her and she wasn’t here. No, she was having a breakdown in the goddamn guidance counselor’s office when he tried to find her. _“Derek?”_

The howl fresh in memory, she wiped her hands on her leggings again and got in the car. If someone else — anyone else than the Alpha pack — had him, he would be okay. He would be safe.

Please let him be okay.

* * *

_You’re supposed to be equals. Tell me, do you feel like his equal?_

This was less a case of ‘Jesus, take the wheel’ than letting instincts take over instead. The howl seemed to linger on the inside of her brain, calling out to her, letting her know where Kali was. Joe should not have been surprised to find that she ended up at Deaton’s clinic.

And she should not have been surprised when Kali came to nearly wrench the door off the Corvette. Her clawed hand gripped around Joe’s arm and tore her out into the parking lot of the clinic.

Eyes red, she snarled: “Where is he?”

“I don’t- _ow_!” Joe yelped as Kali increased the pressure on Joe’s arm. Along with the anesthesia wearing off, this was too much. The only thing holding her up was the fact that they didn’t have him. They didn’t know where he was either. “I don’t know!”

Kali’s breath fanned over her face, like a desert wind. “Is he alive?” Her grip increased, claws digging into Joe’s skin. “Do you feel him?” Joe bent backward, no chance of resisting Kali’s strength. “Did you take his pain? Did - you - _save_ \- him?”

Joe bit her lips together tightly, holding in the scream threatening to burst out. Kali was more than angry, she was livid. Joe managed to choke out: “That’s all you got? Hm? Come on, I can take it.”

As soon as she said it, Kali let go of her.

Still barefoot and dressed in a ripped tank top and leggings, Kali stalked across the empty pavement. Hands fanned out to either side, claws still dripping with Joe’s blood. Too angry or hurt to speak, Joe realized, based on Kali’s moving jaw, shifting around large canine teeth. Breathing hard.

Joe clutched her underarm where she had a pattern of four scratch marks — they would take some time to heal coming from Kali’s claws. She flinched when Kali roared into the empty lot.

The question tumbled out before Joe could stop it: “Ennis is dead, isn’t he?”

The effect was instant. Kali took a step back; her face cleared, eyes dimming from red to brown, mouth back to normal. Chest heaving in short bursts of breath. _That_ had been the origin of the howl. _That_ was why she was so angry.

Joe held Kali’s grief-stricken stare for as long as she could. Then she leaned forward and whispered: “ _Good_.”

In hindsight, probably not the best idea, emphasized by how Kali used a split second to overcome the shock before she front-kicked Joe into a pale blue Suburban.

The metal buckled under Joe’s back and the force knocked both her and the car several feet over the concrete. It took every ounce of focus to keep the pain to herself, so much that she missed Kali appearing above her, grabbing Joe’s throat to lift her up.

“Why did you come here?” she demanded, swinging Joe around like a wielded axe to throw her to the ground. “Did you come to beg for his life? To convince me I shouldn’t find him and rip his throat out,” she bared her fangs, “ _with my teeth?”_

“I-I don’t know,” Joe stuttered, struggling to get back up from, her own pain merging with Derek’s. It was the honest answer. Instincts drove her here. To protect Derek? Probably. It was hard to tell anymore. “I heard you...”

The fangs mangled Kali’s words. “Don’t kid yourself, _Sefina_ , you don’t have that kind of hearing. Your father made sure of that.” She raked her eyes over Joe’s form, seeming to linger on Joe’s combat boots that she still wore. “You think you can stop me?” She snorted. “Where _is_ he?”

“I don’t know.”

“ _Liar!”_ It came out as a roar, sounding closer to an enraged tiger than a wolf. “He’ll search you out.” Her voice dripped with false sweetness and she almost tip-toed closer to Joe again. “He can’t help it. It’s his instincts.”

Back to standing, Joe swayed from a mind-numbing combination of pain and fatigue. “Yeah? See him anywhere?”

“It’s only a matter of time,” Kali spat and her clawed hands flexed around Joe’s neck now, as if ready to plunge into the weak flesh to pluck apart Joe’s memories. She seemed to resist her own urges and pushed away from Joe, going back to the clinic. “He killed one of ours, _Sefina_. He doesn’t get a choice anymore. _You_ dont get a choice anymore.”

* * *

_It’s possible the mate-bond was the catalyst, so to speak.  
_

“Did you call Cora?”

“For the twentieth time, yes. No answer.” Jimmy moved around the kitchen — she could hear pills shake in some bottles. “Can you please cons-”

“No. No pills.”

The local anesthetic Aunt Mel had given her was wearing off. Wherever Derek was, he was still injured. After Kali’s warning, Joe had gone back to the apartment, back to the mountain ash-infused apartment. She wanted to go to the loft. Wanted to check the hospital. Wanted to keep looking, but that’s how Kali expected to find him. She would follow Joe, hoping to exploit the stupid instincts. Well, not today.

“Mmrh,” Joe grunted as she pulled on more of Derek’s pain. Her phone buzzed with questions from Stiles and Scott, if she had found Derek, but she could not bring herself to answer. Maybe Cora and Peter had found him and hidden him away somewhere? A comforting thought. Maybe they had sealed off the loft — Jimmy had gone there earlier, but the front doors had been locked — and was preparing for a siege? Maybe Cora had finally realized Joe wasn’t to be trusted and refused to answer Jimmy’s calls? Maybe maybe maybe.

Whatever Joe did, she would not lead the Alphas to him now. She would pull on his pain, hoping to keep him alive until the damn healing started and he could fend for himself. Then she’d find him and they would fight the Alphas together, properly. Hopefully soon.

Soft footsteps from sock-covered feet and Erica appeared upside-down. “Is she okay?”

“I’m fine,” Joe croaked, sounding horrible even to herself.

“Are you sure you don’t want the bed?” Erica leaned down with her hands on her knees to where Joe laid splayed out on the living room carpet. Her hooded eyes looked doubtful. “You don’t _look_ fine.” Her eyebrows lifted when Joe gave her the finger. “Whatever. Have fun being Derek’s pain-tampon. I’m going back to bed.”

Joe winced at the expression, but exchanged her middle finger with a thumbs up.

“Well,” Jimmy said as his face also appeared over her. “As long as you don’t do something _completely_ idiotic as taking on his injuries, or you know, walk into another trap laid by the Alphas and nearly get yourself killed...” His purple eyes narrowed in a wane smile — even if he treated her nicely now, this matter was not settled yet. “I will return to my room for meditation in an attempt to _not_ tear your head clean off your shoulders. Wherever Derek is, he’s most likely safe. The pills are on the counter if you come to your senses.”

Squirming on the floor, Joe just nodded. She just wished there was a way to actually tap into the connection to find out if he was okay, not just alive. Derek had once commented that her pain ‘felt’ differently when she was scared — probably something to do with more acute werewolf senses able to pick up nuances that she couldn’t. Like Kali said, Joe did not have that kind of hearing. Or smell. Or whatever other sixth sense these guys seemed to possess.

Bad genes, Kali had called it.

Time blurred and lost all sense of importance as she laid there. The only thing she noted was the darkness outside the large windows in her and Jimmy’s living room. A day or so shy of a half-moon — she would need to make sure Jimmy was okay then. Demi Alpha, demi moon. Half Alpha, half-moon. The pain kept her awake, even as the shadows grew even longer on the floor next to her. Pulling on as much as she could. Stupid asshole better appreciate it.

God, she was so happy he was still alive — wherever he was.

Finally, when she was no longer sure if the pain even was real anymore, he started healing.

She could feel how his wounds closed, how the pain went away little by little. Joe was tempted to close her eyes and sleep at the sensation of calm that filled her. Just glad he actually was okay, a tear slipped out of her eye. Still many problems awaited them — Kali was still after blood, Deucalion still after power — but at least they could face them somewhat together. At least he was okay.

Staring at the living room ceiling, her eyes narrowed. The pain slipped away as the injuries healed, but it was replaced by something else. It was more than a sense of calm, it was almost...nice? Her mouth dry, she tried to swallow, noting her increased heartbeat. Flushed skin and chest going up and down, out of breath without moving. _Something_ spread from her core out to her fingertips, her toes, to her stomach and below, settling between her legs and-

“Oh my God,” Joe groaned, but tried to keep quiet. Involuntarily buckling, trying to ride it out, but it kept going. She flexed her muscles, trying to push the sensation away. This was on the far opposite of the pain spectrum. This was...good. “Oh God.”

It built inside of her, making her flushed, making her body respond physically, but it wasn’t- this wasn’t- it wasn’t her, it was him. It was Derek.

And he was not alone.

“Oh God,” Joe gagged and for a few seconds, she stayed on the floor, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling.

He wasn’t alone. Derek was _with_ someone in the most intimate form of _with_ there was and it was not her. He was with someone else. He was having _sex_ with someone else, right now, and she was an unintentional witness, a bystander, a spy, an intruder.

“Oh no, no, no.”

The tingling and sensual warmth in her body kept coming, kept pushing into her, kept-

“No!” Joe leaped to her feet, brushing at her own limbs, trying to physically push it out. “No, God, please no! No, stop!”

Every particle of her filled with the heat and the sparks of pure pleasure. It would not go away! She clawed at her skin, trying to make it stop, dancing around wildly, trying to numb it. It wasn’t like the pain, she couldn’t push it out like that, it was different, slippery where the pain was all hard edges and she couldn’t concentrate when it _just kept coming!_

Unaware of her own thoughts, she ran inside the bathroom, turning on the shower while still pulling on her skin, hoping to use the pain to distract. Cold, cold shower and she jumped in fully clothed, sliding to the floor of the tub, trying to coat herself in the chill.

The freezing water hit her skin and numbed it, but the heat was coming from within her, it was impossible to make it stop. She was crying, hardly aware of it under the spray of water, and she grabbed a washcloth and scrubbed hard. Make it stop, anything to make it stop!

The knowledge and the vision of Derek in bed with someone, someone whose touches gave him pleasure, whose skin melted into his, whose body accepted him fully was enough to make her scream. She felt dirty, she felt betrayed, she felt horrible. _“Please stop, please, please, please!”_

“Noo!” she groaned and threw her head back. The wave rose inside of her, responding to his, but it was not her! It was not with her! Just the thought of it, with her as a forced peeping tom, made her gag again, dry-heaving in the freezing shower.

The overhead light flicked on and she saw Jimmy in the doorway, shirtless and confused with glowing purple eyes. “Joe, what’s going on, what are you-”

“Make it stop!” she screamed so her throat became sore. If she had the guts, she would knock herself out, but she just thumped her head weakly against the tiled wall. “Please, just make it stop!”

“Is it Derek, is he hurt again, what-” Jimmy sounded frantic, dashing around the bathroom. Joe shook her head and sobbed again and Jimmy’s face cleared in realization as he probably could smell it on her and she _hated_ how he looked at her. “Oh. Oh, no, Joe, I’m...”

He ran out of the bathroom, only to return a second later, so fast he slid to the floor next to her. The pills rattled as he shook two of them out in his hand. “It will take around twenty minutes to kick in.”

Joe greedily grabbed the pills and swallowed them dry. Tried to focus on Jimmy, anything else than the pleasure riding her body like its own personal plaything. “I can’t take twenty minutes. Knock me out.”

“Joe, it’s not-”

“Do it.” Hands gripping the edge of the bathtub, she roared as her vision went red: _“NOW!”_

Last thing she saw was his purple eyes disappearing behind a curled-up fist. She barely felt herself slipping down into the filling bathtub, water practically steaming of her skin.

Anything to make it stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> ..  
> ...
> 
> Sorry, guys. I know no one wanted this, especially not Joe or Derek, but... it happened. It's part of a bigger plan, so it sort of had to. 
> 
> So nervous about posting this chapter, not gonna lie, hence the slight delay. Guess no one figured this was how Joe would find out, huh?
> 
> So, have we reached rock bottom yet? Has the thread Joe's been hanging onto finally snapped? Is there still hope for the Halegado-ship? (The answer for the last one is yes, just so you don't lose faith.)
> 
> Let me know what you think of this chapter and please trust that I have a plan with all of this 😊 Every comment is deeply appreciated. Thank you for reading, as always!


	70. The Hurt

_It would seem there is a limit to how much we can trigger of your abilities, but..._

No matter how much she showered, she still felt dirty. Still felt the heat, the buzz, the sensation of moving towards a climax she never asked for. Scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed so her skin lost its top layers — nothing helped. Head full of damp cotton, afraid of her own mind, she focused on getting clean. Nothing helped. She felt anything but clean.

Avoiding the mirror, as much to avoid looking at her own face, as to avoid acknowledging her body. Scratch marks covered her skin from her own fingernails. Raw, jagged lines all over her arms, torn in desperation last night. They’d heal, eventually — from an Alpha, after all, even with her lack of claws. Now _she_ was the one who couldn’t turn off her eyes.

Brushing her teeth until she spat blood and she put her hair back in a tight bun. No curls, not today, only the bangs coiling up into ringlets over her forehead. He loved her hair, huh? Liar.

_Liar!_

Joe bit in a harsh cry, leaning over the sink, knowing she could tear the whole thing off the wall if she wanted to. Could see it in her mind, how she could let out an angry roar and yank it loose, throwing it through the door into the hall. It was not what she wanted to do. Not really. It was just an outlet for rage she could not direct at its culprit.

She hated him. She hated him so much!

The pills and Jimmy’s fist had put her to sleep for hours. At least sleep was the closest designation that fit. Unconsciousness was probably more appropriate. Dead to the world. Not that she cared. Not anymore.

“How are you feeling? Joe? Where are you going?” Jimmy asked when she emerged from the bathroom, but she was not listening. He had stayed up while she slept, removing her from the freezing bathtub to his bed sometime during the night. Now he moved from his computer, following her towards the front door. “Hey, where are you- _Joe, you’re not wearing shoes!”_

A loud bang as she slammed the door behind her. The anger inside of her was replaced with a deep-set pit of betrayal, rock hard and jagged. So much time and energy she spent on keeping him alive, looking for him, worrying about him and he went out and sought comfort somewhere else.

Could not even bring herself to think about it. Fists clenched as she stomped out onto the streets, eyes not seeing the daylight, not seeing the people. Her naked toes felt the texture of the sidewalk, how the sun had warmed it and how it vibrated when someone walked nearby. She focused on that while the ball of hatred spun around inside her core, growing and thriving on the black veins of hurt.

Someone grabbed her shoulder and she spun around, fists balled and ready for a fight.

“Joe!” Jimmy yelled before she could strike and she bared her teeth at him instead with the only alternative being crying. His sunglasses were lopsided and his shirt unbuttoned — he’d obviously ran after her. “Where are you going?”

Where was she going?

“Berkeley.”

“Really?”

She tried to keep her pulse steady. “Yes.”

“Without these?” Jimmy asked and dangled the car keys that she had not taken with her. Again, she nodded, daring him to challenge her, and he adjusted his sunglasses. “You want to go to Berkeley? Fine. I’m driving.”

No way of telling if it was because she looked so awful he feared she would drive off the road or because he knew — like she knew — that she had _not_ been heading for Berkeley at all. Either way, he drove like he hated the road for once and they made quite a pair, him with his shirt unbuttoned and her with no shoes on. No one would complain about his state of dress, not with his impressive abdominal muscles rippling with every movement he made. Neither of them said a word throughout the entire drive.

“Wait here,” Joe ordered when Jimmy parked the Corvette with a sound of screeching rubber against the asphalt.

“Are you sure about that?”

Doubling back, Joe leaned halfway into the driver's side and tried to breathe evenly. “Jimmy, it’s bad enough that you saw me like that last night. So just,” her hand shook as she held it out, trying to visualize him staying put, “please wait here.”

To her dismay, he was still getting out of the car. “I don’t take orders from you, remember?”

“I’m not ordering you, Jim,” she said in a thin voice and rubbed her tired eyes. “I’m asking you, as a friend, to please wait here.”

He hesitated, obviously trying to gauge her chemosignals. “What are you gonna do?”

“Get some answers. Don’t worry, I’ll holler if I need you.”

Muttering something like: _“You better.”,_ he got back in the car, but kept the door open. Joe gave him a grateful nod, albeit a bit shaky, and headed towards the main campus. It wasn’t like she was here to fight anyone. If a fight happened, she’d take it, but it wasn’t her main motivation. Her chemosignals probably told a different story though, but she was still in control — barely.

As they had done just a few weeks earlier, she did not as much sneak into the college, more like stomped her way inside. Her bare feet slapped over the smooth old floors and tunnel vision kicked in, her mind focused on her destination alone.

Without a second’s hesitation, she broke through the lock on Professor Kane’s door and barged inside.

“Well, you look awful, Miss Delgado,” Professor Kane said without a single iota of surprise. That might have been because of Professor Sarah Walker, the werewolf, standing right behind her with an open book still in her arms.

“Oh good, you’re both here,” Joe said, not really caring either way and she slammed the door shut behind her, the broken remains of the lock somehow latching. “I have some questions and I feel you kinda owe me answers — again.”

Where Professor Bridget Kane looked like herself with unruly hair, in old distressed jeans with an oversized multi-colored knitted sweater on top, Professor Sarah Walker was dressed in an uncharacteristic combination of leggings and a sweatshirt. Her normally sleek hair twisted strangely, like heat-damaged curls trying to spring through and the angles of her face seemed to have softened slightly like she had aged years since Joe last saw her.

Professor Kane cleared some papers away from her desk. “Please take a seat, Miss Delgado.”

Keeping her distance, Joe leaned against the door. “No thank you, this won’t take long. There’s really only one question.”

With a sigh, Professor Kane leaned back in her chair while Walker remained standing, dark brown eyes scanning Joe, her frown deepening.

“You want answers?” Professor Kane tilted her head, letting the sunlight glint off her glasses. “You seem to _need_ rest. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“Yeah, it’s been rough.” Joe spared a glance to Walker, but she seemed to not pay much attention to the conversation. Crossing her arms to make the trembling less obvious, Joe cleared her throat. “So, anyway, remember the last time I came here and asked you about mates and you served me this bullshit-story of how it was just a legend or a myth? I’m gonna need you to revisit that statement and see if you have any alterations you want to make, _Professor._ Either of you are welcome to chime in, by the way, no need to hold back.”

As expected, Professor Kane removed her large glasses and polished them absentmindedly as she regarded Joe.

“I remember, Miss Delgado. And I need you to understand that until recently — until I realized what was going on with _you —_ I believed it _was_ a myth. The True Mate-bond is incredibly elusive, even in the old texts, because it was considered a private matter within the pack.” Finished with the glasses, she put them back on and her eyes flickered to Walker. “Like most things of intimate nature, it was not something you discussed with anyone.”

“Okay, that’s great and all,” Joe said impatiently, trying to keep herself in check. Her voice shook with the effort. “How do I break it?”

Professor Kane froze while Walker’s arm with the book dropped to the side. “Why would you want to?”

“How - do - I - _break_ \- it?” Joe asked slowly, enunciating each word, biting her dry lips so they cracked. “A zip of mountain ash? Eightball of mistletoe? Some sort of amp joint combining the two? What? What’s it gonna take? How do I break it?”

“That’s not possible.”

“ _Anything_ is possible!” Joe yelled and to her credit, Professor Kane did not even flinch whereas Walker definitely did. “What shouldn’t be possible is that I wake up one day and find myself connected, via the _fucking moon_ , to a random guy I happened to meet when he broke into our house. What shouldn’t be possible is that we can feel each other’s pain even though we’re nowhere near each other. What shouldn’t be possible,” her voice cracked, “is that I spent _months_ taking his pain, and last night I was rewarded with the pleasure he found with someone else.”

Without thinking, Joe took a few steps forward and slammed her palms onto the dark mahogany of Professor Kane’s desk. “So please reconsider telling me what’s possible or not.”

Angry hot tears dripped from Joe’s eyes onto the wooden surface.

“Pleasure _and_ pain,” Professor Kane said with a sigh. “I see.”

“Yeah?” Joe’s nostrils flared as she leaned towards her old Professor, seeing her own crazed reflection in the glasses. “So I want out. _How?”_

“There is only one way,” Professor Kane said, now rising out of her chair slowly, keeping eye contact where Walker was looking to the side. “And with that, I can not help you. Please sit down or I’m going to ask you to leave.”

“What way?”

“I can’t help you.”

“Can’t,” Joe felt her eyes change, “or won’t?”

Professor Kane’s steely gaze glinted behind her glasses and her voice sounded hollow when she said: “Won’t. Now _sit down!_ ”

Before Joe could think it through, before she even balled her fist together, Professor Kane put both her palms up in the air. Not in surrender, not at all. The air rippled when some force shot out through Professor Kane’s palms and Joe slammed back into the chair. Instinctually she jumped up, but _something_ prevented her from moving.

“You have been my favorite student for years, Miss Delgado, but you will not come onto this campus making threats!”

Joe’s lip curled as she struggled. “Nice trick. Where’d you get this power? Couple of human sacrifices maybe?”

“Oh, _Josefina_ , on these grounds I have no need for-”

Her voice cut off when Walker finally seemed to wake up, placing a calming hand on the shorter woman’s shoulder. “For Christ’s sake, Bridget,” she said quietly, “can’t you see the girl’s in pain?”

The so-called girl glared at both of them as Kane let her hands drop. The strange force pressing Joe down evaporated and she sprang up from the chair. Her chest heaved, fists clenched, ready for a fight, but Walker held her hands up in surrender.

“I’ll fight you,” she said in that same quiet voice, “if you think it’ll make you feel better. If it will help ease some of that tension. But you’re not a sadist, Joe — can I call you Joe? — and I don’t believe you will find pleasure in hurting me.” The office fell silent as Joe’s eyes dimmed back and Walker nodded. “Bridget, dear,” she said, addressing her wife, “could you make us some tea?”

Most of the fight had left Joe, but now she recoiled like struck. “With all due respect, Professor, I’m not gonna sit here and have a goddamn tea p-”

“Call me Sarah,” Professor Sarah Walker interrupted with a thin smile. “Stay for one cup of tea, I’m begging you.”

The smile disappeared as she looked back at Kane. Some unspoken discussion seemed to happen between them, ending in Kane heaving a sigh and getting up from her desk, mumbling something about this being _her_ office. When Kane passed Joe, who for some reason hadn’t moved at all, Walker came over to the other side of the desk. She leaned against it, not caring how some papers crumpled under her weight.

“Please forgive Bridget, she’s been on edge since all of this began.”

“Since you set me up,” Joe corrected, also feeling very much on edge lately. The charring that had flared up into an inferno now dwindled down, leaving her empty and spent. Despite herself, she slumped back down in the chair she had just sprung up from and glared at the guilt-ridden Professor in Criminology. “What pack?”

“Excuse me?”

“What pack were you in?” Joe asked in a hard voice. “You said Deucalion came to deliver his pitch, so it wasn’t _his_ pack. Tweedledum and Tweedledee joined later than the others, and you said seven years ago, so that leaves two.”

Sarah Walker had a haunted look, focused on the overfilled bookshelves in Kane’s office.

“So either way, you might be interested to hear that Ennis died yesterday.”

“I know.” It was barely a whisper and Sarah ran both hands through her hair. “I know, I heard the howl all the way here.”

It was not surprising anymore, but Joe felt the chill run through her. “You were in Kali’s pack.” At Sarah’s nod, Joe scoffed and blinked away the new swell of angry tears. “Right.” It made it somewhat easier to understand her fear, understand why Sarah had done what she did. Understanding was not the same as forgiving though. “Why has she never come after you?”

Sarah’s nostrils pulled together when she sniffed, straightening up a bit. “Nothing to gain, not anymore. It takes some effort to break the pack bond, but there was not a doubt I succeeded. Whatever Kali is, she’s not a mindless killer.” Her dark eyes flickered around Joe. “How did Ennis die?”

“Derek killed him.” Joe shrugged — like it was no big deal; like it wasn’t a death sentence. “So, Kali might not be a mindless killer, but I’m guessing she’s pretty big on revenge and it’s not gonna be pretty when she goes after him.”

“Is that why you want to break the bond?”

“No,” Joe admitted, closing her eyes instead of letting the tears fall. “It just hurts. Worse than I thought it-” She broke off, throat too clogged to speak. “Worse than I thought it could.”

Sarah’s voice remained soft. “Love usually does.”

Love. _Love_. Something built in Joe’s chest, fighting to get out, but she pushed it down, hanging onto every last shred of dignity with everything she had. _Love?_ Just the thought made her want to break something with her bare hands. Luckily for her, the door opened and Professor Kane came back, saving Joe the trouble trying to respond.

Kane handed Joe a paper cup that smelled downright awful. “This will help you heal from Alpha wounds.” She paused for a beat, glancing down at Joe’s arms. “Even those inflicted upon yourself.”

“I just,” Joe mumbled awkwardly, feeling she had to excuse herself for some stupid reason, “wanted to stop feeling it.”

“I can imagine,” Kane said as she went to sit back in her office chair. “Drink, it will make you feel better.”

“Just so you know, my Demi Alpha friend is waiting for me out in the car.” The herbal concoction tasted like grass and Joe made a face, forcing it down. “In case this is poison or something. Jesus Christ, this is disgusting.” It made her skin tingle slightly, but not in a pleasant way. “I don’t really care if I get kidnapped or anything again, I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

Based on how the scratches on her arms were healing, it probably wasn’t poison. Not sure if it made her feel better, but the foul taste at least took her mind off things for a few seconds.

“Can I ask you something?” Joe was looking at Kane. “Did you know the first Hales to settle in Beacon Hills?”

Kane quirked her brows. “How old do you think I am, Miss Delgado?”

“I have absolutely not a goddamn clue how old anyone is right now,” Joe swirled the chunky remains of the ‘tea’ around in the cup, “but Doctor Deaton knew them, so...”

With a knowing smile, Professor Kane said: “Believe it or not, Alan is older than me.” This should have been a surprising fact as he looked like he was twenty years younger. Something seemed to click for Kane and she exchanged a look with Sarah. “The first Hales. They were True Mates?”

“So I’ve been told” Joe mumbled, braced herself, and emptied the cup into her mouth. She shuddered. “How old is Marin?”

“Older than she looks.”

Joe rolled her eyes. Her arms were healed now and she crushed the paper cup in her hand. “Jesus Christ, you guys are impossible.”

“You guys?”

“You’re a druid aren’t you? Hence the complete inability to answer a single question.”

“How did you reach that-”

“Oh my God,” Joe cut her off with a huff. Why were all college professors like this? “When I was _writhing_ in pain in her,” Joe nodded at Sarah, “office the other day, you said you could dampen the bond, remember? Last time I checked that wasn’t on the curriculum. You just gave me a herbal shot to make me heal faster. You know Doc D and Marin from ‘way back’, whatever that means. And, most importantly, you’re shady as _fuck_. All of those things spell druid to me.”

“Interesting conclusion.” Professor Kane leaned back and folded her arms. “But to answer your question, no, I am not a druid.”

“Then what the hell are you?”

“What I’ve always been.” Light glinted off her glasses again. “A professor in Social Anthropology.”

“Yeah, and she’s,” another nod at Sarah, “a professor in Criminology _and_ a werewolf. So I’ll ask again, what the hell are you _besides_ a professor?”

To both her and Kane’s surprise, it was Sarah who answered: “An ex-druid.” She shrugged at her wife’s annoyed expression. “What? We owe her that much, to give her the answers when we have them.”

“Fine, yes, an ex-druid,” Kane said with a wry tilt to her head. “But before you ask, I was never an Emissary. If things had gone differently,” she glanced at Sarah through the large glasses, “then maybe.”

“Doctor D steal your spot?” Joe shrugged when Kane gave her a confused look. “You obviously got some kind of history and not of the good kind.”

“I was never eligible for the Hale pack.” Professor Kane rolled her eyes when Joe continued to look at her expectantly. “As druids, we do — or did, in my case — our utmost to maintain balance. Some of us leave most of it to the universe and simply nudge along wherever possible. Others-”

Her mouth settled in a hard line and Joe watched Sarah almost automatically put her hand on her wife’s shoulder again, obviously sensing the agitation. It killed Joe because it reminded her of Derek.

“-take matters into their own hands. Literally.” Bangles rattled as Kane looked at her own hands, ones she had somehow used to keep Joe glued to the chair before without touching her. “Alan forgot the order of things — he became an emissary first, druid second when it should be the other way around. Always.”

A slight tremble was back in Joe’s voice, the herbs starting to wear off and she tried to sound disinterested. “And what is he now?”

“A veterinarian, as far as I can tell. Do you suspect him to be something else? Since you came here instead of him?”

“No, I just don’t know if I can trust him or not. With you guys I know for sure I can’t.” Both the professors looked mildly ashamed at that. “Tell me how to break the bond.” Her voice rose at their silence. “Everything breaks under enough pressure! You said there’s a way, so I want to know _how._ He des-” She cut herself off, struggling to get her breath under control as she corrected to: “I deserve a choice.”

They both did.

“How is it different?” Joe pushed on when neither said anything. “Pack bond, mate bond, whatever kind of bond. Why can you break a pack bond and not-”

“The pack bond is not the same as a mate bond,” Sarah shot in. “There is no comparing the two. _We_ control the pack bond, however unconsciously at times. The mate bond, from the little I know of it,” Sarah held her hands out to still Joe’s protests, “is controlled by the moon. It’s random and inherently unbreakable.”

“It doesn’t feel random,” Joe whispered. “It doesn’t feel _random_ when I met him because his Alpha uncle had a fifty-fifty choice between two teenage boys and happened to choose my cousin. And the day after I met him, you gave me the assignment to research attacks made by that same Alpha in Beacon Hills. You say that your only motive was to groom me as your successor?”

Kane gave a short nod and Joe shrugged.

“Fine, I believe you. And then I make the decision to change my program and I get your werewolf wife as a mentor instead, who happens to be an ex-member of one of the Alphas’ packs. The same Alphas who are only after me because of Derek, but has a history with my dad and spend months triggering some dormant gene in me that I never would have known existed if it hadn’t been for my connection to Derek. Like, how can you say this is random? Everything feels connected.”

“Like a five-fold knot,” Professor Kane said calmly, but her brows were furrowed, emphasizing the wrinkles on her forehead. “The universe will always try to restore balance.”

“Balanced is the last thing I feel now,” Joe said and rose from the chair, “so I’m not particularly impressed by its job. _How_ do I break it?”

It was Sarah who answered. “The same way you break a werewolf’s bond to the moon.”

Joe’s heart hammered in her chest, suddenly reminded of Kate again. Kate Kate Kate. “But there isn’t any cure...”

“Ask the hunters about that,” Sarah replied, sharp eyebrows rising to her hairline. The crushed paper cup slipped out of Joe’s slick hand, tumbling forgotten to the floor when she understood what Sarah meant. “You don’t want to go down that road, Joe. I know you won’t. You’re too much like your father.”

As she curled her lip, Joe could feel the sweat gathering below her nose. “Don’t worry. I’m my mother’s daughter too.”

Ignoring both of their expressions, Joe made her way to the office door. “By the way, there’s an evil druid killing virgins around in Beacon Hills. Wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Virgins?” Kane repeated as if _that_ was the shocking part. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, pretty much. One of them was in your class, a girl called Emily Perez. I know you don’t usually bother to learn the names of the freshmen, but she was strangled, bludgeoned, and had her throat cut on the night of the full moon.” Joe shrugged, not sure what else to add. “Not ringing any bells? Okay, whatever. I don’t really care. Thanks for the tea.”

Not waiting for a reply, Joe padded out of the office, closing the door behind her. The floor felt cold under her bare feet and she ignored the crowd in the hallways as she walked aimlessly until she was out of earshot from the office. The sensation in her chest was getting stronger, like something clawing itself up through her windpipe, desperate to be released.

_Was_ she her mother’s daughter? She didn’t want to be. According to Derek, she should not even exist. No such thing as a-

Rounding a corner, Joe found herself face to face with Madeline. For a while, they both stared. It took several seconds for facial recognition to kick in. Several seconds before Joe’s brain remembered that the _old_ Joe had a life separate from all this supernatural bullshit and part of that life, unfortunately, contained Alex and her fiance who happened to go to Berkeley.

Up until now, Joe had not cared how she looked. Tired, strung out, messy hair, no makeup, not even wearing shoes — now she became desperately aware, especially because ‘Maddy’ looked better than ever and for some godawful reason, Joe’s eyes were drawn to the diamond-ring on Maddy’s finger.

“Uh, hi,” Maddy said carefully and Joe figured she probably looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Hi.” Joe’s brain was not functioning. She had just come from an office where her final question had been if the professors knew something about an evil druid killing virgins — the transition to normalcy was not taking place.

“Uh, how are you?” Maddy asked, her pretty face twisting into a nervous smile. “Haven’t seen you around lately, Alex said you were doing some kind of crime lab work? Oh!” She clapped her hands together. “Congratulations on getting published! I heard someone in class mention it, you’re like one of the ten youngest to get published in that journal, so nice work!”

Joe still waited for her cognition to do a system reboot. “Thanks?”

“And also,” Maddy seemed to have recovered, “I just want you to know that I was really happy you accepted our invitation. Not to sound like a bitch, but I didn’t think you would, because I haven’t been super friendly or anything and I was kind of wary based on what happened at the rave, but it was a blessing in disguise because it’s really made it clear how much honest communication matters in a healthy relationship and-”

“What?” Joe’s mouth felt stuffed full of dry sand. “What invitation?”

“Our wedding in October?” Maddy asked, head tilting so her long, glossy hair fell over her shoulder. “You RSVP’d like a month ago. You plus one, uhm, Derek, right?” She gave another nervous smile when Joe visibly flinched. “Are you okay? Can I get you some water or something?”

Wedding. Wedding in October. Joe was going to _kill_ Marin Morrell.

“No, no, I’m fine. I gotta go.”

Hands shaking, Joe pushed past Maddy, now cringing at the sound her bare feet made over the floor. Shit. Shit shit shit. She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream, she wanted to tear something to shreds, preferably herself so she could stop _feeling_ all these stupid _feelings_.

It wasn’t even like she had forgotten about the wedding — it had been Erica’s number one thing to daydream about. What dress would Joe wear, should she and Derek match, would he know how to dance or would they spend the night talking — all sorts of bullshit.

Bullshit. It was all such _bullshit!_

Joe stalked over campus back to the car. It felt wrong to be here and she wondered if the Professor had meant something more about not letting her be here when she was making threats. Deaton had said something about that as well, about Kane being outside of the walls of ‘her’ college campus when she visited Joe at the hospital. Some sort of power.

Not really seeing anything because of the shaking, Joe made a beeline back to the Corvette. Whatever calm she had experienced in the office had evaporated completely now.

“You know that wasn’t sleeping what you did last night?” Hallucinate-Kate asked in a conversational manner where she easily kept up with Joe’s pace.

“Shut up.”

“Problems with insomnia isn’t so much about lack of physical rest. It’s that you don’t dream, you can’t sort out stuff.” Kate gave her a smile. “Pills provide temporary relief, but they actually make insomnia worse in the long run. You know that.” She laughed, that deep throaty laugh of hers. “Of course you know that. Otherwise I wouldn’t know that. I’m just a figment of your imagination, after all.”

“Shut up.”

“Your insomnia’s because of emotional issues. Stress, depression or anxiety — or all of the above, maybe? You’re checking a lot of boxes, babe. Therapy, that’s what you’ve been recommending for everyone else. Get therapy. Hey, why don’t we call up your ex-girlfriend? You know, the hot blonde one who’s getting married in October? The wedding you and Derek were supposed to go to? You’ve even RSVP’d, man. That’s gonna be awkward letting Alex know you’re not gonna come. Why? Because Derek dumped your ass.”

Finally reaching the Corvette, Joe leaned over the low roof. “Please shut up.”

“Aww, baby. Don’t cry. Come on, where’s that fire? Huh?”

Joe balled her fists. “SHU-”

Instead of Kate, she saw purple glowing eyes and she realized Jimmy had her wrists in a tight grip. “If you’re going to destroy things because of your delusions,” he hissed and forced her hands away from the car, “please choose something else than my father’s vintage Corvette.”

She had been about to slam her hands into the roof of the car, something that would definitely have left marks. Focusing on the pain around her wrists, knowing Derek wouldn’t feel a damn thing of it, Joe tried to catch her breath. Anchor in the pain. Focus.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely and leaned into him. He let go of her wrists and placed his arms around her instead to hold her. At this proximity, she could smell his body wash and that was about it. So similar and so different.

His voice came as much through his chest as his mouth. “Was it her again?” Joe nodded and he sighed. “Do I need to get Erica out of the apartment?”

A chill went through her. “What?”

He pushed her to arm’s length so he could look her in the face. “Joe, do you remember that Erica’s back at the apartment?”

“What?” she repeated in a breathless whisper. “What do you mean? I killed her.”

“Oh, Delgado,” he said quietly and pulled her back into the hug. “What are we going to do with you?”

“I’m losing it, aren’t I?” Joe asked against his chest. He had buttoned his shirt at least halfway up and she did not know if it was her tears or sweat that stained it. “Half the time, I don’t know what’s real or not.”

“I know.”

Her face hurt as she tried to hold in the sob. “Last night was real, wasn’t it?”

“Do you want me to lie?”

“No.” Joe sniffed, trying to make sense of anything. “Jimmy?”

“Mm?”

“If I asked you to, would you have sex with me?”

His answer came instantly while he hugged her tighter. “No.”

Shoulders slumped, she huffed. “Not even if it was to get back at Derek Hale?”

“Tempting,” Jimmy sounded amused from somewhere over her head, “but still no.” She could feel his chest rumble as he let out a low laugh. “Joe, there is zero attraction between us.”

“Come on,” Joe groaned, feeling as sexy as a used sponge. “Ride or die. This is just a different kind of ride. Take one for the team.”

He let out a long breath. “Even if we could muster the physical chemistry to make it work, there are other factors that prevent me from indulging you, I’m afraid.”

At least his weirdness distracted her a bit. “Such as?”

“Such as,” Jimmy straightened up, leaving Joe’s running nose to rub across his shirt, “what Deucalion said about my potential. For a Demi, someone without a pack, the only possible direction is downwards. As I’ve told you, my status depends on discipline. No caffeine, no meat, endless hours of meditation and,” he pulled back from the hug and gave her a wry grin, “strict celibacy.”

Her eyebrow raised. He’d left out that part. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.” She leaned back against the car and he let go of her to do the same at her side. They must look homeless based on how people glanced warily at them, but she did not care. Joe knew how much Jimmy’s status meant to him, so she had to ask. “Like, forever? You won’t miss it?”

“Can’t miss what you don’t know.”

“What?” Joe couldn’t help herself and looked up at him. “You’re- you’ve never? Ever?”

He gave her a defeated look, almost worthy of a Hale. In his new and improved form, it was strange to consider, but it wasn’t like Jimmy had been hideous before either. He’d just been normal. “No, never. Never had much interest in it, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh,” said Joe, her face clearing. “Oh, like, asexual?”

“Possibly?” Jimmy said with a shrug. “If you have to label it. Not sure.”

“You know there’s a thing called demisexual?” Joe asked, unable to help the smile breaking through. “Which would be a remarkable coincidence.” Now straightening up, she looked at Jimmy in a new light. “Huh. I always just thought I wasn’t your type. Do you have a type? Are you attracted to anyone?”

“I regret this whole conversation,” Jimmy said as he closed his eyes. Despite his words, he kept going, but put on his sunglasses again before opening his eyes. “I liked Kelly, I think. It was nice talking to her, different nice than talking to you — and if I’m honest again, talking to you has been exhausting lately.” He said it with a smile, so Joe supposed he wasn’t too serious. “And before you ask, yes, I did tell Kelly this. It seemed like she found it refreshing that I was willing to engage in conversations with her without my final end goal being copulation.”

“You seriously gotta stop using that word.”

“Coitus?”

“Shut up.”

“Fornication then.”

“Seriously, stop!” Joe laughed and shoulder bumped him, which he easily blocked. Her face fell a bit, uncertain in her questions. “Have you talked to her after we came back?”

Jimmy stretched out his neck. “I tried. It is slow progress to convince her we did not run away together. Or that she had done nothing to cause me suddenly, and I use this term with despise, ‘ghosting’ her. Again, it helps that she knows I’m interested in more than her body.”

“That’s why she was so cool with us becoming roommates.”

“Among other things, yes.”

Both kept quiet for a bit while Joe digested the news. “Notice how I only learn new things about you when you’re trying to distract me from my own problems?”

“I have. I sincerely wish you didn’t know so much about me already. I’m running out of content.”

Joe laughed, just at the absurdity of it all. “Oh, man. So you really have never...”

“I have never.”

“And you don’t want...”

“Not that I can tell.”

“Okay, but have you ever tried anything? Not that we gotta map out your whole sexuality here and now, I’m just curious.”

“And you’re desperately trying to distract yourself,” said Jimmy with a tired sigh as he straightened up again, pushing off the car. He turned to face her and put both hands on the car roof on either side of her, leaning in so she could see her own face with dried tears mirrored in his sunglasses. “Fine. Let’s try something.”

It happened so fast before Joe could even think. This was not really what she had meant, but when Jimmy leaned in to kiss her, she froze up. Figuring that wasn’t really fair if this was Jimmy’s first kiss ever, she closed her eyes when his lips closed over hers and tried to respond. She had wanted a distraction.

It was nice. His lips were soft and without his beard it was kind of like kissing Alex, so much that she deepened the kiss, nudging his mouth open with her lips. Hands remaining crossed over her chest, she felt like an eighth-grader again, sucking faces in the dark corner of the school, but never going beyond first base.

They pulled back simultaneously, lips parting with a soft smack. “Okay.” Her brows furrowed. “Uh...okay.”

“Hm,” Jimmy said and ignored her insulted gasp when he wiped his mouth and leaned back on the car next to her. “I got nothing and,” her eyebrows rose when he tilted his head to sniff her, “neither do you.”

For some reason, she felt inclined to defend her honor. “It was a nice kiss.”

He shrugged. “I suppose.”

Joe considered it again. “It wasn’t _bad_. Like, if I was drunk and we ended up making out on a couch, I wouldn’t wake up with regrets.” She shrugged and spoke uncertainly: “I think, maybe, I could muster up the physical chemistry necessary to sleep with you.”

“Really?”

“Maybe,” Joe admitted because while it had been nice on a strictly superficial level, it was just that. Nice. “For a non-emotionally invested kiss, it was good, I guess.”

He shook his head at her, tapping her shoulder with his. “If you’re looking for a distraction, we are in a college town with lots of eligibles singles. I am sure there are plenty of guys or girls willing to provide whatever you need. Go to a bar and pick someone up if it matters so much to you.”

“No. I’ve had a couple of one-night stands and they’re just not it,” Joe said with a grimace, thinking of the awkwardness and fumbling. Even if she could lose herself to the physical act, it was the time before and after that left her mortified. Walk of shame or trying to find a polite way to kick them out. Besides, Derek last night had not felt like it was a casual hook-up. It had felt too intense for that and her skin crawled at the memory. “I prefer sex with someone I have somewhat of a connection with.”

“I am deeply flattered,” Jimmy said and she had a strange sense of deja vu of someone else pushing off a sportscar in the same parking lot in a different life. “Come on, let’s get back.”

“What’s the rush?” She squirmed a bit under his defeated gaze. “What?”

“You’ve already forgotten, haven’t you? Okay. Just get in the car.”

Unfortunately, when they got back, there were a pair of high schoolers apparently looking for her. She and Jimmy pulled up to the laundromat where her favorite idiot duo stood outside the front doors, Stiles practically pushing his whole hand through the buzzer.

“You never answered them, did you?” Jimmy asked drily as they parked. He went first, ignoring their surprised looks as he pushed past and unlocked the door, pulling it shut behind him before they could react.

Traitor, Joe thought and tried to take a breath before walking up to Scott and Stiles. Both gestured at her with their whole bodies, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, clearly relaying the message ‘What the hell?’

“What the hell?” Stiles yelled first, as she’d expected. “Do you understand the concept of a phone, Joe?”

“Where have you been?” Scott followed up hastily, gesturing at the Corvette. They both looked like they hadn’t slept all night with ruffled clothes and messy hair. “You don’t answer texts, you don’t pick up. Mom’s been worried sick! Joe, you can’t just disappear like that.”

With a huff, she leaned on one hip with her arms crossed. “Did it for three months and no one noticed.” At their defeated expressions, she rolled her eyes. “What happened?”

“What happened?” Stiles repeated incredulously and she worried he would bust an artery. “What happened was that we spent the night at a haunted motel with the record number of suicides in the state and the Darach tried to sacrifice all the werewolves by making them kill themselves and Lydia was hearing voices the entire time because the Coach’s whistle was stuffed full of wolfsbane!”

It was a lot to unpack.

Stiles did most of the talking, where Scott clarified in-between. Apparently, everything started when Scott wasn’t even healing from the fight, so worried about Derek, and Joe’s lack of responses made him think they were both dead. Then the meet was canceled and the school checked them into Motel Glen Capri, where first Ethan tried to jump onto a band saw, Boyd put a whole safe over himself in the bathtub, Isaac was curled up under the bed and Scott tried to light himself on fire.

“You what?” she asked Scott, who weakly nodded to confirm Stiles’ story. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I was, I dunno, hallucinating pretty bad,” Scott said and ran a hand through his hair, sending a waft of gasoline her way. He had apparently not showered before coming here. “We all were.”

At least she wasn’t alone about that then. She shuffled forward on the sidewalk to hug him, standing on her toes to reach up. “Jesus Christ, Scott.”

“Yeah. We talked with Derek, by the way. He’s okay, he’s at the loft,” Scott said after pulling away as if she should care. His brows pulled slightly together. “You never found him? I thought...”

“Ennis is dead,” Joe said quickly, hoping her cousin’s ability to pick up on non-verbal cues hadn’t improved much. Her whole body had stiffened at the mention of Derek’s name.

“We know,” Stiles said with a deflated sigh, finally out of steam. “And they’re out for blood. We know.” At her raised eyebrow, he shrugged. “Ethan told us. As a thank you for saving his life.” With a bitter undertone, he added: “And he was thanking Scott, even if it was my face that nearly got split in half from the rampant band saw.”

Scott ran a hand through his hair again. “What does it mean?”

“It means that Derek’s dead,” Joe said matter-of-factly as she crossed her arms. “And that you should stay out of it to avoid getting caught in the crossfires.” She tried to sound stern and convincing, not weak and pathetic. “Scott, he’s not your responsibility.”

At least she had to give him credit for trying, even if his emotional range was the size of a teaspoon. He gave her those same concerned brown eyes and pulled her a bit to the side, making Stiles nearly fall over when he tried to lean in to listen.

“Joe, what’s going on? Did something happen?”

“A lot of stuff obviously happened.”

“No, I mean, with you and Derek, I thought-”

“Yeah, so did I. Looks like we were both wrong.” Joe shrugged off Scott’s hand and addressed Stiles as well since he was obviously eavesdropping. “Go home, guys. Get some rest.”

“When was the last time you slept?” Scott demanded and Stiles looked away, uncomfortable with the conversation now. “Joe?”

She tried to breathe. Just breathe. “Can people stop asking me that? I obviously don’t know! And stop looking at me like that, I _hate_ it!”

“Joe, please,” Scott said and stopped her from making her semi-dramatic exit. He forcefully turned her around. “Please, talk to me. I hate-” Scott shook his head to start over. “Is this about all that stuff that happened with Gerard? Because I already apologized and I _am_ sorry. I know I should have told you, but he was threatening to kill both you and Mom! And with you in the hospital after getting shot, I didn’t know what else to do.”

She hated this. Joe tried to brush him off again. “It’s not about that.”

“Then can you please tell me?” Scott nearly begged, refusing to let go of her shoulder. “Can you tell me how you’re suddenly able to fight off an Alpha? How it took me and Isaac to hold you down when Mom tried to help you? What did Deucalion mean when he said that you had taken the first step? What did you mean when you said you could force Boyd? Are you a werewolf? _What’s going on?_ ”

Her cousin really had grown and he persisted with a resolution that was unlike him when she refused to answer.

“Remember that time, after the rave, where we promised we’d tell each other everything?”

“A little late for that, don’t you think?” Joe hissed and now swept her shoulder down, forcing him to let go. “Why didn’t _you_ tell _me_ about your secret meeting with Deucalion? Remember how well it went last time you tried to go behind everyone’s back?”

Scott’s voice rose as he shrugged helplessly. “I was just trying to reason with him-”

“Reason with him?” Joe repeated, that same clawing occurring in her throat, a scream begging to be let out again. “You, a seventeen years old _beta_ , thought you would just stroll out into the middle of nowhere, into the most classic setup in history, and try to _reason_ with a century-old Alpha werewolf? Really?”

He took a step back as Joe stalked closer, her mouth as hard as her eyes.

“You wanted to reason with the guy who held me captive for three months? Who had Erica and Boyd for four? Who will use _any_ tactic he deems necessary to get what he wants?” she asked, her whole body trembling at the thought. “You want to know how I became strong? Okay, sure. Remember when Derek broke Erica’s arm to trigger her healing that time? Yeah, it was kinda like that, only for three months.”

Both Scott and Stiles seemed at loss for words. Her cousin recovered first. “I didn’t think-”

“You didn’t think? No shit.”

Stiles looked paler than usual and his pointy Adam’s apple bobbed. “You’re saying they tortured you?”

“What did you _think_ happened?” Joe exploded, throwing her arms out. “That we spent three months playing ‘I Spy’ with the Alphas delivering room service three times a day?”

His face cleared, shaking his head ‘no’.

“We had to _earn_ every single piece of food, every drop of water, everything! They beat us, they starved us, they pitted us against each other — all in the name of Deucalion’s insane quest for power. Does that sound like a guy you can reason with, Scott?”

Scott had tears in his eyes, mouth opening, but not making any sounds.

“No?” Clutching the key so hard it dug into her palm, she unlocked the front door. “So get off my back and go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, sorry for the lack of hellfire in this chapter. Joe's dealing with things the best she can, which might not be that good, but she's trying, okay? Not easy being an Alpha.
> 
> I appreciate your comments on the last chapter - it was a doozy for sure. You'd think the only way for Joe was up now, but she's gonna sidle sideways a little bit before she gets her Amazonian rebirth-moment. Patience, please ^^
> 
> Thank you for reading as always, please let me know what you think of this (slightly less eventful) chapter. Curious to know where you think Joe was heading before Jimmy stopped her? 
> 
> (And if your friend ever comes out as asexual to you, don't do what Joe did, okay? Be supportive!)
> 
> And before I forget, I might change to updating every third day instead of every other day. Work's picking up again after the holidays, so I have less time to write/edit right now. Hope that's cool with everybody? 😊


	71. Kali II

_...there are other ways you can get stronger._

Virgins. Warriors. Werewolves, although failed, still attempted. What was next? Who was next? Virgins for beauty or seduction. Warriors for strength or power. Werewolves for...what?

Why werewolves? Joe rubbed her eyes — even as they stung from lack of sleep, her mind would not shut down. High alert. Obsessive thoughts. Call it what you wanted, the result was the same. If you had trouble falling or staying asleep three nights a week for three months, you’d be diagnosed with chronic insomnia. This was three months with every night of the week, so Joe had no idea what her condition would be called. Super chronic insomnia?

_“Okay, Joe, I’m gonna write you a prescription for some sedative-hypnotics. Basically, to slow down your brain and central nervous system enough for you to fall asleep. This is not meant for long-term use, okay? Just to get you into a good rhythm. Stimulus control, breathing exercises, good sleep habits — that’s how we’re gonna beat this, not medications. I know, I know, it’s tempting to just pop a pill every night and wander off to dreamland, but there aren’t_ any _sleeping aids on the market that are meant for long-term use. Because, paradoxically, the side-effects of abusing sleeping pills are the same as insomnia itself: daytime sleepiness, forgetfulness, balance problems, hallucinations, the list goes on. And you can become addicted, so there’s that. Okay? We’re on the same page here? Great. Think of this as a little sprinkle of sleeping dust to tide you over so you can start working on the actual problem.”_

Paradoxically, Joe thought and wondered if that was even a word. Her old therapist had a strange way of speaking sometimes, but he at least had a point about pills not being the best solution. Just a little something to tide her over... a slippery slope, even though Joe had no idea if she even _could_ get addicted to anything anymore. The healing was not an exact science. Alcohol didn’t do anything for her, but anesthesia did? Just like the mate-bond, the lycanthropy lacked a clear rulebook.

“I still think _he’s_ the one who should take the mountain ash.”

Forgetfulness, a common complication of insomnia. Was that enough to explain how Joe literally forgot about Erica’s condition every time she was out of sight? It was strange too because it was just that brief moment of ‘Oh, right, Erica’ when Joe saw her again, so a part of Joe’s consciousness _knew_ the truth. Otherwise, she should realistically scream bloody murder every time she came back to the apartment.

“I mean, if he’s the one John Tuckering, he should be the one shooting hoops too.”

Joe blinked at Erica, who handed her a fresh cup of coffee and a pill she had sworn she would never take again. Mountain ash.

“What kind of shows are you watching these days?” Joe asked and swallowed the stupid pill before she could think twice about it. “Do you even know what ‘shooting hoops’ mean?”

“Yeah, to take acid,” Erica explained with a shrug and did a spin in Jimmy’s computer chair. “And I’ve been watching Love & Hip Hop. It follows these female rappers trying to make it in New York. Second season’s out in November and I’m convinced they’re gonna drop Somaya soon because she’s stirring up some serious drama with Chrissy, who’s obviously the producer’s favorite.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Erica shrugged again, a slight smirk tugging on her lips. “It’s only like eight episodes, we’ll do an all-nighter before the season premiere to catch you up. I’m gonna go out on a limb here and assume you don’t have a problem with all-nighters. I mean, all the evidence points to the contrary. In fact, by now, I’m convinced you don’t need sleep at all.”

“Have I ever told you how funny you are, Erica?”

“Weird, you have literally _never_ told me that.”

Joe gave her a look before returning her focus to the computer screen. “Yeah, that was my point.”

Erica grinned.

After returning up to the apartment, leaving a stunned Scott and Stiles in her wake, Joe had walked in on a tense conversation between her roommates. It made sense that Jimmy worried. The last time she had lost touch with reality, mixing Erica and Kate, it had ended catastrophically. Joe had already proven she could take on Erica without weapons — the girl _should_ be scared of her. It made no sense how she _wasn’t_ scared of Joe.

“You know,” Erica said slowly, doing another spin on Jimmy’s chair — he was in the bathroom, trying to clean it after Joe’s late-night session with herself, “if Derek thinks I’m dead, I can just waltz right up to that loft and scare the shit out of him. Do a whole ‘Ghost of Christmas Past’-kind of thing.” She smirked again, a pointed tongue resting on her front teeth. “Just, you know, make him think about his life choices. Not limited to you. I want to ask him why the hell we had to stay in that crappy depot when he splurged on a downtown penthouse with Isaac.”

“He kicked Isaac out,” Joe mumbled absentmindedly, trying to focus on the computer screen, but secretly indulging in Erica’s fantasy.

“Yeah, another point I could raise,” Erica said with a finger in the air. “Asshole-move. But it’s so typical Isaac to let himself be kicked out too-”

“No victim-blaming, Erica.”

“-because if Derek tried to kick me out I’d just be like ‘No, you big broody _güey,_ you get out’ and not leave,” Erica continued as if Joe hadn’t said anything. “You think he tried to kick Cora out?”

“She’s his sister, Erica.”

“That he hasn’t seen, in like, forever. All I’m saying is that a downtown penthouse apartment is wasted on the likes of Jungle Barbie.”

“It’s literally exposed bricks and three pieces of furniture, Erica. Not exactly the Hilton. I’m not even sure if Isaac had a bed or if it was just a pile of sleeping bags on the second floor.” Joe gave up trying to read anything related to the evil druid-case and took a sip of coffee instead. “And don’t call Cora that, it’s kinda offensive.”

“How is that anymore offensive than what she called me?” Erica snorted, obviously still offended by the nickname. “For the record, I'm born Latina, she just speaks Spanish.”

“No gatekeeping, Erica. She's lived half her life in Venezuela, she's,” Joe shrugged, “Latina by proxy?”

Erica let out a scoff and twirled some hair between her fingers. “Whatever.” Her voice became strained as she let her head fall back. “You know I already cleaned the bathroom, right? He’s just being pedantic.”

“It’s the-” Joe tried to take another sip, but her hand shook too much and she dropped it again. “It’s the blood. Half-moon tomorrow.” They both fell silent at that thought. Eventually, Joe gave up and used both hands to hold the cup of coffee so it wouldn’t spill. Erica followed the movements with her eyes.

“Whatever,” she said again, another smirk on her lips. False bravado, putting up a front. “I still think he’s being pedantic.” She perked up when the man in question came into the living room, a bucket full of cleaning supplies in his hand. “Hey, Monica Geller-Bing, is the bathroom up to your satisfaction yet?”

“Yes,” he said tersely, purple eyes glowing. “No thanks to you.”

“You’re the backbone of this household, Jim- _suela_.” A wet slap sounded as Jimmy threw the used dishrag in Erica’s face. _“Hey!”_

As Erica grimaced and removed the rag, Jimmy stopped next to Joe on his way to the kitchen and sighed deeply. “Please tell me that’s decaf.”

He groaned when Joe and Erica only glanced guiltily at each other.

“I’m sorry, I was just trying to be nice!” Erica excused herself with an exaggerated shrug. “You’re already established yourself to be the strict mom, so I get to be the cool dad. You give her what she needs, I give her what she wants. And she wanted coffee.”

Joe blinked at them. “Wait, am I the child in this analogy?” The combination of their disappointed glares made her sink down in the chair. “Okay, yeah, sure. Get your point. Not like I had enough daddy and mommy issues from before, why not add a sixteen years old werewolf and a purple-eyed Demi Alpha to the mix?”

With a grumble, Jimmy continued to the kitchen and glared at the bottle containing the mountain ash pills. “I would have preferred you take the Benadryl. I can’t keep physically knocking you out just so you can rest.”

“I’ll do it,” Erica volunteered with a cheeky grin, one that only widened when Joe snorted. “What? I can take you.”

The room lapsed into a tense silence. “No,” Joe said quietly, hands back to shaking. “You can’t.”

Jimmy cleared his throat and held up the pill bottle. “You think this will work?”

“I hope so,” Joe said quietly. “It has to.”

“If not,” Erica shot in, back to smirking, “I’ll go dig up that spiked headband we used for my first full moon, smother on some ketchup and climb in through his window.” She dropped her voice to a fake moan that made her sound like a ghost: “ _Dereeeek, why are you such an asshooole?”_ She giggled, eyes glinting in the dim light. “How’s that for a mood killer? I’m telling you,” getting up from the chair, she grinned at Joe, “men are trash.”

“Says the sixteen-year-old who’s never been in a relationship.”

“Trash!” Erica repeated, snatched the half-empty cup out of Joe’s hands, and sauntered to the kitchen. She cooed at Jimmy: “You’re the exception of course.”

“I figured,” Jimmy muttered and rolled his eyes.

“How did he even meet this skank?” Erica asked loudly as she refilled Joe’s coffee mug. “Guy spends all his time brooding or wallowing in guilt. Not big on the social scene. Yeah, he’s hot, but he’s got zero game.”

“Don’t use that word, Erica.”

“What word?”

“Skank. Blaming the ‘other woman’ is just a way of holding women responsible for men’s sexual behavior — it’s a key component of rape culture.”

“I know, down with the patriarchy, whatever. But she’s still a skank and Derek’s a slut.” Erica handed Joe the re-filled coffee, winking over her shoulder at the grumbling Jimmy. “And I’m going to bed. Unless you want it?”

Joe shook her head — her mind buzzed, sleep was not feasible.

“Figured.” Instead of just wandering down the hall as Joe had expected, Erica leaned down and hugged Joe from behind, resting her head on Joe’s shoulder with one arm slung across her upper chest. “Three senses, right? Three out of five. I’m here.”

Four out of five, Joe thought, as she could smell her fruity shampoo with so much of Erica’s hair in her face.

“Thank you,” Joe mumbled quietly, but bit her lip to keep her voice from trembling. “I’m sorry, Erica, I’m not-”

“Entirely in control of your body or mind?” Erica guessed, the force of her voice shifting Joe’s curls around. “Gee, I wonder what that’s like. We’ll figure it out. Just gotta get through this half-moon first without anyone dying.” She squeezed Joe around her shoulders before letting go. “ _Buenas noches,_ Joe _.”_

_“Noches, nena.”_

Jimmy accepted a side-hug from Erica too, his purple eyes rolling back, but Erica did not seem to mind. They waited until the door closed and they could hear the muted sounds of the TV turning on. Without Erica’s warmth on her back, Joe clutched the coffee mug in both hands to soak up the heat.

“How is she handling this so much better than us?”

“Well,” Jimmy shrugged from where he leaned against the kitchen island, “it’s called _post_ -traumatic stress. It’s not over for her yet.” His words made Joe’s blood run cold and he gestured to the apartment. “She just exchanged one cage with another.”

“Oh God,” Joe groaned and put the mug on the desk so she could lean her head onto her hands. “Guess there’s no denying that I’m really an Alpha.” Through her fingers, she mumbled: “I don’t know what to do here, Jim. I’m...lost.”

“We’ll figure something out,” he said, patient as ever. “After the half-moon.”

“Right.” She waited for a beat. “You gonna be okay?”

Glancing over at him she could see the tension in his movements. He rolled his neck, causing a ripple of muscles to shift. “I think so. You prepared to bring me back if I’m not?”

“Always. Ride or die.” Joe focused back on the screen, but the words blurred. “You’ll do the same for me?”

He nodded, but kept quiet for a few seconds. “I need to turn in now if I want to _not_ turn tomorrow.”

“Meditation?”

“Yes.” A slight pause. “I won’t sleep _with_ you, but you are welcome to sleep next to me. If it can help.”

She shook her head. “No, I want to, uh, get some work done. Distraction, you know. Maybe we can save someone’s lives or catch this bitch or...”

“I get it.” Still staring at the screen, she only heard Jimmy’s soft footsteps pad over the floor behind her. He paused again. “Listen, if the mountain ash doesn’t work...”

Just the thought made her scratch the now healed skin on her arms, still feeling filthy. It had to work. She could not go through that again. Jimmy did not finish his sentence, but she knew what he meant. He’d handle it — somehow. Ride or die.

“Thank you,” Joe murmured without looking away from her screen. He placed a hand on her shoulder in silent sympathy before he retreated to his own bedroom. Finally alone, Joe let herself breathe fully. Both Jimmy and Erica acted normal, but they were walking on eggshells around her. Not that Joe could blame them. Her hands shook constantly.

Safe. They were safe in the apartment. Werewolf proofed. Unfortunately, not mate-bond proof, but maybe Jimmy could remodel her bedroom to be coated in moonstone?

Stop that. Distraction. Work.

Virgins. Warriors. Werewolves.

What did werewolves symbolize? Come on, Delgado, be more than just a stupid animal, be more than a mate. This is supposed to be your thing, remember? Okay, so your head’s kinda messed up right now and you don’t remember everything at the top of your head, but you still know how to research, right?

Joe’s eyes burned as she forced herself to read and reference old notes. As it turns out, werewolves were associated with a lot of the same things as virgins. Energy, trickery, and deceit. Then there were the other things: primal instincts, uncontrollable urges — sex, violence, and destruction. Not something you’d want to harness. Not something possible to harness. And the evil druid had not tried to sacrifice them either, she realized. Not a threefold death, but suicides.

“Make them destroy themselves,” Joe murmured — it sounded familiar and she went back in the folder Stiles had sent her with everything he had gathered on the cases. “Like the crows...”

A few days before she got back — or got out or released or whatever — crows had attacked Beacon Hills High, flying into the windows and killing themselves. Not a couple, but probably hundreds of them. Fun fact: a group of crows is called a murder. So when people say that a murder of crows is a sign of fortune, they mean a flock of living crows, not dead ones.

Bizarre did not even begin to cover this.

Crows and werewolves. Crows were also associated with energy, trickery, and deceit. Big upgrade from crows to werewolves though. Joe tapped the keyboard, trying to cross-reference, feeling her own mind muddled from the lack of sleep. Or lack of dreaming as Hallucinate-Kate had said.

Don’t think about that. Focus.

This was interesting. There had been another freak accident with crows in Beacon Hills just seven years ago. At the hospital, not the high school. Joe’s first instinct was to call Aunt Mel, but she realized it was three in the morning. No wonder her coffee was cold.

So, if the werewolves were supposed to be the final mass suicide related to trickery spanning almost a decade in total, what was the evil druid trying to accomplish?

All of Joe’s searches on neo-pagan websites led her to ‘spells’ about glamours. Making objects or people appear different from what they actually looked like. Never permanently, though, that took enormous amounts of energy according to these hippie-guys. She had to lean back from the screen and rub her eyes — she had never tried to read these texts like they were serious before. Might as well have looked up a Dungeons and Dragons-manual for facts.

“How’s that skepticism serving you lately, Delgado?”

“That’s Jimmy’s line,” Joe answered, not acknowledging the woman lounging on the desk by her computer.

“It’s probably a bad sign when you’re mixing up your emotional support hallucinations,” Kate said with a wink. She hopped off the desk to lean over Joe’s shoulder. “Why are we reading about this shit when you should be researching how to break the bond?”

“Because people are dying, Kate,” Joe mumbled and knew that she should not have been able to hallucinate the smell of Kate’s perfume, and she still did when she couldn’t see her. Two senses at a time. Joe leaned on her desk and put her head in her hands, staring at the words on the screen. “Hospital, high school, and then a random motel...I don’t see a pattern.”

“High school is at the center. You said so, right? The motel is only there because the high school cross-country team was there for the night. So, the question really is, why the hospital?”

Groaning, Joe rubbed her face and eyes. “Hospital? What happens at hospitals? People are born, but someone born in 2004 wouldn’t be in high school now. People die?”

Kate made a humming sound, right next to Joe’s ear, and she whispered: “People survive.” Joe’s vision swam, but Kate only kept going. “Like me. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“Shut up,” Joe said automatically, a bit louder than intended. “Energy. Someone used the crows for energy to survive. Then what about the school? Was someone dying that day too? No, wait, energy, trickery, and deceit. Is it literal? In that order? First time for energy. Second time for trickery? What’s the difference between trickery and deceit?”

“Trickery is temporary, deceit is permanent?” Kate suggested with a shrug, sounding bored.

“So if it was a glamour-spell,” Joe never thought she would take those words in her mouth, “the werewolves might have been to make it permanent. But it failed. So, whoever’s using that spell is only temporarily disguised?” Her head buzzed, it was hard to think. She suspected half of it was from the mountain ash-pill. They probably affected her more now than before. “That means the virgins weren’t used for beauty.”

Kate, back on the desk, kicked her legs as she leaned back with a seductive smile. “Are you gonna say it or do I have to? I mean, I can say it if you want, if it’s easier to hear it coming from me.”

“Say what?”

It was a downright evil glint in Kate’s eyes. “That the mate-bond is so strong that the only thing that could have made Derek overlook it,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “is if someone sacrificed three virgins to seduce him.” She laughed at Joe’s expression. “Oh, you were thinking it, babe! That’s the only reason I could say it. It is kind of pathetic, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“Look at you, Little Miss Independent,” Kate cooed and coiled herself around Joe’s computer screen. “It got in your head, didn’t it? Oh, you were supposed to be together, right? Meant to be, connected by the moon and all. It felt _so_ right with him. And you had what, a couple of kisses? Then he thought you left for a couple of months, maybe for good, and he was _happy_ you left. Probably forgot all about you. That’s why he didn’t want to show you the text. Couldn’t even have been a break-up text, because you weren’t even dating.”

“Please shut up.”

“I mean, he’s a guy!” Kate laid down on her back with her feet crossed. “They have needs! He never told you how to control the pain-thing, babe, even though he knew all along. He most definitely knew how to control the pleasure too. Only reason you felt it the other night was because it was _sooo,”_ she moaned the word, _“_ good for him that he lost control.”

“Please.”

“I mean, I should know, right? I knew how to make him feel good. How to-”

_“SHUT UP!”_

The chair clattered to the floor behind her when she jumped up. The noise was enough to snap her out of it.

No Kate. Kate wasn’t there. She never was. Just like Derek had never been there whenever she dreamt about him in the vault. Whenever Erica or Cora curled up behind her for warmth and comfort and Joe could pretend it was Derek, for just a little while. That was back when she still slept for hours at a time. Back when the vault still offered some relief to her control of the pain, knowing that she could let go for just a little while. Now it was always, _always_ in the back of her mind — control it. Control control control.

She suppressed a shudder when the husky voice came back, not giving up yet. “You know there’s only one way to break the bond, babe.”

“No.”

“These werewolves are all about bonds. Wolf and moon. Alpha and Beta. Pack and Emissary. Mate and mate. All bonds can be broken.”

“I know.”

“You do know. Come on, Joe, just admit it. There’s one way and you already know what it is.”

“I know what it is.”

“Then why don’t you,” Kate leaned over her so her hair tickled Joe’s neck, “grow some balls, Joe, and go through with it.”

* * *

_It’s the bonds._

It churned through her mind the whole night. She must have fallen asleep at some point because she woke up with her head face down in the keyboard and a search bar full of ‘hhhhhh’.

In an attempt to feel slightly more human, she took a shower, but still couldn’t look at herself in the mirror. Dirty. She felt dirty and violated, which was just stupid because nothing had really happened to her. No one to blame, really, because Derek hadn’t done this on purpose. He never wanted to be connected to her any more than she wanted to be connected to him. The only difference was that now she _did_ want it and he didn’t anymore.

Not able to look at her curls, she braided them tightly against her scalp and pinned up the bangs. It showed too much of her face, but she would just have to live with that. He’d never said he loved her face.

The thought made her smash her teeth together to hold in a violent cry. She hated him! So much of his pain and he rewarded her by betraying her like that! He had to know, right? Everyone kept telling her he was her best source of knowledge, so he had to know she would feel it? As Kate had suggested sometime during the night, he’d probably wanted her to feel it. To make her stay away for good. He didn’t trust her.

Probably with good reason.

Glaring at her own discolored eyes in the mirror until they dimmed back to her normal brown, Joe went on to put on a pair of leather-looking leggings she could not remember buying and a loose t-shirt. Neither Jimmy nor Erica was up when she got out of the bathroom — time was an illusion in this apartment. Half-moon, she remembered. Jimmy would probably be meditating the whole day to prepare for the nightfall.

Her phone buzzed several times. It turned out to be Stiles, texting in rapid succession.

_Stiles:_ HAELERS

 _Stiles:_ Sorry. Healers! 2 doctors so far

 _Stiles_ : If you’re still mad, ignore these, but I thought you might want to know.

 _Stiles:_ You have every right to be mad :(

 _Stiles:_ 1 found (dead), 1 missing, 1 to be taken.

 _Stiles:_ btw, I 100% take your experiences seriously (I read that’s important for you to know).

Joe blinked at the cell-phone screen. Healers. Virgins, warriors, and healers. This was definitely a female perpetrator. Two out of three victims already taken, one left.

_“Hello?”_

“Hi, it’s Joe, are you-”

_“Sacrificed? No, I’m still good.”_ Aunt Mel sounded grumpy, but it was early in the morning after all. _“Don’t worry, the boys crashed my bedroom last night. I’m plenty safe.”_ Sarcasm dripped even through the phone. “ _The two people taken are both doctors and as I’ve told you, I’m just a nurse.”_

“You’re not just a nurse, Aunt Mel,” Joe said as she waited for the coffee to brew. “You said it, our family are healers.”

_“You know I didn’t mean it that literally, right? I’m fine, Joe, I’m heading for work.”_

“Okay, just, be careful, please.”

The coffee didn’t really taste of anything now. What had Jimmy said the other day? That when the killer chose a new victim group, it worked fast. The third victim could have been taken already and they didn’t even know it.

Another text buzzed in.

_Stiles:_ Deaton!!

“Shit.”

With Jimmy out of commission, Joe just put shoes on and drove a bit faster than necessary to the clinic. Both Stiles’ Jeep and a few police cars were already parked outside, as well as Scott’s dirtbike.

“Josefina.”

The French accent gave her away and Joe froze on her way into the clinic when Marin Morrell stalked out of the shadows. She looked flawless as ever, but had exchanged her teacher-outfit with a leather jacket and a crop top. “Word of warning, your father’s inside.”

It had not even crossed Joe’s mind, but of course he was if he was heading the task-force. She saw him through the window now, talking with Scott. Swearing, Joe bent her head and stepped out of sight.

“They’re not going to find him,” Joe said and Marin smiled as if pleased with Joe. “Just how many of you druid guys are there in town?”

Marin shrugged. “One for each pack, I suspect. Only one of us actually working. Are you well, Josefina? You look tired.”

“Yeah, whatever, you already said that. Can you cut the mystery bullshit talk for five minutes? This Daerach-”

“Darach.”

“ _What_ ever,” Joe repeated, not bothering with proper pronunciation at the moment. “She always takes four potential victims, right? Four corners of the knot. Her in the center.”

“You seem confident it’s a woman?”

Not in the mood to explain, Joe just shook her head. “Profiling 101. Don’t worry, you’re not a suspect. You wouldn’t have taken Deaton, right? Because he’s your brother.”

Marin tilted her head, using so much of the same body language as Deaton that it sealed the deal. “Half-brother. But you’re correct. About all of it so far, actually. Might want to be careful you’re not ruled as a suspect yourself.”

“Not happening, I add in the ‘I swear this is just for research’ in all my internet searches.” Joe blew air out of her mouth, watching the people inside. “How do we stop this _Darach_?”

“You’re the one taking a Ph.D. in Criminology with a Master’s in Cultural Sociology,” Marin said with a thin smile. “You tell me.”

It was a bad day to push Joe’s buttons. Before she could think it through, she had her hand around Marin’s throat and pushed her up against the clinic wall. The Mona Lisa-smile disappeared from Marin’s face and Joe could feel her pulse thump against her palm.

“I’m getting _really_ ,” Joe tightened her grip, “tired of you Celtic assholes. I’ve had a bad week or month or year for that matter and I gotta admit,” Marin’s cool facade cracked even more and her hands came up to pry at Joe’s, “I am hanging on by a spider silk thread right now.”

Marin wore heeled boots, bringing her to the same height as Joe, and her nostrils flared from the effort of breathing.

“And I realized that a lot of my problems stem from you druid guys,” Joe continued, keeping the same pressure in her digits — Marin’s pulse thumped faster against them now. “Including, but not limited to you RSVP-ing on my behalf to attend my ex-girlfriend’s wedding.” Joe leaned in, her own blood boiling, and whispered: “So I’m gonna give you one more chance to _answer_ my goddamn question, or I’ll rip your head straight off.”

It took a lot to force herself to let go — because a part of her was just screaming to squeeze until Marin begged for air — but Joe tore her hand away and put it on the wall next to Marin’s head.

Rubbing her neck, Marin coughed to regain her voice. “You don’t like weddings?” She flinched when Joe moved her hand slightly and shook her head. “Fine. As I’m going to tell the boys, they will have to use the one person who might actually have the ability to seek out the supernatural. The one who keeps finding the bodies.”

The name popped into Joe’s mind immediately. “Lydia Martin?” Joe asked and Marin nodded. “Can I ask why you’re not looking for him yourself?” A sadness in Marin’s eyes made Joe guess: “He won’t let you?”

All emotions cleared of Marin’s face as she looked down to her side. “It fits nicely with his plans. Deucalion always had a talent for seeing the whole board and staying at least ten steps ahead.”

Either Joe was _not_ seeing the whole board or Marin’s loyalty to Deucalion ran so deep she would allow her own brother to be sacrificed. Something Professor Kane had said struck Joe and she asked: “Are you a druid or Emissary first?”

“Believe it or not, I’m a guidance counselor first.” Marin raised an immaculate eyebrow at Joe. “Which services did you require? You want to discuss your insomnia?”

The boiling in Joe’s blood chilled instantly. “How the hell do you know about that?”

Marin gave a pointed look to the hand Joe still held by her head, the one that had been around her throat. “From what I’ve heard about you, you’re not usually prone to violence.” A waft of gentle perfume hit Joe as Marin leaned in closer, articulating every word carefully with her plump lips: _“And the vault wasn’t soundproof.”_

Before Joe could even begin to form an answer to that, the front door to the clinic opened. Special Agent Rob Delgado stepped out, lighting a cigarette in the same movement — something that told Joe immediately that he was _stressed_. Unfortunately, so was she, and seeing him did not improve matters.

So far the open door hid them from view. Marin was still leaning forward to Joe and she whispered again: _“Go. I’ll stall him.”_

Joe’s brows furrowed as she looked at the other woman, who gave her a nod. It was not until the door swung shut behind Rob Delgado that Joe contemplated how it might look where she practically pinned the other woman against the wall.

In the midst of an inhale, her dad’s eyes widened comically as coughed hard — his face disappeared briefly in a cloud of smoke. “J-Joe? Miss Morrell?”

“Special Agent Delgado,” Marin said smoothly, gently nudging Joe away.

Still coughing, her dad waved away some of the smoke and Joe used the chance to back away slowly towards the car. When he emerged, he gave Joe a curious look and tilted his head in a discreet manner as if to ask what the hell she was doing there. Joe could only shrug weakly, having too much trouble just breathing to come up with any kind of plausible explanation. She was spared from even trying as Marin engaged Rob in conversation, demanding his presence.

As Joe got in the car, she saw Marin usher Joe’s dad inside the clinic. Head swimming, Joe sent Stiles a text to let him know she headed for the school to find Lydia. Unfortunately, that brief moment she used before starting the car was enough for her to notice the concerned look on her dad’s face as he watched the car. Tilting her head down, she got out of there. Not now. She did not have the emotional capacity. As long as he was kept in the dark, he was safe.

The Corvette purred happily as she drove through Beacon Hills. Focus. Focus focus focus.

God, she hated this place. Parking at the high school, she somehow pulled up next to that same red Toyota Prius like last time. The one who had stood where Derek’s trail of blood ended. It made her pause briefly. Probably just a coincidence.

“Is it though?” asked Kate, again walking next to Joe on her way into school. “Is it,” she drew out her words, “a coincidence?”

Not answering, because it would look like she was talking to herself, Joe just shouldered through the doors and headed for the administration’s office. Maybe she could pose as Lydia’s mom or something and have her called up on the PA. With the bags under Joe’s eyes, she certainly looked old enough. Was she wearing shoes? Joe glanced down, happy to note that she was.

A note on the door to the administration’s office said they’d be back in five minutes. Joe automatically looked around for a coffee machine or something, before remembering this was a high school and the best they could offer was water fountains.

“Babe,” Kate said from where she leaned against some lockers, picking at a long knife. She nodded towards something behind Joe. “You’re being watched.”

With the eerie feeling of being in someone’s focus, Joe turned slowly.

It was that teacher, the familiar-looking one in the pencil skirt, who watched her through the open door of the teacher’s lounge across the hall. As before, she clutched some books and was obviously talking to someone Joe couldn’t see, but the teacher for some reason looked at her. Most people would look away when caught staring, but not this one. Joe found herself holding eye-contact.

“Look at the keys,” Kate whispered in her ear and Joe obeyed without thinking. In the hand in front of the books, the teacher had a keychain. With a Toyota-car key.

It was her.

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks and Joe stumbled back. The teacher kept watching her, but now a slow smile stretched across her lips as she still stared. Joe could feel the eyes bore into her even as she ran down the hallway, out of sight, away from the woman. No wonder she looked familiar, Derek knew her. Intimately.

Erica had questioned how he had managed to meet someone, but he had even told Joe about it. The teacher — from the boiler room, the one he had checked up on — Joe had not given it a second thought. Until now.

Shuddering and shaking her head, as much to get Kate’s whispering voice out of her mind, Joe sprinted back to the Corvette. Dirty. She felt so dirty. Rubbing her arms, as if she could still feel that unwanted buzz, Joe struggled to unlock the car.

That smile. The woman either knew or suspected. Derek could have told her all about it. They could have laughed about it. Could have planned it. Timed it.

Joe rubbed her head and let out a low groan of frustration. It hurt. It hurt so bad.

This was not-

She couldn’t do this.

“There’s only one way, babe,” Kate said with an easy shrug from the passenger seat. “You know what you have to do.”

Without thinking, or at least trying not to think, Joe started the car. She had made up her mind. Scott and Stiles would find Deaton. Joe was no good anyway. What was she going to do? What had her plan been? Find Lydia and make her cough up a set of GPS-coordinates? As bad a detective as she was an Alpha. Couldn’t find anyone. Hadn’t found Erica. Hadn’t found Kate. Hadn’t found her mom.

Knuckles turned white on the steering wheel — her hands shook so much she worried about driving off the road. Back downtown, but not to the laundromat. Not this time. She had to make this stop. Parked on the curb outside the tall building.

No turning back now, Joe thought, as she made her way into the apartment complex. Tunnel vision had kicked in and she only saw the elevator, how the doors opened, her own finger pushing the button for the top floor. Waiting while it went up, all the way to the top. It dinged before the doors opened. Joe’s breath came steady and hard. This was it.

She hated him. She hated how she didn’t hate him. She hated how she couldn’t bring herself to hate him.

Stomping out of the elevator, she headed for the only door up here and as predicted, it was not locked.

Only one pair of eyes looked up as she entered, the other pair hidden behind sunglasses and remained unseeing as always.

“The stray pup returns,” Deucalion said with a thin smile and he tilted his head. It felt weird seeing him up close when the last time had been through a rifle-scope — he was a lean and handsome man of indiscernible age and dressed in neutral colors as always. “Good morning, _Josefina_. Must say, I did not expect to see you here so soon. Thought you would be out searching for the missing veterinarian.”

“I’m ready.”

The words came without hesitation, not acknowledging the interested head tilt from Kali who was draped over nearby chaise longue. The penthouse looked similar to the Argents’ apartment, but with more specialized decor and had a lot of comfortable furniture in the open-spaced living room.

Deucalion kept his same smile and the faint remnants of British accent or whatever seeped through. “You will have to be a bit more specific than that.”

“I’m ready. To kill him. That’s what you’ve wanted all along, right? Okay, fine, I’m here. I’m ready.”

“Him?”

“Derek Hale,” Joe near barked, hating the name in her mouth. “I want to break the bond, I want it _gone!_ ” The figures and scenery in front of her turned red and she knew her eyes glowed. Out of control. She gritted her teeth and forced it back. “And there’s only one way and that way is death.”

“And here I just sent the twins out to paint our sigil this morning,” Kali said with a half-smile. She sounded pleased though, even if she looked rougher than usual. Dark circles, sallow skin. It had been less than two days since Ennis died.

“You’re angry,” Deucalion said as he got up from his position on the couch. He used his walking stick to navigate, even though Joe did not believe he actually needed it. “Heartbeat’s accelerated, going hard and strong. You are clenching your jaw, grinding your teeth together to remain in control.” He came in front of her, standing at arm’s length, and somehow surveyed her without his eyes. “More angry now than when you tried to shoot me.” His smile told her there were no hard feelings, but it could be a trick. “Tell me, what caused this sudden change of heart?”

Joe was aware of her own chest rising and falling several inches with each breath. She _was_ angry. “He obviously doesn’t care about the bond, so why should I? It’s brought me nothing but pain.” And, worst of all, unwanted forced pleasure. “I want to break it.”

Like a tiger, Kali stretched over the long couch and watched Joe with newfound curiosity. It must have occurred to her that Joe was not bluffing.

Deucalion was more reserved and he used his cane to move around the sitting group again, talking as he walked. “Do you know why taking our own Betas’ life makes us so powerful?”

“Power of an Alpha comes from its Betas,” Joe answer dutifully, a fact that had been hammered into her skull the latest months.

“Mm, yes, that is true,” Deucalion conceded. “But what makes the power transfer so potent is not the individual Alpha versus its Beta. It is the same logic applied to when a Beta steals the power from an Alpha.” He turned his head over his shoulder to look at her, probably only for effect. “It’s the breaking of bonds.”

She kept quiet while Deucalion talked, fists still clenched, knowing Kali was watching her body for every clue it could give her.

“It’s going against the ground principles of our instincts. You see, a Beta will always try to protect its Alpha and vice versa. So when you rebel against that instinct, when you commit the ultimate act of taboo, when you _break_ that bond with force — that is where the power comes from.”

“Killing your Beta made you stronger,” Deucalion said with a hint of a smile, “and killing your True Mate? Who knows? It has, as per my knowledge, never been done before.” Again, he tilted his head, like a dog listening for something beyond human ears. “Could be interesting to see regardless, since your status comes from when _he_ claimed the power.”

He drew in a deep breath. “But as I was perfectly willing to accept you into our pack as a True Mate Alpha _pair_ , I am still curious as to exactly where this aggression comes from.”

Joe remained frozen, not knowing how to say it without sounding weak. Apparently, her lack of response was more telling than she could be with words. Both Kali and Deucalion seemed to understand — hell, they could probably smell it on her — and Deucalion nodded.

“Hell hath no fury, hm? Luckily for us. Kali, you’ll take it from here? If you will excuse me, Josefina, I have another appointment.”

Biting in a response as Deucalion sauntered over to the elevator, Joe folded her arms and turned to Kali instead. “I’m ready. Teach me.”

“You think so?” Kali slithered off the couch and stood up, walking over to the apartment door. “We’ll see.”

The California sun was bearable in the fall, but it still warmed the concrete roof of the highrise apartment building. Joe followed Kali up there, her own bare feet making no noise at all compared to the clicking of Kali’s foot claws. This high up, a light breeze shifted Kali’s long straight hair around. At least the few hours of sleep had cleared Joe’s senses, even if her mind still felt cloudy. After what happened the other day with Ennis, she knew Kali would not go easy on her.

_“Ah!”_

Apparently, Kali was not going to waste time either. Without any warning beyond the harsh growl, she sprang through the air, a set of sharp claws heading for Joe’s face.

They made a swishing sound in the air when they missed their target. Joe let her body take over, using instincts and muscle memory to dodge Kali’s relentless attacks.

A quote Kali recited sometimes in the desert came to mind, a part of the student oath of tae kwon do: _Then here are my weapons — my empty hands and feet._ Joe had no claws and no fangs — she only had her empty hands and feet.

They went from zero to sixty immediately. It was as if she watched herself from the outside, saw her own lithe body strike and kick at the taller female werewolf. The similarities were there: both barefooted, both dressed in leggings with loose-fitting tops that allowed for full movements, and both unnaturally fast.

Kali snarled as she dodged backward, knees bending low when Joe used her own move against her and sent a spinning hook kick to Kali’s face. It missed, but Joe followed up by planting her kicking leg down, using the force to jump off the ground, and hitting Kali in the chest with both feet.

“There you are,” Kali laughed and dashed forwards again, eyes glowing red.

As Kali was her teacher, they used the same moves. Both aimed for weak points: eyes, nose, throat, groin; any point of the body not covered with muscle or fat. This was not a sport, this was not for points, it was for winning! Follow the eyes, anticipate their next move, think fast to exploit their own power against them. Joe’s foot dragged over the concrete as she swept low towards Kali’s ankle, knowing she would pull it up, leaving Joe free to redirect her force to a side-kick that hit Kali in the ribs.

For every hit Joe landed however, Kali retaliated tenfold. Who knew how old she really was? She could have passed for Joe’s slightly older sister, but was probably twice or three times her age. Who knew how many times she had repeated these moves? Repetition was crucial. There’s a difference between what your brain understands to what your body _knows_. Train to create muscle memory — earn it, make it a reflex, your body remembers better than your mind.

“Come on!” Kali roared and slashed her foot upwards, raking through the fabric of Joe’s shirt. “Let it out!”

How many times had she repeated that line? To the extreme at least. The main difference between Joe and Kali, at least now, was where Kali used her voice as a magnifier, Joe kept mum. She hissed through her teeth, releasing air to get more force in her hits, but never roared or snarled like was second nature to a werewolf. She would never be a werewolf, not a full one, she had accepted that. No point in embarrassing herself.

“Shit!” Joe bit out when Kali’s clawed hand raked across her forearm, still tender from her own scratching.

“Let it out, _Sefina!”_ Circling each other six feet apart. Kali moved her body in a rhythm only she heard, hands up and ready for more. “Let it out! Use your voice, come on!”

Joe held her own arms up, tighter to her body, still not letting go of the guard her dad spent years trying to teach her. Her breathing was hard and fast, they’d been going at it for a while under the harsh California sun.

She blinked in confusion as Kali dropped her hands and straightened up.

“You’re not ready,” she scoffed and leaned on one hip, regarding Joe with contempt. “You’re holding it in. All of it. Your pain, your voice, your power. Holding it in means holding back.”

“I’m not!”

“Holding back means losing. Means dying. You’re not ready.”

“I’m ready!” Joe spat and she held her hands up, fists locked, ready for more. “Come on!”

“You think so? What, because you’re upset?” She tilted her head to the side while giving Joe a curled lip.

“Because you were gone for three months and he didn’t even notice? Because you thought the mate-bond meant it would be the two of you forever, no matter what?” Kali cooed while Joe blinked against the harsh sunlight outlining the older woman. “Because your little mate went and found comfort elsewhere?”

This was almost worse than Kate. Breathing hard, Joe did everything she could to not back down when Kali stalked closer. She nearly shouted now, so close Joe could see how Kali’s lips cracked from the effort.

“Because you have done nothing but hold your pain away from him for months now? Because you thought _you_ were the one dying when he fell? Because you ran around looking for him and he crawled into bed with someone else? Because you thought he was _yours_ and yours alone? Come on, which one is it?”

“Stop,” Joe whimpered, hands now slowly coming down. “Stop it.”

“Because you think you’re angry when you’re really just hurt?” Kali kept pushing, grabbing onto Joe’s arms to keep them up, not letting her surrender. “Because you _what_? What, _Sefina?”_

“Because-” Joe’s voice was so tight and Kali’s claws dug into her wrists, refusing her to take them down.

“Because what?”

“Because I love him!” Joe screamed into Kali’s face, horrified to see Kali’s eyes also lined with tears. “Because I love him and I want him and he _is_ mine!” Joe sobbed, only held up by her wrists now as her knees gave in. “Or was supposed to be. I-I don’t know...”

“Let it out,” Kali whispered, her voice shaking. “Listen to your instincts. All that anger and pain and hurt and love, let it out. Come on, _Sefina_. Come on! Let it out.”

Joe shook her head. “I can’t.”

“ _Let it out!”_

With Kali’s fingers digging into her wrists, Joe threw her head back and screamed.

It started as a scream. It soon morphed into something inhuman.

The sound that followed was not supposed to be made or heard by humans. The howl — in lack of better words — shook the roof, maybe the entire building. She could feel the pressure on her own eardrums, wondering how it translated to werewolf ears, wondering how far it reached, wondering if he heard, if he felt it, if he understood.

It had built for days now — it pushed up her lungs, her throat, out through her human teeth, but sounding anything but human. A flock of birds evacuated from the nearby roof, small pebbles vibrated around her bare feet, her lips strained with the effort of letting everything go.

As the sound died out, no air left in her lungs, she slumped forwards and Kali caught her easily. She knelt down with Joe and whispering: “There you go. Let it out.”

And Joe let it out. First a sob and then, with a shaky voice, everything spilled out. Everything, from start to finish. From her doubts about the werewolf world and her resistance to the mate bond to the lackluster welcome when she returned and the strange disconnect in his scent. Everything, right down to the teacher in the pencil skirt. Eventually, there were just tears and hiccups.

“The mate bond is a power,” Kali said when Joe’s words thinned out into nothing. “And it is powerful.”

Joe scoffed, now feeling empty. She flinched when Kali’s fingernails trailed her neck, but they never plunged into the muscles, just brushed away loose strands of hair. “It does not feel like either.”

No answer. Kali shifted so Joe sat on the rooftop next to her. When her eyes weren’t red and hard, they were the same almond-shape and dark brown as Joe’s. The foot claws scraped over the rooftop as Kali stretched out her legs.

“Your mate killed Ennis. He was the reason I joined Duke in the first place.”

Silence. Joe knew this, really, it had been obvious and confirmed by the heartbroken howl Kali had let out at the clinic.

“We were both Alphas of each our packs,” Kali continued while staring out over the horizon where the sun was starting to set, “and there can only be one Alpha in a pack. Unless you’re mates, of course, but we weren’t. Doesn’t mean we didn’t love each other, but neither of us was willing to give up our status for love.” Kali sighed and leaned back on her hands. “And when Duke came along and offered me everything I wanted — power, status, and Ennis... You know the rest.”

The words chilled Joe. It was easy to overlook, especially when Kali spoke so softly as she did now, but she had murdered her own pack in relatively cold blood. Slaughtered her first Beta and, drunk on the power surge, took down the rest. All of the Alphas in the Alpha Pack had done it, although the twins killed their own pack first and Alpha last.

“When Ennis died at the clinic,” Kali’s jaw twitched and her nostrils flared as if she was holding in a snarl, “I was seconds away from just tearing through this city. I wanted to rip Derek’s head off. Still do.” She laughed bitterly and plucked a piece of gravel from her leggings. The Cheshire Cat-grin returned. “But I will give you the first shot at it if you’re serious.”

“We’re supposed to make each other stronger,” Joe mumbled, still feeling the strange disconnect with everything. The howl somehow cleared her heavy heart a bit. “It just feels like we’re doing the opposite.”

“You’re strong on your own too.”

As Joe did not know how to answer, Kali’s expression softened a fraction. “Duke still wants both of you. You have a choice.”

Joe might, but Derek didn’t. Derek never had a choice.

* * *

_Do you think you’re ready?_

“Look, I appreciate your concern, but as you can see, I’m still very much not sacrificed.” Aunt Mel removed her pair of gloves and dumped them in a trash can. She was behind the front desk at the hospital, giving Joe maybe a quarter of her attention. “Which is more than I can say about Scott’s boss. Any news there?”

“No,” Joe said, thinking of the long list of texts from Stiles. Apparently, Lydia was not producing the answers Stiles expected her to. She rubbed the newly acquired scratch marks from Kali — it distracted from the way her hands shook. “Not that I know of.”

Aunt Mel blew air out her mouth, shuffling stacks of paper around. She leaned over the front desk and dropped her voice down. “I talked to Sheriff Stilinski and Rob earlier. Based on the ligature marks around Dr. Hilyard’s wrists, I think this guy is stringing them up by their arms, leaving them to suffocate when they can’t hold themselves up anymore.”

“It’s not a guy. At least I don’t think it is.”

That had been news to Aunt Mel at least, whose eyebrows rose. “It’s a woman doing this?”

“Probably, based on the profiling. It’s not an exact science.” Joe cringed at her own words. She had started to hate that term. “And the killer always takes four potential victims, as far as I can tell. Are there any other doctors that haven’t called in today?”

“Uh, hang on, let me check.”

“Look at you,” Kate said from next to Aunt Mel, who had concentrated on the computer. “Pretending to be all heroic and altruistic. As if you didn’t just make a deal with the Alpha Pack to kill Derek.”

Ignoring her, Joe rubbed the claw marks again. That was not the deal she had made. There was another way, one that did not involve making her a killer. Maybe there were other ways too? Deaton might know more than Professor Kane. She had to find him first or she was going to go hunting for that Darach for less altruistic purposes. _How many virgins you gotta sacrifice to break this bond, Madam Darach?_

“Only one doctor unaccounted for,” Aunt Mel said eventually and straightened up to look at Joe. “Doctor Alvizo, he’s the neurologist. Hang on, I’ll try and call him.”

Long blonde hair fell over her shoulder as Kate tilted her head. “You could just let Kali kill him if you’re too weak to go through with it. Or are you worried that the mate-bond will kill you too if he dies at the hands of someone else? That’s it, isn’t it? Hm, you think she knows that? You think she cares?”

Aunt Mel put the phone down with a worried frown. “No answer.”

“Call Dad and let him know there’s another doctor missing,” Joe said and had to lean against the front desk to catch her breath when her vision suddenly blurred. “Hopefully Scott will find Doctor D.”

“Whoa, hey,” Aunt Mel said and ran around the desk to Joe. “Hey, sweetheart, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just a little winded,” Joe said and pulled her arm back when Aunt Mel stared at the scratch marks with horror written all over her face. “I’m fine, Aunt Mel.”

Unfortunately, Aunt Mel was a good nurse and she knew Joe too well. “ _Josefina Maria Delgado_ , you answer me right now, when was the last time you slept? Actual sleep, in a bed?”

“I’m fine,” Joe repeated and pushed off the front desk. She didn’t get far as Aunt Mel blocked her escape with a long arm and a stern frown.

“What is going on with you, Joe?” she asked, the harsh tone contrasted by her soft eyes. “Ever since you got back, you’ve been, I dunno, detached? You don’t answer your phone, you never text, you never come over. Did something happen? Is this about Derek? Is it about your dad? What?”

Joe shrugged and tried to blink away Kate’s shit-eating grin behind Aunt Mel’s shoulder. “All of the above?” She flinched when Aunt Mel put her palm to Joe’s cheek. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Aunt Mel said with a sigh. “If you hang on, I can have the attending doc write you a prescription for Estazolam. Joe, you _need_ sleep.”

“There are people being sacrificed all over town,” Joe pointed out like she made a valid point. “I’m fine.”

Again, she tried to leave, but Aunt Mel swiped out and snatched the car keys from her hand. She leaned in close and hissed at Joe. “As you know, twenty-four-hour sleep deprivation is the same as having a blood alcohol concentration of 0.10 percent. That’s higher than the limit to legally drive. At thirty-six hours, you start to microsleep, maybe thirty seconds at a time, without realizing it. At forty-eight, you hallucinate.”

“That’s me, babe,” Kate supplied helpfully from the side.

“I don’t know how long you’ve been up, Joe,” Aunt Mel said and yanked her hand away when Joe tried to take the car keys back. “But you should _not_ be driving. Can you wait a bit so I can give you a ride or do you have money for a cab?”

With a sneer, Joe turned around and headed for the front doors. “I’ll walk.”

“Joe!”

_“I’m fine!”_

Her loud voice caused the other people in the hallway to jump, but Joe did not pay much attention. Not looking back at Aunt Mel, she left the hospital, thoughts already spinning. Could she even have a blood alcohol concentration at all? Didn’t her healing take care of that?

“To be honest,” Kate said when they reached the streets, always her companion by her side, “you probably wouldn’t be alive if it hadn’t been for that nifty healing factor.”

“You know, I can’t wait for you to come back here,” Joe said, on the off chance Kate actually was astral projecting here to torment her. “I’m really looking forward to killing you.”

“You think you’re ready?” Kate laughed with her head thrown back. “Oh, isn’t that dramatic? Babe, we both know you don’t have the balls for that. Besides, it won’t change anything. I’ll still be in your head. Deep-set trauma like that? I’ll always be in your head.”

True to her word, Hallucinate-Kate kept bothering her all the way downtown. It was dark before she reached the apartment. Her phone had died from the abundance of text messages Stiles kept sending her, like _she_ was going to be their big breakthrough in how to find Doctor Deaton. Jimmy had said the Darach worked fast — probably already dead. Great. Add it to the long list.

A sense of unease filled her when she unlocked the door to the apartment complex. A perimeter sweep did not uncover anyone who looked to have ill intentions, but there was a large crack in the brick wall near the door. And blood on the door handle. Feeling stupid, she brought it up to her nose, but it just smelled metallic. As expected, there was no reason Derek would come here.

Wiping her hand absentmindedly, she made her way upstairs, already dreading what she was going to find. The apartment door was still intact and locked and she let out a sigh of relief. Short-lived as the stench of rotten blood met her when she went inside.

Not daring to breathe, she closed the door behind her softly. A pool of blackened blood was just inside the door like someone had laid here and bled for a little while. Taking a step further, she saw a long smear going from the door down the hall — like someone had dragged an unconscious bleeding body to the open bathroom door.

_“Joe!”_

Jumping at the sound, but recognizing Erica’s panicked cry, Joe finally snapped into gear and ran down to the bathroom. The stench was horrible and she retched, but knelt down by the blood-covered girl where she had Jimmy in her lap.

“What happened?” Joe’s voice was shrill and she did not know where to start. Large gashes in Jimmy’s abdomen, straight through his shirt and bleeding black blood. Not healing. Her hands trembled as she tried to untangle the fabric from the skin. Deucalion said he had another appointment. Had he come here? “ _Erica!_ What happened?”

“I-I-I don’t know!” Erica stuttered — she had obviously siphoned pain from Jimmy and was already swaying. “The buzzer rang and he told me to go hide and he went downstairs and then he never came back up and when I went to get him he stumbled inside like this!”

“Okay, okay, it’s gonna be okay.”

Her mind went on autopilot. She barked at Erica to get something to clean out the wounds while she removed Jimmy’s shirt. Scratches on his face, but superficial. Bruising around his torso, but this had definitely been an Alpha attack — nothing else left those kinds of groves in the flesh. Joe gagged again at the sight of Jimmy’s ribs in the cuts. He groaned and his breathing was shallow. “Jimmy? Jimmy, do you hear me?”

It couldn’t have been Kali. Could it? How long had Joe been gone? Deucalion? This was not his style, he would have just slit Jimmy’s throat if he wanted to kill him. Would not have left him alive. The twins? It didn’t make sense. Motive. Means. Opportunity. Why had they done this? To warn her, to make her realize the consequences if she did not fulfill her promises?

“It’s gonna be okay, Jimmy, it’s gonna be okay,” she cried and hated how her hands shook even as she tried to clean out his wounds. How long before he started healing? “Not an exact science. Shit!”

_“Joe..._ ”

A whispered breath filled with agony and Jimmy buckled in pain when he regained consciousness. Her eyes widened when she saw his muscles swell and shift — the half-moon! Shit! The pain might trigger the full change.

“Jimmy, it’s okay, it’s okay, just relax,” she whispered and grabbed onto the water-soaked rag Erica brought, gently cleaning the still bleeding gaping wounds. She should not be able to see so far into his torso. “Relax, release, ease, right? Just breathe, Jimmy, it’s gonna be okay.”

“Should we call an ambulance?” Erica suggested, pale where her face wasn’t covered in blood.

“No hospital,” Jimmy hissed and then laughed before it turned into anguished moans. “Oww.” He grunted and managed to sit up a bit. “Healing.” Another harsh grunt and his face pulled out, elongating before he managed to recover. “Slow.”

Her voice came in between a sob and a laugh herself, feeling delusional and crawling with flies. “Jimmy, who did this? Why? What happened?” To Erica, she yelled: _“Get the painkillers from his room. Go!”_

Wide purple eyes looked at her in a face slowly morphing into half-wolf. “Derek.”

It was as if her heart stopped. “What?”

“He heard the howl,” Jimmy said through gritted teeth. “Came looking.” His neck cracked and he snarled out into the room, obviously fighting the change. After sunset, half-moon. “Didn’t take no for an answer.”

He looked up at the doorway where Erica had returned with the pill bottle. Joe filled with freezing cold understanding. Derek had heard her howl and came here. Jimmy denied him access to the apartment because of Erica. Derek attacked Jimmy. Derek tore Jimmy apart. _Her_ Jimmy. Her ride or die.

“Joe?” Erica followed Joe where she nearly floated down to the kitchen. Did not feel her feet touch the floor, did not feel anything. “Joe, where are you going?”

In a daze, Joe picked up the 9mm and made sure it was loaded. Blood coated her shaking hands and transferred onto the pistol. Ride or die. Ride or _die_.

“Joe, where are you going? Joe!”

“Take care of him,” Joe said, staring wide-eyed and unseeing towards the bathroom. “He’s healing, but make sure he’s okay. Call an ambulance if you have to.”

Tears ran down Erica’s face, mixing with the black blood. “Where are you going?”

“To kill Derek.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, Derek, what are you doing, man?  
> So... we're obviously not at rock bottom yet, but we're getting there. (Again, I swear, this won't go on forever; Joe will be happy again)  
> Speaking of, when things quiet down, who do you think would make the best couple's therapist for Joe and Derek? Melissa's the obvious choice, but there are other candidates: Peter, Erica, Jimmy, or even Jackson? Or a whole panel, maybe? 
> 
> It felt so weird not updating yesterday, by the way. I missed my regular dopamine-rush from your comments ❤ So you get an extra-long chapter to make up for it.  
> (Also, the T-key on my keyboard is malfunctioning, but I think I've found all the typos. Just wanted to apologize in case I hadn't, haha)
> 
> Please let me know what you think and thank you for reading as always 😊 Have a nice weekend, guys!


	72. The First Beta III

_Are you familiar with the term ‘triggering the healing process’? A vague description, but paints a vivid picture. Strong verb. Trigger. It relates to forcing the body into a survival mode to work at top efficiency. Much like we are doing to you, Josefina. Forcing your body to adapt and survive — or die._

The all-consuming rage filled her, like a burning fire going from her inner core to her outer limbs. It spread through her veins; crawling up her neck, choking her; out to her fingertips, making her flex them into her palms; down to her feet, so every step she took nearly cracked the concrete. Function. She had a function. She had to function. Walk. Don’t run. Don’t panic.

_Don’t panic._

It took all her willpower to keep her eyes from glowing. Not that it mattered, she doubted anyone would dare stop or question her. People moved out of their way without thinking as she stalked down the streets, fists clenched and fury churning in her stomach. Instincts, probably. Here comes the predator, move or be moved. The pistol tucked in the waistband of her leggings, concealed by the denim jacket she wore, was cold and hard against her skin. She wished she had fangs and claws, so she could snarl and slash the air. She wanted to roar.

She wanted to kill.

The vision of Jimmy lying in the bathroom, chest slashed open by sharp claws, filled her mind every time she blinked. _Her_ Jimmy. Her friend. Her packmate. Her beta, her pack, her turf! How dared he? How _fucking_ dared he? And after what he did? He did not get to have it both ways, did _not_ get to have his cake and eat it too.

_Then here are my weapons — my empty hands and feet._ Joe had no claws and no fangs — she only had her empty hands and feet. And a 9mm holding no less than sixteen bullets in the magazine and one in the chamber. If you want to end the fight, fight back. No holding back. Holding back means losing. Means dying.

God, she hoped he would fight back.

No turning back now, Joe thought, as she made her way into the apartment complex. Tunnel vision had kicked in and she only saw the elevator, but the doors never opened. Now she noticed how dark it was, both outside and in the hallway — power was cut. Suppressing a human growl, Joe went for the stairs and began to make her way up. Was her newfound stamina worth every broken bone? Was her inhuman strength worth all that pain?

Right now? Yes.

Through the thick walls, she could hear the angry roars and snarls of a werewolf fight. She heard it, but it didn’t register. Didn’t matter. Not right now.

The door to the stairwell on the top floor stood wide open already, as did the heavy sliding door into the loft. Sounds grew louder — she recognized Kali’s enraged outcries and Derek’s deeper roars as well as heavy splashes of water. Two familiar figures stood right inside the doorway.

Tunnel vision — she did not even see which one of the twins made a grab for her when she burst through the opening. Muscle memory took over and she pulled on the grabbing arm, twisting him around and slamming his head into the doorway with an ear-deafening crack.

The other twin held the whimpering teacher, the one in a pencil skirt, and took a step back when Joe glared at him, daring him to make a move. He wisely didn’t.

The entire loft was covered in a few inches of water and in the midst of it, Kali and Derek fought. Like to water spirits, drenched to the bone and slashing at each other with wild movements. On the window behind them was the Alpha Pack’s sigil, painted six feet high. Joe bared her teeth at the sight of Kali — so much for getting the first shot.

Walk. Don’t run. The water splashed around her boots as she strode through the loft to the two Alpha werewolves trying to claw each other to pieces.

_“Joe!”_

Someone at the side yelled her name, didn’t matter who, but it was enough to make Derek lose focus as he looked her way. It left him open for Kali to swipe across his chest with the sharp claws on her hand.

Without a single coherent thought, Joe leaped up, twisting around in the air, and smashed her foot into Kali’s chest. The impact hurled Kali off the ground, sending her straight into the far wall where bricks crushed around her.

“Back - off!” Joe bit out as Kali, eyes glowing, was already dashing up again. Apparently, Joe’s dark expression was enough to make her pause and she stared in part wonder, part anger at Joe. It took everything she had to not bark the word, instead she hissed: “Mine.”

Her mate. Her revenge. Her kill.

She finally, finally turned to Derek Hale, who despite his bleeding chest, had uncertain relief written all over his morphed-out face. Just the sight of him made her heart beat so hard she thought she was going to die and she _hated_ it. His mouth opened to say something, but the expression shifted into confusion, probably seeing the same thing in her face as Kali saw.

“You dare?” Joe spat and took a step closer to him, water sloshing by her feet. Her whole body trembled, not just her hands, but everything. It took everything to not just attack him on sight. He had to understand. “You _fucking_ dare to come after Jimmy?”

Instincts probably made him back up, hands coming up in half-surrender, half-guard. Still morphed, his words sounded guttural: “I heard you-”

“Did you?” Her lips shook, it was hard to form words. Fists clenched and unclenched repeatedly. “You _heard_ me? And you what, decided to kill my friend?” The vision of Jimmy flashing before her eyes, bleeding out on the bathroom floor, Erica panicked and covered in his blood.

Joe’s voice made the water on the floor tremble. “You _fucking DARE?”_

“I thought you needed help.”

A harsh laugh escaped. “You thought I needed help? From _you?”_

Something about his expression only made her angrier. Still confused, still worried. He was _not_ getting it.

Her vision went white. White-hot with rage and she pulled back her arm, gaining force from her hip, and punched him in his chest so she felt ribs crack under his skin. Guard up, scales tipped, she did not even feel a twinge as he grunted and was forced back a few steps.

“How’s that? Does that feel like I need help from _you?”_

Her voice did not sound like her own.

Which was fine, because she was not feeling like herself.

And he still looked _lost!_ Not angry, not furious, nothing she needed of him right now.

Joe span around, building momentum to bash her heel into Derek’s cheek. Almost in slow motion, she saw the trail of blood and spit glitter in the air from his mouth as the impact forced him to the side.

The rage, the all-consuming fury that had built the last few days, ever since she was forced to endure his pleasure with another woman joined in with the frenzy at seeing Jimmy near death at the hands of Derek _fucking_ Hale.

Confusion in his glowing red eyes — the guy did not even have eyebrows when morphed out, but still looked surprised and confused more than angry.

_“Rah!”_ Joe snarled and jumped up to kick him in his stomach so he flew backwards, landing hard on the floor against the windows.

Through the thick haze, she heard someone — a female someone — scream his name. Desperate. Scared. _Pathetic_. Someone was also shouting her name, but she did not care. Joe balled her fists again and splashed through the water, following Derek’s trajectory where he was getting up slowly. Her hits had hurt him — more than he’d anticipated probably.

“I can take a lot of shit,” Joe whispered down at him, “but you stay the hell away from Jimmy.”

Another spin, another hook kick to his face. More blood, more spit. Strong as he was, he remained upright on his knees, chest heaving with obvious pain.

Hissing, Joe waited for him to get up. “Fight back. You owe me that.”

Derek, on his knees with his head bent, glared up at her. Arms out to the side, open and defenseless. His angry red eyes told her ‘no’.

She wanted to hate him so much.

_Then here are my weapons — my empty hands and feet._ With an angry snarl, Joe reached back for the 9mm, pulling the slider and cocking it at him in one fluid movement. Aiming for his chest and not his head. He _had_ to understand. He _had_ to fight back.

“Fight back,” Joe’s voice did not waver nor did her aim, “or I kill you where you stand.”

There was something in his eyes, daring her to do it. Like he wanted her to do it. Like he knew he deserved it. This infuriating endless _guilt_.

Most hardheaded werewolf in the world, he growled. “You’re gonna shoot me, Joe?” His large fangs glittered with specks of blood as he smiled bitterly. “You know it’s gonna hurt you as much as me.”

“Wrong.”

Someone screamed as Joe pulled the trigger.

The shock and pain washed over Derek’s face as the bullet tore into his chest, missing his heart by a quarter-inch margin if her aim held true. It did.

The water trembled as he roared in pain, hands out to either side of his chest where he had left himself wide open. With the scales in a steel grip, Joe did not feel a damn thing.

Movement in the side of her vision — another werewolf roared and attacked. A Beta trying to protect his Alpha. Strong and, above all, loyal Boyd.

Guess he figured out what to do with that honor.

She dodged his first attempt of a strike. Then the second one. He knew it was futile. He had to. She could take on him, Cora, and Erica at the same time. You needed more than three betas to take down an Alpha — they knew because they’d tried.

Ducking down under his arms, she grabbed hold of his belt and shoulder and pushed from the bottom of her feet to sling him overhead with everything she had.

He hit the other wall upside down with a _boom_ , leaving a sizeable dent in the exposed bricks. The floor shook when he slammed to the ground again.

“ _Anyone else?”_ Joe roared into the loft with one hand still on the pistol. “ _COME ON!”_

She spun around, seeing Isaac making a few hesitant steps towards her. Isaac, Derek’s first Beta, who had been kicked out to create distance between them. He wasn’t a threat. Twins still in the doorway, confused, but not about to fight her. The teacher stared with horror, big eyes Also in the doorway were three other teenagers watching her with horror. Among them Cora, who only stared, obviously fighting conflicting instincts. Protect her Alpha by attacking her other Alpha? Not likely.

And Kali by the far wall, watching her with a smile of bloodlust and pride.

Baring her teeth, Joe turned back to the bleeding and choking Derek as no one was inclined to defend him. He was still on his knees, clutching at his chest, and she kicked him down easily. With a grunt, he was on his back on the floor and she leaned over him, his face now returned to normal. To her beautiful stoic Derek. Except he wasn’t hers.

“Feel that pain, Derek?” Joe asked, making sure to stare him in the eyes. He _had_ to understand. Next time he _had_ to fight back. She leaned in even closer, giving him all the opportunity in the world to make a grab for her, to attack her, or ward her off. As expected, he did not do a damn thing. Only Alpha in the world as bad as her. Equals. Haha. Ha.

She whispered: _“Trust me, the alternative is worse.”_

One hand on the pistol, the other one balled into a fist and she stood back up. This wasn’t about that. Not really.

This was about Jimmy, but she could not deny that Derek smelled of blood and vinegar. Not her Derek. Her Derek didn’t have this desperate and scared expression; he was angry and strong and not fervently clutching at his wounded chest, trying not to bleed out on the floor. His eyes followed her as he gasped for breath, but no words coming. If it was the pain or the surprise he wasn’t healing was hard to tell.

And his face still held more remorse than anger. She hated him — or wanted to, so bad. One more bullet could kill him. That was not the point. Except Kali had picked up on it too.

“You know that won’t kill him?”

Kali had her arms folded as Joe moved through the water back to the door. There were thick wires laying on the floor and Isaac still stood on some wooden planks to avoid touching the water. There had been a failed attempt of a plan here. They didn’t get how strong these guys were.

With a shrug, Joe glanced back at where Derek laid and towards Boyd who was trying to push himself up to his feet. “I know. That’s what you wanted, right?”

“Yeah.” Kali smiled with pursed lips and raised her voice while turning towards the door. _“Giving you ‘till the next full moon, Derek. Make the smart choice.”_

She gave a signal to the twins to drop the whimpering teacher, who Isaac immediately dove to catch before she collapsed. Cora stood trembling by the door, staring wide-eyed at Joe and Kali. Looked like Baby Hale had to make a choice of her own.

Kali stalked like a tiger through the opening to the hallway and did not even turn around as she shouted: “Join the pack. Or next time we’re actually killing all of you.”

The twins quietly followed Kali and so did Joe. Stiles made a sputtering sound from where he stood holding Lydia, both staring with slack jaws at her. “Joe? What? _Joe!”_

Pistol in a loose hand, Joe did not bother to look at him, just walked calmly after Kali and the twins. She caught how the teacher flinched hard when Joe passed her and she paused, fingers tightening around the grip.

No. Her anger was with Derek, not the other woman. Couldn’t be a homewrecker when there hadn’t been a home. Joe kept walking, ignoring her name being called over and over again by Stiles.

* * *

_Something obviously went wrong with you. Perhaps already in the womb._

“Don’t think I couldn’t tell you were holding back.”

Out on the street, Kali walked barefooted next to Joe who was stomping in the general direction of downtown Beacon Hills. Kali had sent the twins ahead of them. To avoid having the police called on them, Joe tucked the pistol back under her denim jacket, now splattered with Derek’s blood.

Still angry, still so furious she wanted to scream, Joe tore around to face Kali.

“Did you know I’d come?” she demanded to know. Kali stood maybe an inch taller than her, but Joe was so angry she felt inflated to beyond that. “Is that why you brought _her_ there?” The memory of the pretty brunette held in a chokehold by the twins made her grit her teeth. “I don’t appreciate being manipulated.”

Nostrils flared as Kali leaned down. “Watch your step, _Sefina._ I brought her there as leverage, to get Derek one-on-one.” Her eyes glittered in the dark. “It worked, eventually, but he was _really_ confused there at first. Are you sure that’s the right woman?”

“I-” Joe’s mouth opened and closed a few times. Re-thinking everything only brought her to the same conclusion. “Yes, it...it has to be.”

Kali tilted her head, but not finding any reason to suspect Joe of lying. “What do you know about her?”

“Nothing.” Just talking about the woman made Joe’s blood boil all over again. “She’s a teacher at the high school. I don’t even know her name. Why? Does it matter?”

“No. There was just something,” Kali looked to the side, searching for a word, “off about her.”

_‘She’s a skank’_ was Joe’s first thought, not one she was proud of. “You never answered my question. Did you know I’d come?”

“Does it matter?” Kali repeated with a slow smile. “You wanted him dead.”

Wrong, but Joe could not let Kali know that. “You said I’d get the first shot!”

In a flash, Kali grabbed her around her neck and forced her back into the shadows of a high-rise warehouse. Her claws dug into Joe’s skin, but did not draw blood. “For your information,” she hissed in Joe’s face, “I was there on Deucalion’s orders. He still wants Derek to kill one of his betas.”

“No,” Joe spat and grabbed at Kali’s hand to make her loosen the grip. “If he does that, he’ll be too strong. I won’t be able to take him.”

“You’re missing the concept of equals, _Sefina_.” Eyes narrowed, Kali tilted her head. “You still think you’re ready?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Her vision swam when Kali increased her grip. “Why waste the chance now? Why not shoot him in the head?”

Joe broke Kali’s grip with a hard swipe of her arm. “Because I want him to fight back. I want him to fight me with everything he has and still lose. I want him to know exactly how strong I am! I have to, I need him to understand that.”

Not the whole truth, but not a lie either.

Taking a few steps back, Kali tilted her head even further to study Joe. Mixed expression on her face. Joe probably looked like a mess. Dark circles under her eyes, blood in her hair, blood on her clothes — she had forgotten about the large blood stains from Jimmy already soaked through the fabric of her leggings.

“Hell hath no fury, huh?” Kali asked with a mischievous glint in her eye and Joe scoffed. It was _not_ about that.

“He came after Jimmy,” she spat, chest heaving at the thought alone.

“Your little pet?” Kali sounded amused and crossed her arms. “Thought that blood smelled familiar. I haven’t seen him around lately. Not since he helped you escape. Duke was very impressed by that plan, by the way. With the mistletoe and all. Shame it failed. Not your fault, I suppose. How could you know Derek was finally going to figure things out and try to free his sister and the other one?”

Her words made Joe sick. They had known. All along. Ten steps ahead, Joe thought. Deucalion was always ten steps ahead. Whatever they did, they followed his plan to a tee.

“Go home, _Sefina_ ,” Kali said, still smiling with closed lips. Her eyes flashed red. “Get some sleep. You’re going to need it if you’re planning on fighting Derek Hale at the next full moon. You need more training, you know where to find me.”

With those words, she left Joe standing in the deserted alley, gasping for breath. Sliding down to sit on her haunches, she buried her face into her arms. Now when she blinked, she saw the same image over and over. The look on Derek’s face as she pulled the trigger. The shock and confusion written so clearly on his wolf-like features. She would have preferred anger or disgust. He looked as betrayed as she felt. Deserved it. He deserved it.

Another expression crept into her memory. Cora. Stiles. Lydia. All watching her with apparent horror. Guess it was a hard blow to see her true colors. She did not even kill him. Because of Deucalion? Hardly. Derek deserved a gunshot to his chest. After everything he did, he came after Jimmy.

Who she had left bleeding in the apartment on the night of the half-moon. Now Joe got up and ran.

Bursting through the front door, up the stairs, and to the apartment door. She wondered what the other people living in the building thought of them or if they were so used to the weirdness in this town that they did not care. She fumbled with the keys, getting the order wrong. Trying again, it still wouldn’t open. Once more and she realized it wasn’t her fault.

Almost a third of the locks weren’t latched and when she tried to unlock them, they locked instead.

Her heart thumped hard in her chest. Someone else had been here. She and Jimmy _always_ locked all the locks.

Someone else. Who? The thought made her dizzy. Joe held her breath and leaned to put her ear against the door blade. She could hear something shuffling inside.

Half-moon. Shit. Shit shit shit.

“Jimmy?”

The shuffling stopped, but was replaced with a dark, drawn-out growl. With her night vision, Joe saw the splotches of black blood on the door handle, left behind by whoever had locked the apartment door, apparently in a hurry. Werewolf-proof, Joe thought. Both ways. Someone had locked Jimmy _inside_ the apartment.

If he was in the state Joe feared he was in, he would not be able to open even a single lock.

“Jimmy, I’m coming in,” Joe warned, trying to breathe. Trying to steel herself for what waited indoors. His growl grew louder at her words. _Breathe, just breathe._ He had asked if she was prepared to bring him back — now she had to prove her words. Easier said than done, but she had to try.

One last deep inhale and Joe unlocked the final lock, throwing herself inside.

Mind in overdrive, she took notice of a few random details: the bloodstain still on the inside of the door, now dried and cracked; overturned furniture, deep scratches in the upholstery of Joe’s favorite chair; bright yellow powder covering the kitchen counter, looking like mistletoe.

That was all she had time for.

He emerged from the shadows like he was made of darkness itself — a slight purple sheen to the thick black fur covering his entire form. Not a wolf, but a monster straight out of your worst nightmares. Skinny clawed hind legs and long ape-like arms reaching almost to the floor. A large gaping mouth dripping with drool. The arms ended in thick sharp talons that scraped over the floor.

Instead of her, he headed straight for the door Joe had left slightly ajar.

“Oh no, you don’t!”

She spun around, kicking it shut with a _bang_ , and he recoiled from the sealed barrier with a high-pitched snarl.

Even fully shapeshifted, he hadn’t healed yet and the groves in his torso had closed up, but looked raw and tender. Black stripes of blood still ran down into his fur as he turned his attention to her, purple eyes glowing bright and angry.

“I don’t want to fight you,” Joe said slowly, scanning the apartment because some part of her insisted there should be another person in here. She held her hands up, showing him empty palms. “But I can’t let you leave.”

His breath came in hard puffs through the snout. A pause as he sniffed the air and more drool dropped from his mouth. Just then Joe remembered she was covered in blood. Some of it Jimmy’s, some of it Derek’s.

“Shit.”

Jimmy was not a fighter. But right now, Jimmy wasn’t Jimmy.

Adrenaline still ran crazy high after the events at the loft, so Joe dodged Jimmy’s first strike. Not the second though and his claws scraped across her face, leaving stinging welts behind. Fighting him was not fighting a regular werewolf. There were no moves, no technique, no thoughts — just bloodlust and animalistic fury.

He was as strong as her, as fast as her, but right now, not as smart as her. Cognitive thoughts were her main advantage, but it was hard to appreciate this as his fist cracked against the side of her skull and sent her flying into the kitchen island.

Digging her hands against the counter, she pushed herself up and growled — no fangs, but she got the lungs. “Fine.” She drew in a deep breath as she turned around, trying to summon that same power she had once before — only once — and shouted: “ _Jimmy_!”

It didn’t work.

“Shit.”

He charged at her, snarling and snapping at the air — Joe jumped up on the edge of the island, kicked off, and flew backward over Jimmy. She landed behind him and slammed her foot into his back. This time _he_ hit the counter with his head first.

Light on her feet, Joe tried to find a rhythm. Blood ran from her nose and she used the edge of her hand to wipe it off as Jimmy recovered and came for her again.

Try again. “ _Jimmy!”_

No change, he kept coming. She tried to dodge left, but he was too fast and tackled her to the floor by the desk where they landed so hard some of her books scattered to the floor.

With her elbows pushing into his chest to keep his snapping jaw away from her face, she hooked her legs around his torso to render his too-long arms useless. The hot breath hit her in the face as he snarled, drooled, and bit into the empty air and wood splinters flew from his claws on the floor. A part of her wondered if his insurance would cover that.

“Don’t make me do this,” Joe huffed and tightened her legs around him. “I don’t want to hurt y- _ugh!”_

In a surprising moment of conscious thought, Jimmy flipped them around and kicked Joe away. Like she had thrown Boyd earlier, she now sailed in a perfect arc and slammed into the wall with a heavy burst of plaster raining around her.

Coughing and spluttering, Joe clenched her fists as her vision went red. Okay, she couldn’t bring him back. She could still hold take him. Now she attacked.

You want to end a fight, you have to fight back!

They tore into each other — his claws and fangs versus her empty hands and feet. For every drop of blood he cut from her, she landed a hard punch to his body. Every scratch rewarded with a kick. Every time they wrestled, one of them was thrown into a wall, floor, or eventually, the bathroom door.

It was Joe who knocked down the door with her body, landing heavily on her back on the slick and blood-covered tiles. Where the rest of the apartment bathed in darkness, the overhead light in the bathroom gave everything a harsh shine and Joe barely had time to squint before Jimmy’s shadow loomed over her.

Lightheaded from where the back of her skull had smashed into the floor, she glanced sideways. The white tiles were black with blood and some of it stained the drain under the bathtub. Another vision span into her head just as Jimmy dove for her throat. A vision of someone scared, covered in black blood, trying to help Jimmy.

“Erica,” she whispered and screamed when Jimmy landed on top of her with his claws piercing into her shoulders. On all fours, he leaned forwards, adding weight and pressure and Joe kicked her knee up, trying to hold him off, groaning at both the pain and effort.

Jimmy’s fangs were inches away from her eyes and he roared so spit flew around. His mouth somehow shrank, shifting, and fur retracted in patches around him. Not back to human, but to something in-between. Apparently the name was important enough for him to break through. Enough for him to talk, though his voice sounded guttural and raw. “ _Gone_.”

A skeleton hand gripped around Joe’s heart and squeezed, a burning sensation overpowering Jimmy’s claws boring into her muscles. “What?”

“ _You,_ ” he growled and shifted more weight into his arms, making tears spring in Joe’s eyes, _“left.”_

It was like she could feel her own heartbeat in her eyeballs. The smell of fresh blood permeated the air, but Joe could not think anymore. Only one name went on repeat in her head. “Where’s Erica?”

_“So now you remember,_ ” Jimmy snarled, his half-morphed face and large fangs mangling his speech. _“She left. She’s not safe here. From,”_ he twisted his head in a painful spasm, _“either of us.”_

Half-moon. Joe had to remember that. This was Jimmy. Her ride or die.

“I had to leave,” she choked out. “Derek-

_“What happens between you and Derek should not affect Erica’s safety! Your_ feelings _are not more important than Erica’s life!”_

Joe whimpered, still holding Jimmy away, but he managed to creep a bit closer to her ear. “ _You’re losing control, Delgadoooo.”_

This was Jimmy. Ride or die. Her Jimmy.

“ _Do you know what’s real now?”_

“Jim-”

_“Do you see me?”_ he snarled, the purple in his eyes growing stronger. “Do you _hear_ me?” It did not sound like him, more like a demonic entity, fighting for control of Jimmy’s body.

“I don’t wa- _Aaah!”_

_“Do you,”_ he roared, _“FEEL ME?”_

Joe shrieked again as Jimmy clenched his fists, tearing his sharp claws through her already damaged shoulder muscles. The pain made her mind and vision white out. The pistol was in her waistband, but she did not reach for it. This was Jimmy. This was _Jimmy!_

The half-morphed face shifted around, the wolf-side taking control again and Jimmy shouted: _“Bring me back!”_

“I can’t!” Joe wrestled, trying to dislodge him long enough to heal. Bloodloss making her dizzy, the smell of blood tipping him over the edge. “I don’t know how!”

_“Bring me back!”_

“I can’t!” she cried again, hating the weakness, hating _her_ weakness. It was the truth. She’d only done it once before, a scream in desperation turning into a roar, but she had no way of doing it on command. No idea. _Weak. Pathetic._ “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“ _Then you,_ ” Jimmy’s snout settled and he growled deeper again, the last word coming as a deformed hiss, _“dieeee.”_

A split second passed where she considered just letting him rip her throat out before instincts took over and she slammed his head into the bathroom cabinet. His werewolf-talons tore out of her flesh with a sick organic sound, but adrenaline or bloodloss numbed the worst pain. By the time she wrestled him into a chokehold, most of it was healed.

The dire grappling reminded Joe of the full moon with Erica. Dodging claws and fangs, hitting and kicking back. Strong, she was strong and she could take on Jimmy even like this. She had betas, he did not. That made her strong _er_.

Even if none of those betas were here. Even if she had thrown Boyd into a wall; left Cora behind with her brother bleeding on the floor at Joe’s hands; abandoned Erica with a half-crazed Demi Alpha.

Did she have betas anymore?

Did it matter?

Their snarls and growls interchanged throughout the apartment, but Joe managed to clamp her arm around Jimmy’s throat, squeezing until he gasped for breath. Not killing him, just weakening him. Keep him inside the apartment until dawn, as Derek had done with Cora and Boyd, when he met the pretty teacher in the pencil skirt.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Joe kept chanting and held Jimmy in a tight grip, not relenting an inch, not letting his sharp claws or dangerous fangs near her. “I’m sorry.”

Her muscles screamed at her, but she did not let go of him. He huffed and puffed, like the wolf in Grimm’s fairytales, and growled so the primate-part of Joe’s brain wanted to hide in a corner. How long until sun-up? Could she do this all night? What about Erica? What about Derek? What about anything?

Every single thought evaporated when she heard a knock on the door.

“Shhh,” she hissed at Jimmy, whose wolf-like shape writhed and twisted to be let go, his beast-like instincts returning tenfold at what she assumed was the smell of whoever was at the door. Erica would have had keys, so it had to be someone else? With the commotion she and Jimmy had kicked up, it could be the cops.

A part of her hoped it was Derek, he could help her hold Jimmy until sun-up.

Nothing could have prepared her for the voice that came through the custom-made door infused with mountain ash.

“ _Joe? Sweetheart, are you in there?”_

“No,” she whispered, and her lapse of attention gave Jimmy the chance to get one arm free. He used it to slam her away, loosening her grip. Her nose throbbed, a new burst of blood dripping down her shirt and Joe scrambled to get Jimmy back under control. “No, Aunt Mel, _go away!_ ”

Aun Mel’s voice came through the door: _“I’m sorry, Joe, that it’s come to this-”_

Throwing herself onto her stomach, Joe grabbed Jimmy’s thin hind-leg and yanked him down. The claws left furrows in the floor.

“- _but I’ve talked to Scott. Consider this an intervention if you like.”_

“GO AWAY!” Joe screamed and pulled on Jimmy’s foot.

Blood-slick fur did not give Jimmy much leverage and Joe hauled him back away from the door. Nothing left of him now, just the monster remaining.

_“Josefina Maria Delgado, you have the choice of letting me in-”_

He clawed and scraped on the floor, Joe biting in a scream when he hit her in the face with a long ape-like arm.

_“-or I’m calling your father to break down the door. Okay? I’m counting to three and don’t think I’m bluffing!”_

Jimmy landed a heavy hit so her skull smacked into the wall. “Aw, fuck!”

_“Are you okay in there? Joe?”_

No time to answer and Joe threw herself onto Jimmy’s back, back to wrestling for dominance, trying to get him in a hold. The commotion made the floor shake and Joe barely had time to think whether or not she had locked the door behind her.

_“Joe?”_

The handle turned. Unlocked. Panic froze every vein in Joe’s body for a split second before she managed to yell: “No, no, no-”

Everything slowed down. At the same time as the door swung open, Aunt Mel’s silhouette illuminated by the light in the outside hall, Jimmy tore himself loose from Joe’s grip. With every fast-paced heartbeat ringing in Joe’s skull, she could see him getting closer to her _human_ aunt.

Instincts took over.

Joe leaped up, grabbed Jimmy around his head, and threw him back _._ The power came from somewhere deep inside of her, pushing through her fury and she roared: “ _JAAAAMES!”_

The force of her roar — because it was not a voice, not anymore — shook the floor, rattled the dishware inside the cabinets, made Aunt Mel bend over in pain. Most importantly, it forced Jimmy’s transformation back to _Jimmy_.

It had been the same after she and Erica freed him from the cage where the South American hunters kept him, after he lost control and tore apart those same hunters, after she and Erica chased him throughout the desert, desperate to catch him before he stumbled across any prey, after he had gone after Erica and Joe had finally managed to roar, an Alpha roar, to bring him back.

There was a myth that calling someone by their Christian name could cure a werewolf. And like in every myth, there was a grain of truth.

Within seconds, the fur disappeared into his skin; the fangs pulled back into his skull; snout transformed back to a nose; claws retracting, leaving blood-covered fingers. Stark naked, covered in scratches and the still-healing wounds from Derek, Jimmy huddled down, shivering and panting, purple glowing eyes staring in shock at both Joe and Aunt Mel.

Aunt Mel.

“Are you okay?” Joe asked, glancing back at the doorway where Aunt Mel tentatively removed her hands from her ears.

“Yeah,” she said, a bit unsure and stood back up. Her eyebrows rose as she took in the scene. “How did you do that?”

Joe shrugged. “I’m the Alpha.” Grimacing at the memory of someone else using that cliche-statement, she backtracked: “Or _an_ Alpha anyway.” Now she turned to Jimmy. “You okay?”

Mouth closed to a thin line, he nodded.

“You sure?”

Another nod. He got up without looking at either of them — in her peripherals, she saw Aunt Mel discreetly cover her eyes — and took a few shaky steps forward. He paused next to Joe, whispered: “Thank you.”

Lightheaded from the force of her own roar, Joe patted his naked shoulder. “Ride or die.”

He put his hand over hers for a second. “Ride or die.”

She and Aunt Mel watched him walk gingerly over the debris-covered floor to his room, shutting the door carefully behind him.

Broken pieces of drywall crunched under Aunt Mel’s shoes when she took a few tentative steps inside. Still in her scrubs, she must have come straight from the hospital.“I thought they only did that during the full moon.”

They, Joe thought, but decided not to comment. “Jimmy’s a Demi. His deal is half-moons.”

“Is he gonna turn back into that again or...?”

“No,” Joe shook her head, “he’ll be fine now, I think.”

“Right.” Aunt Mel had her purse in front of her body, one hand inside of it. “Right, I’ll call Scott just in case.” Before Joe could ask what this case would be, Aunt Mel continued in a bright tone. “Okay. Nice place. Except for all the...” She waved her hand at the mess. “You have a room here too I presume?”

“First door to the left,” Joe mumbled, adrenaline crashing and general fatigue leaving her spacy. Her brows furrowed. It was a weird thing to ask about. “Why’d you-”

Through all the general aches and bruises, Joe felt a pin-prick sensation below her elbow. She looked down at the syringe in Aunt Mel’s hand with the needle-tip inside the fleshy part of Joe’s arm.

“I’m sorry,” Aunt Mel said, her words already swimming through Joe’s ears like they were underwater. “I told you. Intervention.”

Stumbling back, Joe would have fallen if it hadn’t been for Aunt Mel grabbing her to help Joe stand. It felt like walking on clouds, but Aunt Mel guided her down towards her — wasn’t it Erica’s? — room. Joe’s head lolled now, unable to keep it upright. Mind versus body — one wanted sleep, one did not.

“Hate me all you want,” Aunt Mel said and suddenly Joe tipped into her own bed face first, “but I’m not standing by to watch you crash and burn.”

Eyes rolled back into her skull, she did not want to sleep. Did not want to lose the control. Aunt Mel brushed strands of hair off her forehead, a calming sensation. Whatever drug she had given worked fast. A little something to tide her over. Make her mind quiet down for a bit.

Working, it was working.

“We’ll talk in the morning, sweetheart.” A light kiss on her forehead, like a butterfly landing. “Get some rest.”

The last thing Joe heard before drifting off was a tinny male voice from a loudspeaker in Jimmy’s room: “ _...bring your awareness to the top of your head. Sense or imagine a feeling of relaxation beginning to spread down from the top of your scalp. Let the muscles in your forehead and temples relax. Allow your eyes to relax. Focus on the mantra: Relax, release, ease...”_

Relax, release, ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! ❤❤❤
> 
> Haha, I know I'm early, but I couldn't resist the ironic poeticness of posting this uber-romantic chapter today. On a second note, today is also Mother's Day in Norway, so that might be more appropriate. Either way, the most epic showdown was not between Joe and Derek as many had expected. Also not a whole lot of conversation, but it's coming. Trust the process and whatnot.
> 
> Nice to see that Jimmy's got his fair share of fans. Never thought I'd see so many eager for Derek to get his ass kicked. Don't mess around with Slim Jim, ya hear?
> 
> Thank you for reading, as always, and please let me know what you think 😊 Hope everyone had/has a nice Valentine's/Galentine's Day.  
> Next chapter out on Wednesday, stay safe and healthy!


	73. The Healer

_You do realize what they’re trying to do, right? They’re trying to make me your beta so you can kill me. So you can become stronger._

Love comes in strange forms sometimes.

Sometimes love is a cup of freshly brewed coffee when you wake up. Sometimes love is a solid punch in the face to knock you out when you need it. And sometimes love is tidying up the apartment both of you tore apart the night before while you sleep in.

Joe should feel loved, in short. And she did.

No clue what time it was, she woke up to the sound of rummaging outside in the hall. Waking up was probably an exaggeration — she managed to squint at her dark bedroom, but her thoughts were incoherent. She slipped back under the waves even with the vacuum cleaner going on full throttle just outside the door.

Eventually she awoke again when Jimmy tapped his knuckles on the door and shuffled inside in his bathrobe, carrying two steaming cups. One coffee for her and one chamomile tea for him. They stared at each other, both heavy-lidded and pale. Bare-chested under his bathrobe, it looked like he was fully healed.

Jimmy handed her the cup of coffee and tapped his chin with his now free hand. “Drool.”

She just nodded, too tired to be embarrassed, and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand — a pink smear from the crusted blood still on her face mixed with saliva. Out of habit, she scooted over in the bed to make room for him and tried to force her eyes open, peering at him when he placed himself on top of the covers.

“How do you feel?” she rasped as last night’s events trickled into her conscious thoughts.

He must have showered and shaved — he’d told her before that the beard reminded him too much of fur now — because his wet hair dampened the collar of his robe. “Like garbage. Insert any suitable unfavorable adjective in front.” They both sounded like they had swallowed sandpaper. “You?”

“Like shit. No adjective needed.” The coffee tasted like nothing, but at least it was warm. “How long have I been out?”

“Sixteen hours.”

Joe huddled the covers tighter around her, like a personal little den of comfort. No wonder her neck was stiff. “Shit. Aunt Mel?”

“Stayed the night, but had to go to work a few hours ago.” A pause as Jimmy sipped his tea. “Said something about being back later.” Another pause. “She still thinks you’ve been in San Diego all summer.”

“I know.”

“You have to tell her.”

“I know.”

“I’m not going to go behind your back, but I will be highly uncooperative if you don’t tell her soon.”

“I like you cooperative.”

“I know.” The covers shifted as Jimmy got comfortable, slurping his tea. “I like her. She even cleaned the bathroom.”

“Heh. Did she do a better job than-” Joe cut herself off, the slight smile slipped off her lips again as her thoughts collided with each other. Her whole face felt brittle and her mouth like it was stuffed full of sawdust. “Jimmy, was- was Erica here, or did I just think she was?”

For some reason, that made Jimmy let out a long sigh and lean back in the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Now when she glanced over at him, she found him grinning at her, the purple in his eyes almost hidden underneath heavy lids.

“What?”

“Looks like there’s hope for you yet, Delgado.”

Breathless and still woozy, Joe looked around the room. Glossy magazines, the flat-screen TV, all of Joe’s closet out on the floor — although that might have been Joe’s own work — Erica _had_ been here. No doubt in her mind now.

“Shit.” More force to Joe’s voice now and she sat up straighter. A sixteen hours headstart was a lot, but not impossible. “Okay, uhm,” she tried to run her fingers through her hair, but got stuck halfway, “give me ten minutes to get dressed and-”

“Relax. She’s safe,” Jimmy said easily, making Joe pause her ministrations to get out from the covers. “We had a plan B.”

Still hoarse, Joe asked: “You what?”

“A plan B. If things got out of hand, she knew where to go. Don’t give me that look. Not after we had to listen to you talk to yourself the whole goddamn night. Not when hallucinating is so normal for you, you don’t know what’s real or not. Of course we had a contingency plan. She’s safe, don’t worry. I’ve been in contact with her.”

Nothing about what he wa saying made Joe worry less. “Where is she?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“Do you trust yourself?”

“ _Hard_ no.”

“Do you understand why I’m not telling you where she is?”

Understanding it did not mean accepting it, but she nodded all the same. “I just don’t like her being gone,” Joe mumbled into her cup after a while. “I swear, if you sent her up to that cavern of yours-”

“Yes, I sent a sixteen-year-old with absolutely no survival skills to fend for herself up in the middle of the Preserve, that’s exactly what I did.” Jimmy rolled his eyes. “She’s safe and not alone. That’s all I’m gonna tell you.”

“Are you sure she’s okay?”

“She’s okay,” Jimmy answered where he leaned against the headboard. “Typical you start to remember her _now_.” Glancing down at her cup, Joe noticed her hands were steadier than they had been in forever. Jimmy must have seen where her attention went as he sighed. “Sixteen hours help, but it won’t make up for months in deficit.”

“I know,” Joe said quietly and took another sip. “Jim, I’m sorry about leaving last night, I was- I wasn’t thinking, I was just _so_ angry and-”

Probably still feeling the aftermaths of the half-moon, Jimmy growled. “Since you’re covered in Derek’s blood, I’m not sure I want to know what you did.”

“I shot him.”

“Killed him?”

“No.” She swallowed, tried to lick her dry lips, tasting the blood and shuddered. “Wanted to. Sort of.”

“Because he attacked _me?”_ Jimmy sneered at her. “I’m not your beta, remember? Not yours to protect. But you know who is? Erica. The sixteen years old girl you’re supposed to look after. Protect from those who wish to harm her, like the Alphas, but instead, you ran straight to join them when faced with the least bit of resistance.”

His words washed over her like scalding water. Excuses presented themselves: how bad it had felt, how angry she was, how much it hurt. Didn’t matter — he was right. Limp curls danced around her face when she nodded. “I shouldn’t have left.”

“You’re right, you shouldn’t have. Personal is not the same as important.” He waited for this to sink in before he grinned, easing the mood again. “So, Kali finally got you to howl, huh?”

“I swear,” Joe sucked in a harsh breath, “I had no idea Derek would-”

“Come rushing to help you? I’m not sure if he could have resisted if he wanted to,” Jimmy mused and Joe tried to ignore the new rush of hot anger to her stomach. Derek had _no right_ to do what he did. “It was a good howl, I’ll give you that. Not that I am defending him and I for one would have loved to see the look on his face when you shot him, but I _was_ slightly affected by the half-moon last night.”

She stared at him. “Did you talk smack?”

“Hm.” Jimmy took a final slurping sip of his tea. “Let’s just say he did not take kindly to me questioning his motives to come to check up on you.” At her narrowed eyes, he smirked into his cup. “There was a tendency to smack-talk, yes.”

“What did you say?”

“That I was done trying to cover for his mistakes and that I was not going lose another friend to his lack of foresight.”

“Jesus Christ, Jimmy!” Joe blurted out. If Derek had come here in a frenzy, Jimmy hyped up from the half-moon and the topic had been _Paige_ it was a wonder Jimmy lived to tell the tale. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” Jimmy said unabashedly. “And I asked him if he realized the danger he’d put the pack in by his little revenge-kill, but I’m actually not sure if he understood the question.” Joe didn’t either and Jimmy reluctantly explained. “Ennis was the Alpha who tried to bite Paige.”

He continued by telling her the rest of the story, of what she had only heard pieces before from Kate. Ennis had lost one of his betas to hunters — there was a summit of sorts to Beacon Hills, led by Peter’s sister and Derek’s mother, Talia Hale. There needs to be balance in a pack, so Ennis looked for a replacement for the beta he lost. Peter suggested Paige. Jimmy was not sure if Peter suggested it to Derek who again asked Ennis, or if Peter went behind Derek’s back. End result was the same — Paige rejected the bite and Derek killed her out of mercy.

“Wow,” Joe said after trying — and failing — to digest all of that. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not Ennis’s biggest fan, but I had no idea he was that bad.”

Her brows furrowed, trying to reconcile her image of the deceased Alpha with what Jimmy told her. Of all the Alphas, Ennis was the one who had hurt her the least. Aiden was a psychopath, Ethan submissive to his brother, Deucalion a master manipulator and Kali a whole other story, but Ennis had only been rough, never cruel.

A tiny voice in the back of her head asked what she would have done if one of her betas died like that. All that anger, pain and guilt... It was no excuse, but not that unfathomable either, that things had gone wrong. The more she learned about what happened to Paige, the more her heart ached for the poor girl. It all seemed like such a tragic accident from start to finish, hurting everyone involved, killing the most innocent one.

“Peter told me this once,” Jimmy said quietly. “When I came to see him at the hospital before he was healed. He did not even know I knew Paige. At least I think he didn’t know. He told it a little differently, of course, but he is an unreliable narrator at best. He shouldn’t be trusted.”

“Derek said the same about you,” Joe recalled, not even wincing when saying his name. She just felt numb. When she had this guard up inside of her, shielding her from his pain and holding her pain inside, she could pretend there was no bond. There was no lost love between Jimmy and Derek though and she could imagine it had gone from zero to sixty in a heartbeat. “Jesus, Jim, are you suicidal?”

“I landed a few hits.”

Even after fighting Kali for who knows how long, Derek hadn’t had a scratch on him before Joe entered the loft. She decided to not share that fact. “Okay, well, I think he got the message you’re off-limits. I know,” she raised her voice, “that you’re not my beta, but you’re my friend. Anyone coming for you have to go through me. Even him.”

Jimmy nodded and rubbed his head, wincing slightly. “Not an empty threat by any degree. Next time, do the roar first and the skullsmashing after please.” Without letting her answer — because she had plenty of bruises herself that she wanted to point out — he shifted out of the bed, taking the empty cups in one hand as he got up. “Time to face the music, Delgado. Start with a shower, you reek.”

“I hate that word.”

“Fine, your body odor combined with the bloodstench is offensive to my nostrils. Shower. Now.”

Stretching down under the covers, Joe asked: “What if I just really really don’t want to deal with stuff today?”

“Belief in body autonomy prevent me from undressing you, but I have zero qualms physically moving you to the shower, bedsheets and all.” His voice drifted farther away when he trudged out of her room. _“Chop chop.”_

“Uuugh.”

_“Shower!”_

“You’re not my real mom, you know!” she yelled back and could practically hear him roll his eyes. “But fine, whatever, bossy-pants. I’ll shower.”

The bathroom did not hold too much evidence of last night’s events. A dent in the cabinet under the sink, a heavy stench of bleach, but nothing else. Passing the mirror, she automatically tried to avoid her own reflection, but caught it anyway and promptly burst out laughing. She looked like _shit_. Streaks of dried blood, hair reduced to a matted mess of drywall plaster and dirt, fading bruises all over her face. Most had healed during the sixteen hours she was out, but some still lingered.

A long shower remedied some of the worst issues. For once, she took the trouble working some product through her curls, applying a layer of mascara to her lashes and some bronzer to her cheeks. This really was the palest she had ever been, but she noted how the dark circles under her eyes had cleared up a bit. In the end, she looked slightly better, but still felt mostly like shit.

It definitely was a sweatpants-day instead of a leggings-day and Joe rummaged through the clothes-pile on her bedroom floor to find some. Combined with a non-matching sweatshirt, she at least looked like her old self.

“Now there’s a sight for sore eyes,” Jimmy said conversationally where he suddenly appeared in the doorway. Still in his bathrobe, he looked like some asexual underwear-model between shoots. “Heads up, your cousin is at the door.”

Sure enough, the buzzer went off just as Jimmy finished talking.

“Can we just keep really quiet until he leaves?”

“You've made your metaphorical bed, Delgado. Now lie on it.”

The buzzer rang again, a loud and angry sound in the empty apartment. Extra empty because Erica had always had the TV or radio on and now there was nothing. In rapid succession, the buzzer went off again and again. Groaning the entire way out of the room while the buzzer buzzed incessantly, Joe slipped into her sneakers and went downstairs.

As expected, Scott stood outside the apartment front door with worry written all over his adorable face. His one arm was fixed on the buzzer, but he took it down when she waved at him through the window. There was no way to prepare for this, so Joe just unlocked the door and blinked at the daylight outside.

“Don’t you have school?” she tried, but the worried frown didn’t lift from Scott’s face.

“It’s Saturday.” For a second, it looked like he didn’t know what to say. Unfortunately, he did. “Stiles told me what happened.” Joe groaned again and Scott looked if possible even more worried, eyebrows curled on his forehead and his uneven jaw working overtime. “Joe, _what_ is going on? Did you really shoot Derek?”

“Yup.”

The large brown eyes that Kate loved so much widened. “Well, is he still alive?”

Joe shrugged. “Probably?”

“You don’t,” Scott pointed at her torso vaguely, “feel it?”

“No, I turned it off.”

Scott’s eyes bugged. “You can turn it off?”

“No, not really,” Joe admitted with another shrug, “but you can sort of control it.” Her nostrils flared as she gained steam. “Which Derek _never_ told me about, by the way. Deucalion was the one who taught me that. Always thought it was stupid how the mate-bond would make us twice as vulnerable, but I guess I was just stupid for thinking that.” She inhaled sharply, anger fueled by the thought of it. “And he had me take pills to dampen the stupid bond instead and because of those stupid pills I ended up getting captured and nearly killed by Kate.”

“Deucalion made you take pills?”

“No, Derek did! And he was like, ‘oh, I’m a werewolf, I heal’, like that was the point at all when it’s pretty damn obvious it was just about his need for control, his need to control _me_.”

“So you _shot_ him?”

For a few seconds, they stared at each other with equal amounts of disbelief. Joe snapped out of it first. “No, Scott, I shot him because he came here and tried to maim Jimmy!” He still looked disbelieving, so she clarified. “My friend. My best friend. My Stiles!”

“Okay,” Scott said weakly, a little more understanding at the mention of Stiles. “Okay, so you were angry?”

Again, Joe shrugged. She was not going to admit to Scott she had been seconds away from shooting him before Jimmy too, that was just what tipped the scales. The day after she woke up from feeling his pleasure, she had _not_ really been heading for Berkeley.

“But is he alive? Can you check?”

“No.”

“Joe!”

“What? I don’t want to feel his pain. Go check on him yourself!”

Another disbelieving look from Scott. “He’s missing, Joe!”

“Well, you should have lead with that!” Joe half-shouted back. “How was I supposed to know? He was alive and, uh, groaning when I left there. I only shot him a little, I didn’t kidnap him.”

“No, he left on his own. Cora and Boyd said he disappeared long before he finished healing. And we can’t track him because Cora says he’s used some Alpha power to mask his scent.” His brows pulled together as he flexed his jaw again. Looked like Scotty-boy had learned to use his senses. “Do you even care?”

“No.”

Scott sighed deeply. “You’re lying.”

“Okay, so I care,” Joe huffed with folded arms. “Whatever. It’s not like I care a lot.”

“You’re still lying.”

“Shut up, he’s fine, I barely scratched him. Are Cora and Boyd okay? Isaac?”

“Everyone’s fine, except for that we can’t find him. He didn’t come here?”

“Why would he? I shot him.”

Scott decided not to comment on the obvious juxtaposition between her two statements. “Isn’t that part of your thing? That you’re drawn to each other when hurt?”

“I thought so, but it looks like Derek’s drawn to anything remotely female when hurt. You’ll probably have more luck over at Little Miss Pencil Skirt’s than here.”

The bitterness in her tone annoyed her, but she couldn’t help it. It evaporated slightly at the sight of Scott furrowing his brows.

“What,” he blinked a bit, “what’s a pencil skirt?”

“Oh my God, okay. It’s a sort of tight skirt with a straight cut,” Joe demonstrated on her own body, “knee-length typically. What your teacher wears.” He still looked blank. “The one with brown hair, pretty eyes, way too high heels for a school setting? The one Derek saved in that boiler room.”

His face cleared. “Miss Blake?” So that was her name. “Wait, is she- is she Little Miss Pencil Skirt? Why would Derek be there? Hang on, does this have something to do with why the Alphas took her to the loft yesterday?”

Huffing, Joe waited for the dots to connect and Scott’s jaw dropped open.

“But I thought... What? Did you guys break up?”

“I-” Joe hesitated. A good question. Had they technically been together? For all her talk about normal relationships, they had never agreed on the exclusiveness of whatever arrangement they had. Her three months MIA probably hadn’t helped either. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Bottom line, you’ll probably find him there. Okay? Cool. Bye.”

Her attempt to just sneak back inside the building and close the door in Scott’s face backfired when his arm shot out to hold the door.

“Joe, did he,” Scott’s voice turned dark, “cheat on you?”

Funny how he sounded angrier now than when learning the Alphas abducted her. Rolling her eyes, Joe tried to play it cool. “That depends if we were even in a relationship in the first place of which I’m not really sure.”

Something was not computing for poor Scott and she watched his face shuffle through expressions, not surprisingly landing on confusion. “The day we went to the meet?”

Now her eyebrows rose. “Uh, yeah? Do I want to know how you put that together?”

Scott did a weird half-shrug. “When we went up to check on him at the loft, there was, uh-” He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. “There’s a very distinct scent after-”

Joe felt her stomach lurch and she held her hands up. “Okay, I’m gonna stop you right there.”

“I just assumed it was you and-”

“Shh, stop, stop, stop-”

“He seemed really out of it,” Scott said, still with his brows twisted. “We thought he was pissed off because the attack failed, but it was just a cover to get us out of there, wasn’t it?” A rhetorical question and his face shifted through emotions again. Confusion turned to anger, but this was Scott McCall after all and he ended up with worry. “You want to talk about it? Are you okay?”

“No,” Joe admitted and kicked her sneaker into the ground. “But I’m better and I slept for sixteen hours after Aunt Mel pulled her ninja-style Maleficent-move last night.” She sighed at Scott’s bewilderment. “The evil fairy from Sleeping Beauty who poisoned the spindle and,” she waved her hand, “it doesn’t matter. What’d you tell her to make her show up here with a syringe filled with sedatives anyway?”

Scott shrugged. “That you’re not sleeping. Again.” A brief pause. “Wait, she did what?”

Standing on the curb outside the laundromat, they exchanged war stories. A surge of guilt exploded in Joe’s stomach when Scott told her how he had found and rescued Doctor Deaton — who was okay, thank God, no thanks to Joe — but he seemed to understand why she had bailed after seeing the so-called Miss Blake at the high school.

“You were right about the last doctor though,” Scott concluded and Joe ran a hand through her damp hair — it had been a _busy_ day yesterday for a lot of people. “So the Darach got all three healers.”

“Three down, two to go.” Joe sighed and leaned back against the wall. Five-fold knot. Everything’s connected, but how? She bit her lip in thought. “Did Doctor Deaton actually see anything?”

“Moths.” Scott shrugged helplessly when she furrowed her brows. “Yeah, I know, it doesn’t make much sense to me either.” He filled her in on the rest: the Darach had strung Doctor Deaton up in the vault — _the_ vault — and surrounded his body with a circle of mountain ash. And when Scott tried to unsuccessfully push through it... “Uh, my eyes kind of, uh, changed color.”

Her stomach filled with ice. “To?”

“Red.” Scott sighed deeply and Joe realized she had seen Scott’s red eyes at the mall, roaring at her to stop fighting Isaac. It hadn’t been a hallucination. And if Scott’s eyes were red, that meant-

“No,” she whispered and grabbed onto his hand. “No, Scott. No, no, no, how? Why? Because of Ennis?”

“No, Doctor Deaton called it, uh, a True Alpha,” Scott admitted weakly and squeezed her hand back as if he knew the implications. As if his innocent teenage mind could fathom the consequences. His human brown eyes looked at her with worry and uncertainty. “And he thinks Deucalion is not just after Derek. He’s after me too.”

Breathe, just breathe.

“That’s not a good thing, is it?”

Shaking her head, she tried to think. Had Deucalion known all along? Always ten steps ahead. Always, _always_ ten steps ahead. Everything was connected.

Instincts took over and she fell forward to wrap her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Hugging her big stupid cousin who did not deserve all this shit in his life.

A sigh passed through him as he squeezed her back. “I was hoping you’d do that.”

“Do what?”

“Stiles’s been sending me articles,” Scott murmured into her hair, “and they’re pretty clear on that you should be the one to, uh, instigate physical contact.” Without letting go of her, he continued: “I don’t know how to help you, Joe. I think we should tell Mom.”

“Yeah.”

“And Uncle Rob.”

“No.”

Before Scott could question that, his phone rang and he pulled back.

“Hey, what’s up? No, I’m over at Joe’s.” His face fell slightly. “Everything okay? Something hap- okay, uh, right now? Are you sure? Okay, okay, yeah. Okay. Bye.” Dropping his hand with the phone, he stared at Joe. “That was Isaac, he said we better get back home. Both of us.”

Joe was already moving before he finished talking.

* * *

_And it’s working._

Out of everything Joe had expected to find at the McCalls — the Alphas, her dad, even Derek — she had never anticipated meeting Isaac and Boyd exiting through the front door. Both looked to have the same clothes on from last night and where Isaac ducked down to avoid looking at her, Boyd held his head high and stared straight past her.

“What’s going on?” Scott asked when they came up the driveway, subconsciously shielding Joe with his body. He might have smelled or sensed their hostility towards her. “Isaac?”

Neither Isaac nor Boyd stopped walking, but Isaac turned around to answer Scott.

“We’re, uh, heading for Derek’s house,” he glanced briefly at Joe, before looking away. “See if we can pick up a scent there or...” He threw his arms out desolately with a shrug, still walking backward. “I’ll keep you posted.”

Standing halfway behind Scott, Joe tried to breathe. She hated this. Hated these instincts. Hated it, hated it, hated it. With a groan, she threw her head back. Screw it.

“Boyd,” Joe said, putting force into her voice and he stopped. His muscles flexed under his white sweater topped with a denim vest, so it was easy to see he fought conflicting instincts too. Without realizing it, Joe took stock of him, determining him to be unharmed after her assault last night. He looked more tired than angry too, but at least he managed to hold eye-contact. “You okay?”

His nostrils flared, but he nodded. There was a glint in his eye as he glanced back at the house. “You better get inside. Your aunt’s making hot chocolate.”

A chill spread through Joe and she froze in the driveway while Scott, who knew the implications, dashed inside the house. “What did you do?”

“Talked to her.” Boyd shrugged, his eyebrows twitching upwards a bit. He put both hands inside his denim vest and sauntered backward after Isaac. “Let’s see how you like having your decisions made for you.”

“That is not the same.” Her voice shook, but her hands did not and she noticed his gaze flickering down to them. “Boyd, you would have,” she could barely say the word, “died if I hadn’t intervened.”

“Intervened’s a nice way of putting it,” he challenged. “That’s what you did last night, trying to kill Derek? Intervening?”

“I didn’t kill Derek,” Joe spat, hands clenching into fists. “If I wanted to, he’d be dead.” She gestured towards the house. “What did you do?”

“Intervened,” was his final remark before he joined Isaac, heading for what looked to be Derek’s SUV.

Fighting conflicting instincts again — half of her begging for a fight, other half urging her to find Derek — Joe remained in the driveway, only staring after Vernon ‘Death before Dishonor’ Boyd. When they started the car and she still hadn’t moved, Joe swore harshly and followed Scott into the McCall house, dreading what she would find.

“Shit,” she swore again at the sight of Scott sitting demurely by the kitchen table, Aunt Mel with her back to them at the counter with a cardigan tightly wrapped around herself. Milk, saucepan, and mugs waited near the oven.

Aunt Mel flinched at Joe’s voice, but didn’t turn around and Joe briefly wondered if she could ask for another shot of sedatives to postpone this conversation another sixteen hours. She and Scott shared a look and he shrugged softly, apprehension written all over his face.

“Aunt Mel, I’m sorry, this wasn’t how I meant for you to find out, I-”

She cut herself off when Aunt Mel held up a finger, still with her back to both of them and her head bent over the counter. With shaky movements, she pointed towards the table and Joe inched her way into a chair next to Scott. Her heart hammered so loud in her own ears, she had to physically fight the urge to just run. Break out through the backdoor, escape into the forest, never looking back. How could she look Aunt Mel in the face after this? After Aunt Mel learned the truth?

They both watched Aunt Mel lean against the counter, pulling in a large breath, obviously steeling herself to turn around before she did. Her face was dry, but there was no hiding that she had been crying and Joe felt tears form in her own eyes at the sight.

“So it’s true?” Aunt Mel’s voice sounded tight and ragged. She blinked rapidly, turning briefly towards the ceiling as she sniffed.

A warmth wrapped around Joe’s hand — Scott reaching over to hold it — and she got enough strength to whisper: “I’m so sorry, Aunt Mel.”

“Why-” Aunt Mel bit her lips together, holding back a sob, and tried again. “Why are you apologizing? Oh my God, Joe, sweetie, _I’m_ sorry! I’m so, so, so sorry, I had no idea and-” She gasped for breath, pulling on every last reserve to get a grip. “Are you okay? Which is the stupidest question ever, of course you’re not okay, but-” Her hands waved around vaguely. “Physically? Are you- do you need- I don’t-” She let out a breathless laugh, even as fresh tears streamed down her face. “Sit. Both of you just...sit.”

In synch, Joe and Scott had both risen from their chairs, but now they slid back down again. They exchanged another look — Aunt Mel was making hot chocolate. It was both a way to get them to relax because sugary foods weaken the body's ability to respond to stress and a way for Aunt Mel to keep herself busy instead of malfunctioning completely. It was her go-to in these kinds of situations — when she divorced Uncle Raf, when Joe got arrested for the hospital break-in, after every near-death situation the last nine months — Aunt Mel made hot chocolate.

“Mom,” Scott started, but fell back down when Aunt Mel held up another finger.

“I’ll have to preface this with saying that I’m not angry.” Aunt Mel’s voice sounded a bit more steady from where she poured boiling water into three mugs to heat them up. “That is a lie, I am angry, but not at you, Joe. I need you to understand that. A little at you, Scott, but we’ll deal with that later.”

Joe and Scott glanced at each other, neither sure of what to say.

“I’ll admit that I’m still adjusting to the fact that werewolves are real. I’m still adjusting to the fact that my son _is_ a werewolf.” The metal clanged when Aunt Mel slammed the saucepan onto the stove where she combined sugar and cocoa powder. “And I am starting to slowly accept that means an even more stressful high school experience than otherwise thought possible.” A dust of dark powder erupted as Aunt Mel whisked it hard. “And that it means when bad things happen, Scott will try to stop it just because he can.”

She took a break, obviously to catch her breath. “It is what it is.”

“And you,” Aunt Mel used her whisk to indicate Joe, “share the same gene, because you will also try to help people whenever you can. Both of you, since you were young, running headfirst into whatever kind of dangerous situation if someone else needed help.”

“So,” the pot sizzled when Aunt Mel poured milk into it, “imagine my surprise when I learned that yesterday, you shot Derek Hale at point-blank range.” She stirred without looking at Joe anymore. “And then my surprise did not exactly subside when I learn that Derek Hale is not just a guy you sort of kinda had a thing with, he’s apparently what is referred to as a ‘True Mate’ to you?”

Squirming on the chair, Joe made a small noise of confirmation.

“Which explains that when you nearly gave me a heart attack the other day, you were feeling his pain because you’re connected somehow, right?” The whisk never stopped in the pot where it had started to simmer over the low-medium heat. “Am I correct in my assumption that this connection is random? It’s not like the werewolf bite where an Alpha _chooses_ to bite someone?” As Joe nodded again, Aunt Mel did too, still whisking away. “So, as much as that sucks, you never chose to be connected to Derek Hale and he never chose to be connected to you either?”

“No,” Joe said while hunched over in her chair. That was the ugly bitter truth of it.

“Okay,” Aunt Mel said and took the pot off the stove before it fully boiled. She poured in chocolate chips, vanilla extract, and salt to the still-hot liquid. “I can’t say I understand it, but again, it is what it is.”

The smell of chocolate now wafted over the kitchen while Joe stared down into the tabletop to avoid looking at either Scott or Aunt Mel. This was the easy part. She did not like the next part.

“So, that’s the stuff that’s beyond our control, right?” Aunt Mel emptied the waiting mugs and set them back on the counter. “Scott’s a werewolf and you, apparently, have a soulmate.”

It made it sound so romantic when it really was anything but that. Steam rose from the pot as Aunt Mel tipped it to pour the thick hot chocolate into the waiting mugs.

“That I can handle, even if I don’t like it. What I _can’t_ handle,” Aunt Mel slammed the now-empty pot back into the sink, where she supported herself, “is that my own son,” Scott shrank on his chair now, “not only convinced me nothing was wrong all summer when I worried about my only niece, but upon learning that something definitely _was_ wrong, he refrained from telling me about it!”

Her voice ended in a shout. Shaking her head, Aunt Mel tore open the fridge and brought out some canned whipped cream. She shook it vigorously and plucked the cap off with a loud _pop_.

“And not only was something wrong,” Aunt Mel’s voice was flat as she topped the three mugs with a tall stack of whipped cream, “but it was so wrong that I am having a really hard time even thinking about it based on what Boyd told me.”

Joe squeezed Scott’s hand as he bent his head in shame.

“And I can’t even imagine going through that,” Aunt Mel’s voice became tighter as she sprinkled mini-marshmallows into the whipped cream, “which you,” she looked at Joe, “and three other kids apparently have.”

“And,” she placed one mug in front of Scott, but looked at Joe,“I am so sorry that happened to you.” The other mug for her. “But what I’m most sorry for is that you felt you couldn’t tell me and you had to keep going through this alone.”

Joe looked to the side, unable to meet Aunt Mel’s eyes.

“I’m sorry that Scott,” she took her own cup and nodded at her son, “with his limited experience as a high school Junior, did not fully consider the implications of what _three months_ of captivity does to a person. And that’s without the-” She stopped herself, face scrunching briefly. “The rest, we don’t have to go into details.”

As both Scott and Joe quietly took each of their mugs, Aunt Mel temporarily disappeared behind her own stack of whipped cream.

“I’m sorry that both of you,” Aunt Mel said in a tight voice, “are thrust into these situations beyond your control. Not because I don’t think you can handle it or because I think you’re not strong enough, but because you never asked for it. I became a nurse, Rob became a federal agent, we _chose_ this, but you guys didn’t. And again, I’m sorry you feel you have to shoulder this responsibility alone.”

A long and tense silence followed. With shaking hands, Joe took a sip of the hot chocolate, not even tasting it.

“It’s my fault.”

Looking up, it became clear Scott was crying. His lips were swollen and twisted as he held onto the hot mug like a lifeline. “It’s my fault. I told Joe not to tell you about it. I just, I just wanted things to get quiet again before we told you because we’d already been through so much and...” He swallowed as he glanced at Joe. “It’s my fault we didn’t know you were missing too. I should have heard it, on the phone, that it wasn’t you. I’m sorry.”

Aunt Mel had tears in her eyes as well, but she remained standing on the other side of the kitchen.

“It’s not just your fault, Scott,” Joe mumbled, too worn for tears just yet. “You couldn’t have known. And I could have told Aunt Mel as well. I don’t usually take orders from you. I’m the adult of us, remember?” That admission made her cry sooner than she’d expected, voice cracking on the last word.

“Sweetie,” Aunt Mel almost whispered, “being an adult does not mean going through everything on your own. You have friends, family, people who love you.”

They shouldn’t, Joe thought and rubbed her face. Shouldn’t love her. “What did he-” Both Aunt Mel and Scott waited for Joe to regain her voice. “What did he tell you? Boyd?”

“That you haven’t been in San Diego this summer. You were in the vault,” it was obvious she fought to keep her voice neutral, “and that I should hear the rest from you.”

Small mercies. Even now when she deserved it the most, Boyd refrained from cruelty. He hadn’t told Aunt Mel everything.

She looked at Aunt Mel now. “I’m not sure I’m ready to tell yout the rest yet.”

“Joe, you don’t have to tell us _anything_ ,” Aunt Mel said as she closed her eyes, tears slipping silently down her cardigan. “You never have to tell us if you don’t want to, but you have to know you _can_ tell us. Everything, without judgment, any time you are ready if you ever feel like you are.” She took a deep breath, regaining composure. “Is this why you don’t sleep?”

“Yeah,” said Joe, thinking about the steel grip she had on the pain-bond at all times now. It was obsessive, she _knew_ it was an obsessive thought, that if she let go, Derek would die. Or Boyd would die. Or Cora. It didn’t help knowing it, she couldn’t let go. “Slept tonight though.”

“God, I never should have-” Aunt Mel shook her head. “I swear, if I had known, Joe, I never would have done that.”

“It’s fine,” Joe tried to smile, feling like a grimace. “Tough love, right? It helped, so... Thanks.”

“How long have you been up before that? It can take days to recover after just _one_ night of missed sleep and something tells me you’ve been running on fumes for weeks now.” The nurse took over and Joe tried to think. On average, she was getting so little sleep she should be dead. “Joe, you know how bad insomnia can get. If you’re not ready to talk about _it_ , that’s fine, but you have to let us help you with the rest.”

Joe opened her mouth, but didn’t find any words. She jolted a bit when Scott reached over to squeeze her hand again — his face was red from silent crying. Her Scott. Her baby cousin Scott. Her baby cousin True Alpha Scott who had no idea what was coming for him.

“We’re your family, Joe,” Aunt Mel said and if Scott hadn’t held her hand, Joe would have made a run for it. This was becoming too much. Family. Pack. Bonds. Too much. “And we love you. We love you no matter what has happened and no matter what you do.”

Bad things. She’d done bad things. Her hands shook, even the one holding Scott, and he got up from his chair to hug her, moving slowly in case she wanted to pull away. Her baby cousin, taller than her by several inches, and so strong now. Aunt Mel came around too, wrapping her arms around both of them as far as she reached. Closest thing she has ever had to a mother-figure in her life, a real mother, not just someone who gave birth to her.

And no matter how undeserved it may be, she felt loved.

* * *

_I’m worried about Verne. He hasn’t eaten in days._

For some reason, Joe had expected Erica to be back when she returned to the apartment. Like she expected instant gratification from agreeing to at least work on her insomnia.

Through a lot of tears, hugging and apologies, she and Aunt Mel came up with a set of rules for Joe. It had worked before, when it got too bad, even if she never became a ‘solid eight hours a night’- kind of person. Limit caffeine to once a day, create and follow a strict bed routine, never stay in bed awake for more than thirty minutes, set up and attend a meeting with a therapist before the end of the week. Aunt Mel had plenty of other suggestions that Joe shot down — moving back in with them was out of the question, so was telling her dad about everything, so therapy was a compromise.

Joe wondered how that would work — even with the patient confidentiality, she could not tell a regular therapist everything without fear of being forcibly admitted. Maybe she did not have to tell everything. Apart from the mate-bond, everything else was just regular old trauma. Nothing unique, nothing special. People get kidnapped and tortured all the time.

If nothing else, Jimmy at least seemed pleased when she told him of Aunt Mel’s rules. A step in the right direction.

“Maybe we can do like a group therapy kind of thing,” Joe suggested weakly and slumped down into the armchair with large furrows in it. “You, me, Cora, Boyd and Erica. Have you heard from her?”

“I have. She’s fine. Now, tune your brain into this human sacrifices now instead. I have a bad feeling about it.”

“Okay.” Joe tried. Virgins, warriors and healers were the list of official sacrifices. The virgins still presented the biggest mystery. Even if they had been sacrificed for the power of seduction, how was that the most important part of the Darach’s plan? Who could be important enough to seduce first before gaining strength and healing abilities? And what was the Darach’s endgame?

“It all started when the Alpha Pack came into town,” Joe said aloud and winced at the grassy taste of the tea Jimmy had made her. It was like he had seeped dandelions into lukewarm water.

“No, the Alpha Pack had been in the area for a while then. It started right around we broke you guys out of the vault,” Jimmy corrected her. They’d gone back to their old ways and had strung up the board in the living room. He must have caught her expression as he sighed. “You may have been hallucinating, Delgado, but you have been too busy to run around sacrificing people.” Under his breath, he muttered: “Nor are your power of seduction on the level of three sacrificed virgins.”

“I heard that.” As Jimmy did not seem particularly bothered, Joe just huffed. “What’s your take on these telluric currents?” They had been part of how Scott and the others found where Deaton was held. “It’s too pseudoscience to be part of my field.”

“That’s just because it’s a fancy term for something quite simple. It’s energy. The Celtic Druids operated with three types of currents: Solar, Lunar and Telluric. They’re all connected. Solar currents affect the energy flow of the different solstices. Traditionally seen as the masculine current,” he ignored Joe’s scoff,” and is the current of knowledge.”

“Lunar currents correspond to the lunar phases. Current of enlightenment. It’s less tangible and sometimes thought of to be the combination of solar and telluric energy. Telluric is earth energy. The one we can touch, the tangible and the only one we can directly manipulate. It’s feminine, with Mother Earth and so on. Current of power.”

“Still sounds like pseudoscience, but okay,” Joe said when Jimmy finished his lecture. “So the Druid is using the earth energy for her purposes because it’s the only one that’s malleable?”

He seemed to consider this for a while, staring at the board showing a map of Beacon Hills as well as a list of all the victims. “No, they’re all connected. That’s part of the Druid ways. Five-fold knot, the Triskelions — everything’s ultimately connected.” His voice came in a whisper. “We’re missing something...”

“Obviously, considering nine people are dead already.”

For some reason, it did not seem like Jimmy appreciated her helpful contributions. He went over to his desk and rummaged in his notes, ultimately bringing up a calendar. “The next full moon is a full lunar eclipse. It only happens when the Sun, Earth, and Moon are exactly aligned.”

“Combining Solar, Lunar, and Telluric energy,” Joe finished for him as Jimmy tore off a piece of the calendar to add to the board. “Okay, so whatever the final step of the Darach’s plan is, it happens on the lunar eclipse?”

Instead of answering, Jimmy took a step back to take in the full board. He scratched the light stubble that had erupted on his cheeks. In the bathrobe and checkered pants, he looked like the old Jimmy, even with the six-pack. “You know what happens with werewolves during the full lunar eclipse, Joe?”

“Probably nothing good?” Joe guessed and squinted at the board. “Traditionally, lunar eclipses are seen as a bad thing. You’re not supposed to eat, sleep or have sex during the eclipse in most cultures. If you eat, you’ll spoil the harvest. If you sleep, you might never wake up. If you have sex, your firstborn dies or something. Pregnant women weren’t even allowed to go outside during the eclipses, because it would bring misfortune upon the baby.”

When Jimmy did not say anything, Joe nudged him with her foot. “So, was I right, it’s not good?”

“Depends on your point of view,” Jimmy said quietly as he turned to smile at her, a thin bad replicate of the expression, his purple eyes forever glowing. “During the lunar eclipse, werewolves lose all their powers.”

As he said it with such dramatic flourish, Joe decided to give him his moment first. “Okay? So it’s after the Alphas?”

“The timing is so tight-knit it can’t be coincidental. Only other coinciding event is you breaking out of the vault.”

“Thought you said the first victim disappeared a few days before?”

“She wasn’t necessarily killed until the full moon when the two other virgins were taken. Look, I’m not saying it’s connected to you, it was a simple theory. All I’m saying is that the Alpha Pack had already been in Beacon Hills, more or less, for months already. _They_ didn’t really do anything that full moon, they’d placed their cards long in advance.”

“I doubt us breaking out of the vault triggered the Darach’s sudden need for virginal sacrifices,” Joe muttered, but now also staring at the board, trying to make it make sense. “ _I_ did not feel particularly seduced that night, did you?”

“With a punched-in ribcage and a broken lung, no, I did not.”

“Erica, god bless her, was probably not feeling in the mood either. Cora and Boyd were tearing Derek apart...” She trailed off, again narrowing her eyes at the board. A theory jutted up to the surface, the same one Kate had laughed about the other night. The teacher.

Jimmy turned to her with an expectant frown. “What?”

“It’s nothing.”

It sounded stupid in her head, it would probably sound pathetic out loud. The facts didn’t change though. The reason Derek was in that boiler room getting torn apart was because of a teacher also being down there, a female teacher, who he’d later gone to check on. How many female teachers were there at Beacon Hills High School? The image of the pretty brunette — Miss Blake, as Scott called her — trembling in the doorway of the loft made her scoff at herself. Hardly how she imagined an evil Druid to look like.

And anyway, why would an evil Druid bother to seduce Derek? Okay, so he was pretty much the perfect physical specimen of a man, but other than that? There were easier ways to pick up hot guys than to sacrifice three virgins. Sexual frustration was of course a valid motive, but it seemed like an odd place to start if your end-goal was killing a bunch of Alpha werewolves.

“Time for bed, Delgado.”

“What?”

“It’s ten. Bedtime.”

Grumbling, but knowing she had to at least try, especially today, Joe got up from the armchair. “I didn’t even know we had a clock in this apartment.” She shuffled over to the bathroom that still reeked of bleach. Maybe if she got this under control, Erica could come back. Joe did not like not knowing where she was.

Joe paused in the doorway and glanced back at the purple-eyed man trying to solve a string of supernatural murders, just like in the good old days. “Are you gonna stay up? I’m only allowed to try and fall asleep for half an hour at a time.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Joe.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Jim. _Noches.”_

“Sweet dreams.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my strongest chapter, but a necessary one. Slim Jim and Mama McCall are too pure for this world ❤ (And so is Scott, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac too obviously)  
> Anyway, Derek's out doing God knows what, but he'll be back in the next chapter. Joe is obviously feeling a little better from ~~shooting him~~ sleeping a bit, so maybe they'll talk? 
> 
> I might be without internet this weekend, so the next chapter's up on Friday. This three-day update rate is going great 😂
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading as always, let me know what you think. Hope everyone's staying safe and healthy, especially for you guys suffering the cold front in Central America/Southern USA ❤
> 
> Side-note: I am finally, as an elder millennial, on TikTok so let me know who's your favorite TikToker to follow 😊


	74. The Detective II

_That’s the thing, you_ can _do something about Verne. He’s your beta too, remember?_

It was probably telling of her current mental state that Joe had her best sleep in months after shooting Derek. A lot to unpack there. He wasn’t dead, she was sure of that. It had been two days and he was still missing though, which Stiles showed up to tell her.

For some reason, Jimmy had buzzed Stiles in and then actually allowed him into the apartment. Jimmy’s motives remained his own and she was only halfway sure he hadn’t just let Stiles in to mess with her. Maybe he wanted to show off his investigation-board to someone like-minded.

Raindrops tapped against the windows in the living room where he stood watching downtown Beacon Hills. The kid looked as tired as she felt and his mouth was in a hard tight line when he first looked at her. Eyes flickering, not sure where to land. “Hi.”

“Uh, hi,” she replied uncertainly, standing near the coffee machine with the only cup of coffee she was allowed to have today. He looked more resigned than repulsed, but in her head, his face kept morphing to the horrified expression he had when she had shot Derek.

“I, uh, just came from the loft,” he said, as usual all jittery and spazzy, but not excessively so. Limited to just twitching fingers and uncomfortable shrugging. “Cora and Boyd still haven’t found Derek.”

“Okay?”

“Aaaand you don’t care,” Stiles said, bouncing on his feet. “Okay. Not sure what I expected.”

“She cares,” Jimmy supplied from where he was by the investigation-board, pulling a red thread through connected pins on the map. Joe glared at him and he winked back at her. “But not a lot.”

Stiles took one look at her expression and changed the subject. “Uh, anyway, at the loft, Peter was telling this story that I thought you’d might want to hear.”

“Anything coming from Peter Hale should be taken with a grain of salt,” Jimmy supplied ‘helpfully’ again, “or a tablespoon preferably.”

Stiles gave him a disbelieving scoff. “Obviously. So, Peter told us about when Derek was in high school, there was this girl-”

“If this is about Paige Krasikeva,” Jimmy did not even turn around, “I’m sure I can tell that story better than Peter.”

Making some weird motions with his neck, Stiles’s eyebrows danced on his face. “Okay, dude, you have just jumped up to second place on my list of the three creepiest people I know.”

“Jimmy was in the same year as Derek,” Joe said tiredly before the two idiots could start bickering. She gave Jimmy a brief warning glare over Stiles’ shoulder. “Peter told you about her?” Stiles nodded and Joe made a face. “He’s such an ass. Why would he tell you that? And why are you telling me?”

It took a few seconds for Stiles to come up with an answer and he scratched his neck: “Uh, well, I just thought that you’d want to know-”

“No.” Realizing she sounded too harsh, Joe sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “Look, I made Derek a promise once. I already know too much about it and that’s his story to share when and if he ever felt like it, so...”

In many ways, she and Stiles shared a lot of personality traits and she could practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes. He bit on his thumbnail. “So, it’s true?”

Jimmy hummed. “Not the way Peter told it, I’m sure.”

“What’s it to you anyway?” Joe crossed her arms, hoping Jimmy got the message. She watched Stiles squirm, much like she had done once, when Derek demanded the same of her. “I get that you’re curious, but it doesn’t change anything. Derek’s still Derek and he’s entitled to his privacy.”

“Huh.” Stiles’s eyebrows were up high. “You do care.”

“Shut up.”

“If I were you,” Jimmy cut in before Stiles could respond, “I’d worry more about Peter’s motives for telling you. His knowledge rarely comes free.”

Stiles’s hand dropped from his mouth. “He didn’t mention a price tag.”

“Not yet, no. But maybe sometime in the future, when Peter needs the goodwill of the Sheriff’s son, you’ll think something along the lines of how helpful he was now and then extend that goodwill. Peter always plays the long game, you’d be wise to remember that.”

“That’s what he did with you? Play the long game?”

Joe could see Jimmy’s mouth stretch into a wry grin as he kept going with the board. “Sort of. In the end, I like to think we played each other.”

Stiles nodded, looking mildly disgusted. “Yeah, you’re climbing that list inch by inch, dude.” He sighed as he turned back to Joe, shrugging around as if to make his shirt fit better. “Okay, uh, one more thing. I didn’t tell this to Scott, but the way you and that toenail-lady was talking — are you working _with_ the Alphas?”

Aware of Jimmy’s glowing eyes peering her way, Joe leaned against the kitchen island with her arms crossed. “Working with the Alphas to do what?”

“That’s-” Stiles began and did a disappointed head tilt. “That’s not the outright denial I was hoping for.” He snapped his fingers a few times in the air as if hoping to catch whatever fleeting thought he wanted to hang on to. “Do you happen to, you know, feel you have to protect them to protect yourself?”

“What?”

“Or do you,” he talked slowly, like a student trying to recall a passage verbatim from the textbook, “somehow feel they are victims themselves?”

“ _What?_ ” Joe repeated, glancing at Jimmy to see if he made any sense of this. “Stiles, what are you-”

“Do you have negative feelings towards the police or other people who are trying to, uh, help you away from your captors?”

“The police has nothing to do with...” Joe trailed off and her eyes opened wider — this was sounding familiar. Too familiar. “Are you trying to diagnose me with Stockholm Syndrome?”

His face underwent a series of grimaces, both to deny and indicate this might be the case. “No, no, I’m just trying to open,” he mimed his hands opening something, “you to the possibility this might have happened.” He cleared his throat. “Psychoeducation is the first step on recovery-”

Covering her face with her hands, Joe groaned. “Oh my God.”

“-because knowing what you’re up against is the best offense to win the battle for your loved one’s psychological freedom,” Stiles concluded with a close-lipped smile. At her unimpressed expression, he shrugged wildly. “Look, three months is a long time! The original Stockholm Syndrome-case developed over the course of six days.”

“Stiles, I know what Stockholm syndrome is. I know the triggers, the characteristics, and I know that it’s an evolutionary carry-on from our hunter-gatherer days where women were abducted to enemy tribes and they adapted to ensure the survival of their offspring.”

“Yeah, but listen,” Stiles brought up a folded piece of paper from his pocket, lint scattering to the floor when he unfolded it to read. His voice came in a rush, not stopping to breathe or give her the chance to interrupt. “The condition can develop when kidnapping victims are treated humanely or there’s intermittent good and bad behavior that creates trauma bonds or especially when some victims are isolated from other victims where only the perpetrators’ input is allowed, a phenomena of so-called uber-propaganda.”

Joe rubbed her face again. “Stiles, Stockholm syndrome happens to less than eight percent of kidnapping victims in total. It’s blown out of proportions from pop-culture and one of the main characteristics is that the victims don’t try to escape given the chance,” she gestured between herself and the attentive Jimmy, “and we did.”

Her frown deepened when Stiles bobbed his head and carefully asked: “Yeah, but did you?” As her shoulders rose, preparing to snap back, he hurried to elaborate. “Joe, I watched you _shoot_ Derek! With a gun! In the chest! And then you just tossed Boyd into a wall where it now looks like a wrecking ball took a swing at it! And when we’re on the subject, _how_ are you able to do that? Are you a werewolf?”

“No.”

He gave her a second to continue before he did a full-body stutter, ending with throwing his hands up. “Oh my God, you are being _so_ unhelpful right now! Then what are you?”

“I don’t know!” Joe half-shouted back. “Okay? I don’t-” She shook her head, wishing she could have more coffee. “Deucalion doesn’t even know. They don’t know if I’ve developed super strength to keep up with Derek’s powers or if it’s,” she swallowed, “something else. Activation of the mate-bond seems to be the trigger at least.”

“Okay. Thank you. But just, hypothetically, what would happen if, like, Derek bit you?”

“ _Hypothetically_ , I would get a bite mark and he would get shot. Repeatedly.”

Stiles grimaced. “You’re not gonna help us find him, huh?”

“He left on his own!” she snapped. “Why are you harassing me to find him?”

“Because as much as you hate Derek, we need him to beat the Alphas. Scott needs him. Okay? Remember Scott? Your cousin?” Stiles held his hand out. “Yea high, brown hair, puppydog eyes.”

“Jesus Christ, Stiles!” Joe slammed the coffee cup, now empty, onto the kitchen island so it snapped clean in half. “What do you want me to do? I already suggested the GPS-collars and everyone said no back then.”

“Cora says you should be abl-”

“If I was able to find Derek via this so-called connection, don’t you think he would have been able to find me when I was locked up for two-”

“Three.”

“-three,” Joe corrected based on Jimmy’s input, “months? Wouldn’t he have ‘felt’ something was wrong? I’m not a Derek-tracker, Stiles, sorry. Go ask your History-teacher or whatever she is instead.”

It blurted out, but based on the flinch that passed through Stiles, Scott had probably told him about it. He seemed unable to stop correcting her though. “English. She’s our English teacher.”

“Whatever, I don’t care. I can’t help you, Stiles. I’ll help Scott, always, to the end of the line, but I can’t find Derek for you. He’s probably just holed up somewhere in the woods, brooding and stuff.” Joe shook out her curls, feeling too hot and constricted by thinking about Derek. It was tempting to tap into the connection, just for a second, to feel if he was hurt — but she couldn’t. Not even for a second. “Worry more about the fact that the Darach still has six more victims to go and we still haven’t come close to finding her.”

Stiles’s nose became sharp as he inhaled. “Okay, fine. Do we know what’s next? Virgins, warriors, healers and...what?”

“We’re probably going to find out soon,” Jimmy said, oblivious to the tense mood as he was focused on the map of telluric currents and the lunar cycle calendar pinned to the board. “Five days until the lunar eclipse and I’m guessing she needs some time to recharge between every round of sacrifices. There’s some pattern here to the timeline, I just can’t see it yet.”

“Well, can you start seeing it before my dad gets an aneurysm by trying to solve the unsolvable?” Stiles gestured at Joe. “Your dad is adamant it’s a serial killer. I tried telling them they were sacrifices, but they didn’t believe me. At all.”

Joe breathed out, trying to get her brain to start working again. “Motive. We’re still missing the motive. Each victim group represents something she wants to gain, but _why_ is she gathering strength? If it is to take down the Alpha Pack, why? Motive, means, opportunity. It’s the Crime 101.”

“Okay,” said Stiles with his hands up. “Okay, Crime 101. What are the most common motives for ancient Celtic sacrifices?”

“You’re missing the point, Stiles. Forget the sacrifices, those are just a necessary evil.” Joe hated the description and so did Stiles by the look on his face. His friend, she remembered. “Motive, means, opportunity. The sacrifices are the means, not the motive.” She took a deep breath and stared at the back of Jimmy’s neck. “Some say there are only three real motives for murder: power, sex, or revenge.”

Sound of rain drizzling against the window panes filled the apartment while they all thought about this.

“Killing the Alphas probably won’t make her stronger than the sacrifices makes her,” Joe said. “Rules out power.”

Stiles cleared his throat. “Not that the Alphas aren’t hot, but I’m guessing sex isn’t the most likely motive here.”

“Then it is simple.” The back of Jimmy’s shoulders flexed as he shrugged. “The Alphas have left a wide body trail in their wake. Revenge is the obvious answer.”

Joe bit her lip in thought. There was something, wasn’t there? The failed attempts of suicidal werewolves, the third in a set of three. First for energy, second for trickery, and third for deceit. “Seven years ago, there was a freak accident at the Beacon Hills Memorial. Birds flying into the windows, crashing into the walls and killing themselves.”

Paling, Stiles turned to her. “Crows?”

“Mhm,” Joe confirmed, keeping her eyes locked on the board. “What if that was the beginning? The Alpha Pack killed — or nearly killed — someone who used the energy of the murdered crows to survive?”

A last spark, like bloodied fingers desperately holding a cut artery shut. Refusing to let go until pried apart by a trauma surgeon.

“The Alphas slaughtered their own packs for power,” Jimmy said slowly. “Two of them we know took place around seven years ago. What happened with the Emissaries?”

Joe shook her head. “Deucalion never killed his, but it doesn’t have to be the Emissaries. All Emissaries are druids, but not all druids are Emissaries, right? There are others with druid-like powers who...”

She trailed off, thinking of the scared hiss Professor Kane had let out when Joe first asked about the Alpha Pack. Then later of the invisible force pushing her down in the chair. Looking up, she saw Jimmy raising his eyebrow at her — he must have thought the same thing. It didn’t fit perfectly though; the professors had seemed surprised the first sacrifices were virgins.

“Can you ask your aunt to check the hospital records?” Stiles asked, oblivious to the shared glances, and Joe shrugged, not a hundred percent sure. He folded his arms, changed his mind only to fold them again a second later as he looked at the board. Stiles asked Jimmy: “How long until the fourth round?”

Jimmy sighed. “Can’t be sure, but tomorrow or the day after probably.”

“Well, guess we better get to work then.” Stiles looked sick and Joe understood how he felt. She felt sick too.

* * *

_Okay, but wouldn’t you rather that he hates you than die?_

As much as her first instinct was to go straight to Berkeley to confront Professor Kane, Jimmy insisted he would go to the college to do some reconnaissance first. Apparently, he had another lead he wanted to check up on first. Demanding they should both go only made him scoff and remind her of the promises she had made to Aunt Mel. Promises she should struggle to keep if she wanted Aunt Mel’s favor in breaking hospital confidentiality laws to look up old records without a warrant.

“I must say, I was not expecting your call,” Marin Morrell said with that Mona Lisa-smile she always had. When not working, she dressed slightly edgier in all black, but kept her hair pin-straight and immaculate. She leaned back against the comfortable armchair in the coffee shop and Joe felt like a specimen in a glass cage, ready for experiments.

“You’re a licensed therapist, right?” Joe asked with a shrug. She had a decaf latte whatever with soy milk in front of her. No point in wasting oatmilk for decaf.

Marin nodded slowly at Joe’s question. “But I am also Deucalion’s Emissary. Have your allegiances shifted so much that you feel you can trust me?”

“Oh, I don’t trust you an inch,” Joe clarified, leaning forward on her knees. They were in the low armchairs by the windows, where Joe never really sat because she preferred to be more upright when working. “But there’s nothing I’m gonna tell you that he doesn’t already know anyway. And, by extent, that you don’t know. Figured it’d save some time. Besides,” she tried to watch Marin’s face for minuscule clues, a lot like Derek’s expressions, “being his Emissary doesn’t mean being his friend. You said you’re a guidance counselor first, right?

“I did,” Marin said, smile widening a fraction. She had a soothing voice and Joe could guess it put her patients at ease. “Then druid, then Emissary.” She tilted her head at Joe. “You’ve been to therapy before?”

“Yeah,” said Joe and laughed at the thought of it. All those hours wasted talking about her mom. All those years wasted looking for her. “But he’s got a four week waiting list, so here I am. Besides, this isn’t about my daddy issues.”

“Your insomnia?”

Joe nodded and inhaled deeply, staring out the window instead of looking at the acutely interested Marin. “I haven’t slept a single full night in the last few months — until a few days ago when I shot Derek.”

As expected, this did not seem like news to Marin. “Catharsis comes in many forms.”

“It didn’t feel cathartic,” Joe admitted, almost glancing over her shoulder to confirm there weren’t any known werewolves in the shop. “It felt wrong. Not shooting him, but seeing him hurt and... I hate not feeling his pain. Is that- is that an instinct I have or is it just my own issues?”

“You’re asking if the mate-bond affects your judgment?” Finally, a crack in Marin’s composure as she looked a bit more contemplative. “Or if it’s a symptom of some deeper trauma, a wish to self-harm so to speak?”

“I swear to God if you say the words ‘not an exact science’ I’ll-” Joe shook her head, unable to come up with a creative threat. She sighed and remembered a phrase she had used months ago, during a talk with Derek. “I don’t know where my feelings begin and the mate-bond ends. I don’t know what’s instincts and what’s compassion. I don’t know what’s me and what’s not.” Clutching her face, she shook her head again. “I don’t know shit.”

Marin regarded her in silence for a few seconds. Both their coffees remained untouched on the table. The coffee shop was an excuse to meet in public, as Joe would rather swallow burning coal than set foot in the high school as long as Miss Blake was there. At least she _was_ there, as confirmed by Stiles and Scott, while Derek remained missing.

“The problem with insomnia,” Marin said slowly after a while, “is that it’s a reinforcing cycle, a vicious one that I’m sure you already know. Your insomnia stems from unresolved mental issues and the lack of sleep intensifies the feelings of those same issues. You’re too anxious to sleep and the longer you stay up, the more anxious you become.”

She really did have a soothing voice and Joe found herself leaning into it.

“If you want my professional opinion, sleeping better after shooting Derek,” a flicker of a smile, “had less to do with Derek and more to do with yourself. From my perception of you, you are typically a proactive personality. You set goals and you go after them instead of sitting around waiting for things to happen to you.”

A brief pause as she waited for Joe to nod.

“And starting with your captivity,” now she averted her eyes to the side, a surprising sign of shame, “you lost your free will in a literal sense. No longer able to make your own decisions, you became more reactive than proactive. Forced into the role of an Alpha, your decisions now went beyond yourself. It is not easy being on top, it’s not easy shouldering that responsibility and I suspect you felt more comfortable not actively planning ahead because that would mean possible mistakes without a chance to blame anything else but yourself.”

Joe had no idea what to say, so she just nodded warily.

“Losing that sense of self can be detrimental to your mental health, Josefina. Making the decision to shoot Derek, although not strictly necessary, brought some of it back.”

Unfortunately, it made sense. Out of the two of them, Jimmy was the one planning ahead and calling the shots. Joe just reacted, as Marin said. Responding to an initiative taken by someone else. After they escaped — or was let out, depending on point of view — she had been on the defensive. Cooped up in the apartment, always looking over her shoulder, waiting for the ball to drop. When she found Jimmy wounded, she could have just tended to him and burrowed down. Instead she had chosen offense. If you want to end the fight, fight back.

“Wow,” Joe said and now took a sip of the lukewarm latte just to have something to do with her hands. “I’m really messed up.”

This earned her an honest smile from Marin, who despite the indiscernible age, was a beautiful woman. Joe could appreciate a smile from that face. “There is one more thing,” the smile fell slightly, but the warmth remained in her eyes, “and I asked you before, but do you remember all three months of when you were held captive?”

Most likely she already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from Joe. “No, I’m missing at least a few weeks, maybe a month.”

Marin nodded slowly. “There is a power werewolves possess, mostly used by Alphas. By inserting their claws in the base of the neck, they can create a connection with that individual. Share, remove or even plant memories. This process does not come without risks, especially to the psychological welfare of the ‘victim’.”

“Deucalion took my memories?” Joe guessed, wondering how bad that month must have been based on what they actually let her remember. She was unable to stop her fingertips fluttering over her exposed neck.

To her surprise, Marin shook her head.

“There are two Alphas who have mastered this skill to the extreme,” she said slowly, watching Joe carefully for a reaction, “both Deucalion and Kali.” She waited a beat, but seemed to make up her mind about something and held eyecontact with Joe. “Insomnia is not unheard of as a side-effect of repeated exposure to these memory manipulations.”

“It’s only happened one time though,” Joe pointed out. “I’m only missing one month.”

Marin's face turned back to the nondescript smile, the one never quite reaching her eyes. “Is it possible you can have been more exposed than first assumed? Would you be able to remember if you were?”

“To be honest, I can’t really remember it’s ever happened.” Joe rubbed her neck again. “It’s like, a memory of a dream? Like deja vu.” As Marin didn’t respond, Joe inhaled deeply and dropped her hand down. “Can I ask you something? Why are you helping me?”

Something about Marin’s coy smile made Joe remember vividly the last time she had been on a ‘coffee date’ with a pretty woman. It was different, she told herself. She knew not to trust Marin Morrell, she had been clueless about Kate’s true nature. Still, she couldn’t help the slight heat rising in her cheeks — Marin was a really beautiful woman.

“You know what druids dedicate their lives to?”

“Balance.”

“Well done,” Marin said and Joe swallowed at the praise. “Our methods may vary, but that will always be — or should always be — our endgoal. Helping you is one way I can help restore that balance.”

“And the Darach?”

She lifted a delicate eyebrow. “Is part of the _im_ balance.”

“Any chance you can just straight up tell me what to do?” Joe’s face had already scrunched up in doubt, expecting Marin’s widening smile.

“Unfortunately not. Despite what you might think, I don’t have all the answers.”

“Right,” Joe said, not believing that for a second. “Can I ask one more thing? A more practical question... Mistletoe. That’s what you used on me in that diner. Why didn’t it work?” It was a question that had bugged her for some time. It was equally poisonous to humans as it were to werewolves, there was no reason it hadn’t worked as intended on her.

“Why didn’t the wolfsbane work on your friend?”

Joe sighed. “Straight answers just isn’t part of your image, is it?”

Before she could expand on her exasperation, a familiar figure entered through the coffee shop’s door. Out of habit, Joe had placed herself facing the only entrance, but her expression had to be revealing as Marin turned in her chair. They both watched Special Agent Rob Delgado rush inside, flanked by two other junior agents by the looks of them.

“If you want to leave,” Marin kept her voice down as the FBI-agents hadn’t noticed them yet, “I can distract them.”

Her fingers had dug themselves into the chair arms, Joe realized, and she gently tried to relax them. Didn’t need to be a werewolf to guess her emotional state. She drew in a sharp breath.

“No, it’s okay,” she said and either Dad hear her or he happened to glance up at that exact moment. Gray stubble on his cheeks, rumpled suit, and deeper set lines around his mouth than she remembered. Heart up in her throat, she gave her dad a tight smile, one that he interpreted as a go-ahead.

_“Give me a sec, guys,”_ he told his colleagues and stepped out of the line. He nodded at Marin, who gave a welcoming smile in return. “Miss Morrell. Joe.”

“Special Agent,” Marin said smoothly and rose from her chair, making vague excuses about being late for something and exiting the shop with a slight wave at Joe.

Joe didn’t get up from her chair, but tried to smile. “Hey.”

“Hey, kid,” he said and patted her on the shoulder before perching on the seat of the armchair left vacant by Marin. “Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb your, uh...” His gaze trailed in the direction of the door before he cleared his throat. “Uh, I only got five minutes, we got a press briefing in half an hour.”

“It’s fine.” Except it wasn’t fine, but not for the reasons her dad probably suspected. Stiles’s visit and his concern about the Sheriff made her worry about her own dad too. The heavy lines under his eyes spelled out exhaustion. “You okay?”

Leaning forward on his knees, he seemed to automatically pull out a pack of cigarettes, but only held it in his hands, probably remembering it was no smoking inside here. “Not gonna lie, kid, it’s a rough one.” He put the pack away and glanced at her. “You look better than last time I saw ya. Mel, uh, told me you were going through some stuff.”

Joe forced her heart back down — for a brief second, she thought Aunt Mel had told him everything. “Yeah. Uh...it’s better.” The situation hadn’t improved, but at least she felt better. “You, uh, any closer to wrapping up the case?”

“We got a couple of leads,” her dad said, but in that automatic dismissive tone she knew was ingrained in him to throw the media off his back. His brows pulled down into his face into a familiar frown, one she often saw in the mirror. “Listen, you know that offer to call me, any time of the day? That still stands you know. Even if I’m workin’, I’ll make time for ya.”

“I’d rather you crack the case,” Joe said, trying to keep her voice steady. Crack the case and get the hell out of town. Did the Alphas know he was here? Probably. As long as she played by their rules, they would leave him alone. At least she hoped so, but the longer he stayed, the more dangerous it became.

“Yeah, kid, me too.” He sighed and blew air out of his mouth as he checked his watch. “Shit. I gotta go.” Already up from his chair, he seemed to remember something and turned around with a hand over his face, rubbing tired eyes. “That reminds me, those case-files we talked about last time? I got them back at the station. Just so you know I didn’t forget. We can, uh, take a look at them when this is over, okay?”

A chill spread through Joe’s chest and the latte was too cold to combat it. Nodding wordlessly, she watched her dad rejoin his colleagues, already in work-mode before he was out of the coffee shop. The case files on her mother’s first murder. That sounded like a pleasant read.

* * *

_You can force him. You’re his Alpha._

So it turned out her and Jimmy’s apartment had turned into some sort of homing beacon lately. At the sight of the skulking figure waiting outside the laundromat, Joe muttered under her breath: _“Oh por Dios, no, no puedo con esto ahora.”_

“It’s been almost three days,” Cora spat and she looked like she had slept a combined eight hours during those three days. She glanced down at Joe’s body, eyes glittering with contempt. “Can you feel him?”

“No,” Joe said and unlocked the doors into the apartment building. Cora, of course, followed her inside.

Cora’s voice echoed in the empty hallway. “Can you try?”

“What for?” Joe asked and bent down to pick up a package addressed to her. She frowned. Had she ordered something during her late-night hallucination sessions? Cora let out a frustrated growl and kept following Joe up the stairs. “He’s not dead.”

“How do you know Kali doesn’t already have him?”

“Because she gave him to the next full moon,” Joe answered easily and paused outside the locked apartment door. It was cleaned pretty thoroughly with bleach, but she worried Cora might still be able to detect the scent of Erica in there. “She’s a stickler for punctuality.”

“You shot him!”

Joe rolled her eyes, but tried to keep her voice to a more reasonable level. Other people lived in the building — at least she thought so, no one had called the cops when she fought Jimmy that same night she shot Derek. “Because he hurt Jimmy!”

“Because,” Cora’s light brown eyes bugged, “you _howled_. I heard it, Joe. A howl like that? So much pain and sorrow? _I_ thought you were dying.” She kept her eyes on Joe for a few seconds before she snorted. “You don’t get it. You still don’t get it. A pack howl is more than just a noise, Joe. It’s feelings, raw emotions, intense! When someone in your pack howls like that, you don’t hesitate. You don’t stop and think ‘what if’. You react.”

“That’s fine,” Joe said, patience wearing thin, “but slashing open Jimmy’s stomach is not.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t the one starting the fight? I still don’t get why you trust that guy,” Cora scoffed and folded her arms, again so incredibly like her brother. “Didn’t he try to blow your head off once?”

“Peter tell you about that?”

“Yeah, so? He was also working _with_ the Alphas-”

“As a double agent, to gain their trust for long enough so we could escape.”

“Escape?” Cora repeated and tilted her head. “Is that what this feels like to you? Like we got away? Because I don’t feel like that. I feel like I’m stuck, trapped even more now than when we were in that vault. I know you don’t like it, Joe, but you’re my Alpha. And so is Derek. If you’re not willing to step up to the plate, at least help me find him. Me and Boyd, we need at least one of you.”

Joe hated this. Hated it hated it hated it. She sighed and leaned against the mountain ash-infused door. “Cora, I don’t know how...”

“No, you do,” Cora insisted, turning on her heel to leave. “How we got into this mess in the first place.”

It took a few seconds for this to process. “I can’t- I can’t really do it on command.”

“Then figure it out!” With that, the youngest Hale disappeared around the corner, only the echo of her footsteps in the stairs lingering.

Stomach churning and head still fuzzy after the talk with Marin and her dad, Joe locked herself into the apartment. Empty. As much as she did not like Jimmy being out on his own, he had made a valid point the other night. Was he or wasn’t he her beta? Without the extra senses, Joe had no way of telling.

Glaring at the coffee machine, knowing she couldn’t indulge, Joe tried to distract herself by opening the package delivered. The soft fabric fell out and Joe stared at it in puzzlement. It looked expensive. Not that it mattered — Professor Walker had made sure she got a paycheck during all those months she was away and for some reason, she did not have any expenses during that time either. Amazing how budget-friendly living in captivity was.

When she unwrapped the fabric bundle, she realized what it was. A dress. A teal maxi dress with thin straps and a woven belt around the waist. It complimented Joe’s skin tone perfectly and Joe realized it was for the wedding. Alex and Maddy’s stupid farmhouse fall wedding. Erica must have ordered it for some godforsaken sentimental reason.

Erica. Erica was alive. She knew that, but just thinking about her made something inside of Joe tighten. She really did not like not knowing where she was. Maybe, since Jimmy was still out, he had gone to check on her. And even with the bad feeling the name brought up, it was easier to think of Erica than that stupid wedding. She couldn’t even take Jimmy with her until he resolved the situation with Kelly, who was still not too keen on talking to him.

Maybe she could guilt-trip Marin to accompany her since it was her fault Alex and Maddy even thought she was going? If Joe and Marin were still alive in October that is.

Time to face the music, Delgado. It wasn’t the wedding that was hard to think about, it was the date she was _supposed_ to have. Derek frickin’ Hale. Mentally groaning, she glared at the spot on the living room floor she had laid when _it_ happened. She shuddered at the memory.

“Personal is not the same as important,” she mumbled to herself and tried to think. Proactive, not reactive. And Cora had a point. “Goddamnit.”

Pacing the apartment, she listed her options. If he’d masked his scent, none of the werewolves could help her. He’d evaded the Argents for months, so enlisting Chris to her cause wouldn’t do her any good either — besides, he was one modified marksman rifle in deficit and had probably figured out who the thief was. Was a howl really the only way? Ugh.

Emotions. She had to feel something. She had to make herself feel something...

After some thinking, she found the jacket in the back of the closet, stuffed there when she was packing for the initial trip to Sacramento and the rest of NorCal. On her knees, she steeled herself. It had been months, would it still-

It smelled like him. Tears sprang immediately even though she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stop them. It smelled very much like him; like he was supposed to smell. The collar, not surprisingly, held the most scent and she stuffed her nose into it. God, she missed him. She had missed him for so long and she still missed him and it was not fair. It was not fair at all, for either of them.

Having made up her mind, she shrugged the jacket on over her leggings and t-shirt. She couldn’t do it here, so she put on sneakers as well and locked up the apartment behind her. At least the nighttime run would help clear her mind and she ran easily through the streets, heading for the edge of the Preserve. It was as much to avoid another altercation between Derek and anyone else as much for herself.

Because when she entered the forest, confident she was alone, she began having second thoughts. More specifically, she recalled Scott’s first attempt of a howl. That time at the school, that time Joe first felt Derek’s pain, Scott had used the school’s PA-system to try and lure out the Alpha. His first attempt had been that sound of a rabbit in a bear trap she and Jimmy heard. If she howled now and sounded like that, Cora and Boyd would find themselves completely Alpha-less as Joe would promptly kill herself.

“Derek?” she called out in the forest after stopping in a slight clearing. _“Derek?”_

Nothing. Oh well, it was worth a shot.

Okay, she could do this. Just focus on that hurt and anger and love and whatever Kali had said to her. Joe shrugged her shoulders in place, trying to make them drop to a normal level instead of crawling up to her ears.

The dark forest was quiet as always and leaves had begun to litter the ground again, going deeper into fall. She’d missed the whole summer, her favorite season, when you could lie around in the sun all day without any other excuses than just being too hot to function.

So, that talk with Aunt Mel been really bad timing because she could not focus on that pain she needed to make the sound necessary. Joe closed her eyes, trying to imagine Kali in front of her, shouting all those things that made her so angry and hurt, but now she just felt sad. Hollow. Instead of Kali, she saw Derek. Saw the relief on his face when she first came into the loft and how it shifted into confusion and then shock. Betrayal.

Muttering under her breath, Joe took off the jacket and held it to her nose. Did it make her calmer or more hurt? She’d slept too good the last few nights as well, no sleep-deprived intense emotions to pull upon. Hell, she hadn’t even seen Hallucinate-Kate since before she shot Derek.

On the odd chance that Derek’s smell was working as a calming agent, she threw it to the side so it landed in a pile of leaves. The thought made her smile at the memory of her and Derek waking up in a pile of leaves after he lost control at the ice rink. That had been when he bit Boyd. Wow, a different life. Derek had been so warm and gentle when they laid there, with his breath in her hair and the sound of his snores almost lulling her back to sleep. His instincts were always to protect her — claim her, sure, but first of all protect her.

“Okay, come on,” Joe whispered to herself, closing her eyes again and trying to concentrate. Hurt. Pain Anger. Sorrow. Come on, focus, Delgado. She pulled in a deep breath.

And let it out again slowly without a sound. She couldn’t. Couldn’t do it.

It was like Cora said, it was raw emotions and she did not have an abundance of the right ones at the moment. Shooting Derek, then the reality check with Jimmy, talking with Aunt Mel and Scott, therapy — it was hard to muster up that level of anguish necessary to do this. What about the sex-thing? That still made her angry, at least, because while Derek may claim to not be a jealous person, Joe definitely was.

That pretty brunette in a pencil skirt, who happened to be an English teacher... Of course, she was an English teacher, she was perfect for Derek with all his weird literary interests. Guy read books in genres Joe did not even know existed.

Derek would definitely have been an English Lit major if he ever went to college.

Fooooocuuuuus. Come on! She had to find the stupid guy so he could go Alpha around Cora and Boyd and she could get on with her life. Be angry, Delgado. Hurt. Okay, this was it. She was definitely doing this now. Deep breath. Even deeper. Eyes closed, she opened her mouth and-

_“What are you doing?”_

“Oh thank God.” Joe let out all the air in her lungs and slumped forwards. She never thought she would miss his angry voice coming out of the darkness like that. “You have no idea how good your timing is.”

Turning around, she ran a hand through her hair that was not tied up for once. As expected, Derek Hale stood immobile a good twenty feet away with his arms crossed and a hard line to his mouth. His arms barely concealed the large hole in his long-sleeved t-shirt and even in the dark, she could see the dried blood that had spread around the opening.

“Were you trying to howl?” Derek asked, sounding thoroughly unimpressed, and Joe realized the darkness was not going to be enough to cover up her blush.

“‘Trying’ is probably an excessively strong word,” she muttered and tucked wayward curls behind her ears. The distance and the fresh air masked his scent, making it bearable to look at him. “How could you tell?”

“You kept gasping in air, like a lot of young wolves who have no idea what they’re doing.”

His answer revealed he had watched her for a while, but she tried to let that slide. “Uh, okay, you have to come back. Cora and Boyd need you.”

“Do they.”

Somehow he said that without making it sound like a question. Joe hugged herself, feeling the chill of the night air now that her sweat from the run cooled on her skin. His jacket lay discarded a few steps away, but she could not stomach another raised eyebrow from him if she went to put it on.

“Are you,” she pursed her lips, feeling so stupid, “okay?”

“Really, you’re asking me that?”

“I kinda have to, I don’t have your nose. So, are you okay?”

“Are you asking because you feel like you have to or because you care?” he asked, voice so flat it did not even sound like him. At her stunned silence, he scoffed. “Took me a day and a half to heal.” So gunshot wounds from Alphas counted as regular wounds from an Alpha. Nice to know. “How’s Carter?”

“Are you asking because you feel lik-” she faltered at repeating his words, squirming under his intense gaze. “He’s fine. Healed.” Ah, that was the memory she should have focused on just now. Jimmy, bleeding out on the bathroom floor. It brought back some of her fire. “Why did you do that?”

“Because I thought he had hurt you.”

“So?”

“What?”

“How’s that any of your business?” Joe tilted her head and recognized the small signs, how Derek’s jaw tightened and his biceps flexed under his shirt. Anger, but not directed at her. “Derek, you,” she cleared her throat to find her voice, “can’t have it both ways. Even if I was hurt, that’s not your problem.”

In the dark, she could see the slight reflection of the starlight in his eyes. They were slightly wider than usual, staring at her. “Then why did you howl?”

“Because I was in a really bad place emotionally,” she said with a scoff, releasing her self-hug to lean on one hip. “Because it had been a _busy_ few days and I had probably slept a combined three hours during that time and it got a little intense, ya know?

Derek’s nostrils flared as he took a few hard breaths, chest expanding with each inhale. “Remember that time in the hospital? The time you told me you didn’t exclusively like girls-”

“That was not the focal point of that talk.”

“-and you promised you’d call me if you needed help. You _said_ you’d howl if you needed me.”

“I was joking!” Joe yelled with her mouth near hanging open. “I’d never- I didn’t know I could- it was a joke! You nearly killed Jimmy because of something I said just to rile you up almost half a year ago? Oh my God, Derek!” Too vexed to stand still, she paced a bit around in the few fallen leaves. “Are you serious? I howl, Jimmy runs his mouth and you lose it?”

“He threw the first punch!”

“Then you could have punched him back, not try to dig out his lungs with your claws!” Joe spat at him, even if she mentally chastised Jimmy for not disclosing that detail. “Jesus, Derek, I saw enough of his ribcage at the hospital, I didn’t need to see it again.” No answer, so Joe just kept going. “And he was under the influence of the half-moon, what’s your excuse? Derek, I’ve seen you fight. Unless Jim shapeshifted completely, you would have been able to subdue him without trying to kill him.”

Chastised, Derek slumped back into the shadows, but she could still see him avert his gaze. “I know. I wasn’t thinking and I... couldn’t find you.”

“Yeah, no shit, I was pumped full of mountain ash at the time.”

His eyes snapped to her again, but more despair than anger in his eyes. Like he knew without asking, but had a tiny hope he didn’t. “Why?”

“You know why,” Joe huffed and tried to focus on the anger — because this next part was going to hurt. Ignoring his nondescript expression — something akin to sadness if she was apt to interpret it that way — she steeled herself. “We’re gonna have to come up with a better solution than that, by the way. I don’t think mountain ash is healthy for me.”

For some reason, Derek had closed his eyes. His face half-turned away from her, it was impossible to make out any discernable expression. Eventually, he swallowed and sounded slightly gruff. “Right. What,” he cleared his throat, “are you? You still smell,” another unnaturally long pause, “human.”

Joe shrugged. “I don’t know. Most likely, according to you, I’m not supposed to exist.” She waited for him to say anything, or even look at her, but he did neither. “There’s no such thing as a half-werewolf, remember? Yet here I am.”

Nodding, Derek swallowed heavily again before speaking. “Your mom.”

“Yeah. The Alphas think Dad did _something_ when Mom was pregnant with me, but I haven’t really had the balls to ask him outright. Maybe he was shooting mountain ash during conception, I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. I would’ve probably never known if it hadn’t been for you.”

Heart pounding in her chest, even more so because she knew he heard it, she didn’t pay attention to him as she went to pick up his jacket.

“Uh...” Her turn to clear her throat. “Listen, I- I’ve figured out what I want.”

“Joe,” he cut her off, sounding hoarse, “I never... I never wanted you to feel that, I nev-”

“Just,” Joe held her hands up to stop him, “please, let me say this when I still can.” She sucked in a large breath, let it out slowly, and nodded to herself. Her voice still sounded tight when she managed to speak. “I want you to be happy. And,” she blinked away tears, trying to will them gone, “that’s all I want, so-”

The forest remained deathly quiet so she could hear how Derek had almost stopped breathing.

“-it doesn’t matter _how_ you’re happy or,” she looked down at the jacket and saying this was harder than pulling the trigger had been, “who with.”

Derek’s voice came as a whisper from the shadows. “You don’t mean that.”

Sometimes she hated both her heartbeat and pulse and chemosignals and his heightened senses that could tell when she was lying.

“Maybe not,” she admitted, unable to look at him. “Not right now, but that’s part of the process and I’ll mean it eventually.” She hoped at least, but the alternative was too hard to think about. “So, uh, please allow me the dignity of saying what I’ll mean sometime in the future when I’m...” _over you._ “I’ve said the whole time that you deserve a choice and I mean _that_. I do. I really do.”

Sniffing, she wiped her eyes hastily. Her stomach churned and every part of her body ached so she did not even have the capacity of hating her own weakness or tears.

“And you don’t owe me an explanation or anything because we’ve known each other for, what, eight months, and I was gone three of them and we never had The Talk-”

Her mouth went on auto-pilot while her heart held together by pure willpower.

“-so it's not fair for any of us and, uh, there’s some practical stuff we gotta work out too. Joint custody over Cora as an example, even though I’ve tried _really_ hard to push her away, but if shooting you isn’t enough, I don’t know what would be and-”

She kept babbling nonsense, not even hearing her own voice over the roaring pulse in her ears. She doubted Derek could hear anything either — not judging by his hard-set jaw and dark glittering eyes.

“-and the Alphas still expect us to fight on the full moon, but we’ll figure something out. I’ll leave town if I have to. Basically, what I’m saying is that you can come back to Beacon Hills and I won’t shoot you again or,” her throat hurt from the large lump, “be in your way.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from him, but when she managed to look at him, he was just staring out into thin air.

Almost holding her breath, she took a few tentative steps forward and extended his jacket to him. Derek had dropped his arms to his side, exposing the large hole in his shirt that revealed his strong muscles underneath.

Something glittered on his face in the faint moonlight, but it was hard to make out as he shook his head. It almost looked like tears, but that did not make sense. “Keep it.”

“I don’t really want it,” Joe said, fighting _so_ _hard_ to just remain standing there, to not inhale his scent, to try and just hold on a little while longer so she could run back to the safety of the apartment. “Please.”

Nostrils flared, jaw-muscles working, Derek weakly accepted the jacket. He had his phone in one hand, she noticed, but didn’t comment. It at least meant he had stayed hidden in the forest on purpose and could have contacted Boyd or Cora whenever he felt like it. The thought of them made it easier to push through.

“So, you know, stop brooding and feeling sorry for yourself or whatever you’re doing and go be useful.” She tried to smile bravely. “I just shot you, it’s not like anyone died.”

Not looking back, actually making a big deal out of not looking back, Joe headed for the direction of the main road. She made it maybe ten steps before she heard him make a harsh sound and what sounded like splintered wood.

By the time she turned around, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone order an extra dose of heartbreak tonight?  
> I promise, Joe and Derek are going to have a real Talk eventually. And we're gonna find out what _really_ happened that night, because what we know so far just isn't adding up. 
> 
> I'll repeat that this story has a happy ending and we're getting there. The Darach is down to her last six victims, so the season finale is getting close and we have maybe 10-12 chapters left. Once again, I'll ask you to have some patience. 
> 
> Hope you have a nice Friday wherever you are 😊 I have a new keyboard, so if I'm missing any letters, that's just human error.  
> Thank you for reading as always and please let me know what you think! The more comments I get, the more fluff you earn for the aftermath (jk, there's plenty of fluff anyway ❤)
> 
> And thank you to _Princess_Marida_ for the Spanish. Translation: "Oh my god, no, I can't handle this now."


	75. The Storm I

_They will choose Erica. Because she’s less experienced than Cora, weaker and more prone to lose control._

One thing was certain, shooting Derek had been a lot more cathartic than talking with him. Or to him, based on how he had clammed up during her rambling at the end there.

Something didn’t quite add up, Joe thought as she turned her pillow around to get the cold side. He was hard to read, but she almost got the impression he had been sad. Which was weird because why was _he_ sad? Didn’t he understand she was doing him a favor? That he would get to be happy without Joe making a scene or stirring up a lot of somewhat justified drama?

He deserved a choice, and he had made a choice — with the worst timing in history, but in Beacon Hills, that was a given — so why was he sad when she gave back the stupid jacket?

It could be a case — and this was probably the more likely case — of him responding to her strong emotions. So he was sad because _she_ was sad.

And she had been downright miserable.

Grumbling under her breath, Joe tossed around in the bed again. Part of the process, she reminded herself. It gets worse before it gets better. It would take time for the open, dripping hole in her chest where her heart used to be to close up and heal. Did heartbreak count as wounds from an Alpha? Or would it just take longer time because it was Derek frickin’ Hale and she could not imagine ever feeling the same way about anyone else ever again?

“Part of the process,” she whispered to herself, squirmed around in her bed and tried to empty her mind so she could get some sleep. The ceiling offered a blank slate to rest her eyes. “Part of the process, part of the process...”

It would have been easier if he’d yelled at her so she could yell back and get all this shit off her chest. He hadn’t even been properly angry about the shooting. A little snappish at best. And at the loft, he hadn’t fought back. He’d opened his arms completely when she pulled a gun at him. Guilt? Possibly.

Nothing added up. Jimmy’s injuries matched neither of their testimonies — even if Jimmy mentioned Paige, even if Jimmy threw the first punch, even if Joe had howled her heart out — it made little sense. Derek was violent, maybe, but not like _that_.

Deeming her time to be up — it felt like she had spent hours tossing around when in reality it turned out to be just past thirty minutes — Joe shuffled out of bed and down the hall to Jimmy’s room.

Her knuckles rapped the doorframe. “Jimmy? Are you awake?”

The muffled and slightly annoyed response came instantly: _“I am now.”_

Nightvision activating, she could see the outline of Jimmy’s form moving over, creating space for her to occupy the warm spot he vacated. Staying conscious of her limbs — he was not the one for unprompted physical contact — she eased herself into the bed.

“I miss Erica,” she eventually said, not lulled to sleep by the sound of Jimmy’s breathing as she’d hoped. When he didn’t respond, but she could sense he was awake, Joe sighed. “Can you at least tell me where she is? In case something happens.”

“Joe,” he murmured and sounded more awake by the second. “You know I can’t. You know why I can’t. You’re making progress and I’m proud of you,” Joe smiled, “but it’s still too risky.” Her smile fell, and she heard him turn in the bed, laying on his side with his back to her. “Since I can smell the disappointment on you, I’ll elaborate. From what we know, Isaac is certain he saw Erica’s dead body in the bank prior to the full moon. We know for a fact the Alphas manipulated his memory as it was part of the trap set up for Derek. For some reason, they must have planted the memory of Erica’s body too.”

“Why? What reason?”

“To make sure everyone else thought Erica was dead even before you were supposed to kill her.”

Joe wrinkled her brows and stared up at Jimmy’s ceiling. “Why?”

“That’s what I don’t know yet. It could be to ensure you wouldn’t have the ‘excuse’ of a full moon for her death,” Jimmy suggested, and the covers shifted as he presumably shrugged, “or it has something to do with how you kept forgetting she was alive.”

“That might just have been a coping mechanism from my side.”

“Maybe, but I’ve mapped out the distance from where you guys fought to here. With her injuries, she must have had help. Someone besides us knows she’s alive. And until we can figure out the motives of this someone, I’ll do what I can to keep both of you safe.”

The hum of the silent apartment enveloped them while Joe tried to think this through. She laid on her back with both hands folded on top of the covers, staring into the darkness. “You’re worried Erica’s still a pawn in the Alphas’ plans?”

“There’s always layers and layers to Deucalion’s plots. I’m just saying we can’t be too careful.”

Another long silence. “So, no Erica?”

“No Erica,” Jimmy confirmed in a tired voice, sounding like he was nestling further into the pillow. “You’ll have to settle for me.”

Joe hesitated. “You know I care about you, right? Like-”

“I am not cuddling with you, Delgado.”

“I wasn’t ask-”

“And I am all out of material to distract from your heartsickness. Call your aunt if you need coddling.”

“That’s not-”

“Then either shut up or get out.”

Biting her lips together, Joe tried to heed his request. From what she knew, he had spent the entire day following up some lead on the sacrifices. Something about expanding that script he had created before the summer to find Erica’s and Boyd’s most likely location. Like then, he had not wanted to share many details before he had it figured out and she knew better than to pry. He got testy when he was in the middle of that kind of project, brain working overtime even while he rested to piece things together.

“I just,” Joe started and Jimmy groaned, “have one more question. When Derek came here after I, uh, howled, what did he smell like?”

“A self-righteous ass.”

“Jim...”

“Ugh,” Jimmy groaned again and slowly rolled around to lie on his stomach. “Panic. Anxiety. Anger. A lot of everything really, it was pretty clear even if he tried to mask his scent. That’s what you wanted to hear? Look, I already said I am partially to blame for what happened and again, I don’t need you to neither defend me nor excuse his behavior.”

“I’m not trying to-” Joe gestured weakly, not observed by anyone but his ceiling and his nightstand. “It just seems a bit,” she searched for a word, “excessive? Even for him, I mean. And he said you threw the first punch.”

Her bedmate grunted in confirmation. “I did. The smack-talk went both ways.” The pillow muffled Jimmy’s drawn-out sigh. “Now that you mention it, I suppose it was a bit out of character for him. It was almost like he wanted me to hit him. And after I did, he still goaded me on and because I fight better with my words than my fists, it escalated from there.”

The memory flashed in and out of Joe’s mind and she shuddered even in the proximity of Jimmy’s warm body. “He could have killed you.”

“You’re right,” Jimmy agreed easily. “He could have. And he didn’t. I guess there’s some truth in born werewolves having better control than us bitten ones. He did what I couldn’t do and stopped himself in time.”

Another memory made Joe shudder. “That’s not comparable, Jim. You’d been trapped for weeks, forced to fight, forced to survive.”

“I know what happened, Joe, I was there. However detached from my human self. Now will you _please_ try to get some sleep? Or at least allow me some?”

“Okay.” Joe settled into the mattress, hands interlocked over her stomach and closed her eyes. For about five seconds. Scooting herself out of the bed, she made sure to put the covers back in place. “Or not. I’m gonna try to do some work.”

His reply came instantly: “No screens after ten pm.”

Joe stared into the bulky shadow that was Jimmy. “Okay. Uh, can I go for a walk? Clear my head?”

“Sure. Just be careful,” Jimmy mumbled, already sounding half-asleep again. “Howl if you need me.”

“Ha ha. If I’m not back before morning, assume someone has kidnapped me.”

Jimmy sighed into his pillow and murmured: “Of course.”

By the time she exited the room, his breathing slowed into a steady cadence, signaling sleep. Foregoing shoes, she pulled on a pair of leggings and tucked the pistol back in the waistband like always. No matter how disconcerting, it was easier knowing that the Alphas had let her and Jimmy get away from the vault. That meant they had no plans of recapturing them and she felt safe walking the nighttime streets of Beacon Hills.

Night walks supposedly had positive psychological effects on insomniacs. Increased heart rate, fresh air, the thrill of staying alert in case some creep got the wrong idea — everything designed to make her more relaxed when getting back into bed.

Except it was boring as hell and felt like a complete waste of time.

The dew covering the sidewalk cooled the bare soles of her feet where she stuck to the poorly lit side-streets. Something that would have been unthinkable a few months ago without her stun-gun ready and prepared. A small town like Beacon Hills did not have a large population of homeless and no one bothered her where she strolled along. The occasional stone jabbed into her, but the pain was fleeting and quickly forgotten.

Pain. It all came down to pain. And pleasure, apparently, a fact she had given little thought before it happened. Now she wished she hadn’t been so crudely reminded. Now she would have preferred going her entire life only receiving Derek’s pain. She realized she had not taken mountain ash today, but since Derek had said he never intended for her to feel that, she could at least hope he would, uh, take precautions to avoid it. It would be an awkward conversation to agree how they would handle that in the future.

Okay, thinking about Derek was not relaxing at all. Work then. Distraction. According to Jimmy they had less than a week until the lunar eclipse. It sucked that this Darach sacrificed innocent people to achieve their goals, otherwise they would have been on the same side regarding the Alphas.

Deucalion wanted Scott. The thought nearly made her sick. It was like Deucalion collected rare Alphas. Twin Alphas, Alpha Mates, True Alpha... Who knew what Kali’s specialty was? Or what Ennis had been? Something at least, they both had different red eyes than any other Alpha she had seen. They were a duller, darker red with a thick black ring around the outside of the iris.

Considering Kali’s and Ennis’s relationship, it couldn’t be genetic. At least Joe hoped it wasn’t. That would be gross.

Really gross.

Somehow in Joe’s efforts of _not_ ending up at the loft, she found herself on the same street as the Sheriff’s station. There weren’t many places in Beacon Hills that were open twenty-four seven, so the Sheriff’s station stood out on the otherwise dark street. A figure paced outside the main doors, his familiar silhouette regularly disappearing behind a cloud of cigarette smoke.

“Gotta clock out sometime,” Joe said when she got close enough. Her dad turned mid-puff and for several seconds only stared like he did not fully remember who she was. Compartmentalizing, she thought. Eventually it clicked and he raised his eyebrows after checking his wristwatch.

“Jesus, kid, it’s almost two in the mornin’.”

“And you’re working,” she pointed out and placed herself on the wall next to him.

“No, I’m havin’ a smoke,” he said and held up the lit cigarette as proof. “And the corner store don’t carry my Garcia y vegas, so I got these instead and they’re menthol and quite frankly disgustin’, but beggars can’t be choosers, eh?”

Not thinking too much about it, Joe held her hand out for the cigarette. She shrugged when her dad raised an eyebrow, a move that highlighted the deep bags under his eyes.

“Trouble sleepin’ again, huh?” he asked and she nodded, as if there was any other reason she would be out walking in the middle of the night. Her dad snorted and relented the cigarette to her. Amid lighting up a new cigarette for himself, he grinned at her surprised expression. “Not like I’m winnin’ any father of the year-awards anyway.”

It had been a while since Joe last smoked anything, but muscle-memory kicked in and she took a pull of the cigarette, felt the heat in her mouth and inhaled again to take it down to her lungs. The lightheadedness hit instantly, a brief pleasant feeling of calm and lazy. Unwittingly, she held the smoke in her lungs longer than she thought possible and let it out in a long string through pursed lips.

“And here’s me thinkin’ you didn’t smoke,” her dad commented drily. “Not sure if I should be impressed or worried or both.”

“I’ve been to prison, Dad.”

“You’ve been to juvie, kid. That’s not the same.”

“They still sold cigs in commissary.”

“Get outta here! They did not.”

“They did!” Joe said and huffed out some smoke through the side of her mouth. “Not on the record obviously, and not for the youngsters, but you could get a pack for twenty bucks — easy. Come on, we were hormonal assholes, half of us had anger issues, ya think they wanted to risk a riot based on nicotine addiction?”

“Off the record?” Dad repeated, looking disgusted. “Off the record meaning the CO’s smuggled it in to exploit juvenile offenders as a nice little side hustle?”

“What can I tell ya?” Joe sucked on the menthol cigarette, feeling the odd sensation of cooling and burning at the same time. “The US prison system is whack. I’ll have Jimmy send you an article.”

Her Dad just nodded in agreement. “Guess I should be happy it’s just cigarettes.”

“Why? You got something stronger?”

“Don’t push it, kid.”

Truth was, Joe didn’t really smoke anymore. She used to have the occasional cigarette at the parties Alex dragged her along to and briefly experimented with some cannabis the last time she struggled with insomnia, but that was about it. With her new healing factor, she wasn’t too sure if the mini-high she got now was anything but a placebo. Just the activity helped take her mind off things though and she and her dad delved into a comfortable silence.

Cigarette gone, she crushed the tip between her fingers and flicked it into the metal ashtray conveniently located outside the doors of the station. Her dad still smoked in silence — by the way he stared at the empty streets this was as much about the meditative activity as the nicotine.

“Dad?”

Something in her tone made him turn to her with attentiveness. “Hm?”

She bit her lip, wondering how to phrase it. Looking at her dad now, all five-nine cookie-cutter FBI-agent in a rumpled suit, the things the Alphas had told her didn’t make sense. He did not look like a guy who knew that werewolves even existed.

“Would you-” Joe hesitated and spoke slowly. “I mean, if I was- uh, if I was different, right, would you still, you know, love me?”

Her dad made a face. “How differen’t are we talkin’?”

Apparently she must have looked shocked as he burst out laughing right away.

“Jesus, kid, what kind of question is that? Of course I’d still love ya. If ya had two heads stickin’ out of your neck, I’d buy you two hats.” He bumped her shoulder with his. “If you started makin’ candles out of earwax to sell on eBay, I’d give you five star reviews. If you want to walk around at night with no shoes on for some new-age health reasons, I’d be ready with antiseptic if you cut yourself. Come on, what’s this about?”

Joe wiggled her bare toes — she’d forgotten how that wasn’t normal. “I just, if I was different, would you want to do something to, uh, make me not different? Or, like, if you thought I would _become_ different and you knew how to stop it, would you?”

Both remained silent and her dad deciphered her ill-phrased questions.

“Joe, I... I love you regardless. What’s goin’ on? You don’t think I’m supportive enough?” her dad ventured, the taunting edge in his voice long-gone. “Is that it?”

“No, it’s not...” Joe paused as her dad was digging into his wallet, obviously looking for something. Of everything she had expected, it had not been the small pin with a familiar trio of colors in his palm.

“I can’t wear it when I’m workin’,” her dad explained and showed it to her, “but I keep it with me. It’s the right one? I talked to one of our sensitivity trainers and he said the rainbow might not be your thing, so...”

Joe just stared at the tiny flag with the magenta, lavender, and blue stripes — she had never seen it outside the college-setting before.

“I want you to know that it’s not that I don’t care _what_ you are, I’m _proud_ of you. I wouldn’t change you in any way, Joe. You’re my girl no matter what. Unless you want to not be a girl, then you’d be my kid no matter what.”

An overwhelming rush of emotions buried every question Joe had intended to ask and she reached out to hug him instead. He smelled mostly of cigarettes, but she did not mind and only sank into his embrace, doing her best not to cry. Just loving her dad _so much_ and being _so terrified_ of the Alphas coming after him. Unlike Derek or Scott, he didn’t heal. He did not have super strength. No claws, no fangs, no heightened senses — just like her.

“ _Mija_ ,” her dad sighed against her curls. “ _Mija, mija, mija_... I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

“I just...” _really need you to leave town._ “I can’t...” _lose you too._ “I don’t...” _know what to do, how to fix this, how to win._

She lost every attempt at explaining against the fabric of his suit jacket.

Dad tightened his arms around her, probably feeling her instinctual reaction at pulling away. “I want you to know, I don’t care who you’re with as long as you’re happy, okay?” The deja vu nearly took Joe’s breath away. “If it’s a girl or a boy or something else, I’m happy if you’re happy, okay?”

This was hopeless. Joe nodded, forced the tears back and pulled away from the hug. “Okay. Dad, can I help? With the case? Or, uh, anything?”

He smiled at her, looking as tired as she felt. “I’m lenient with rules, kid, but I can’t bring you onto a federal murder investigation. My SSA is breathin’ down my neck about a strict need-to-know protocol. All it takes is one wrong leak to the media and you’ll see my rotten mug on the late-night special.”

Blowing air out of her mouth, she nodded again.

Her dad took pity on her and wrapped one arm around her shoulder, steering her towards the station. “If you want some distraction in the meantime, I got those cold case-files we talked about inside. How’s that sound?”

It did not actually sound too bad.

* * *

_They know putting you in the vault with them means you’re dead, so they’ll take her out. That’s when you have to run and make her follow, make it look natural._

“Please tell me you slept more than two hours last night.”

“Good morning to you too,” Joe muttered when Jimmy came trudging into the living room the following morning. She did not look up from her reading. “I slept for three, actually.”

“I suppose that’s something. What do you have here?” Jimmy peered over her shoulder at the photocopied documents courtesy of Joe’s dad. “Did you break into the sheriff’s station during your late night wander? This is a missing person’s case from 1988. I know math isn’t your strongest suit, but I thought we wanted to look into what happened _seven_ years ago, not twenty-three.”

“I know, this is personal,” Joe murmured. “Thought it might be something.” She folded up the folder listing the disappearance of one José Manuel Lima García around twenty-three years ago. As her dad had said, they never even found a body. “Ready to leave in twenty?”

“Leave?” Jimmy raised an eyebrow from where he was pouring granola into a bowl. “Where?”

Now her brows furrowed. “Didn’t you say you wanted to go back to Berkeley today?”

“I’m going to Berkeley, yes, but you are not.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because I am trying to put together something that might be impossible and the fewer distractions the better. And you, my dear, are the definition of distracting.”

“Well, uh, I was thinking of seeing Walker again. If this Darach has something to do with one of the slain packs, she could help. Maybe she knows what happened to Kali’s Emissary.”

“Doubtful. They usually keep the Emissaries secret from everyone but the Alpha and second-in-command. There was a reason Derek never knew about Deaton. I can imagine the same applies to Sarah.”

_Sarah_ , Joe noted, but didn’t comment. “We won’t know until we ask.”

“Fine, I will ask then. And no, you don’t need to join me. I thought I was _your_ little pet, not the other way around.” His purple eyes glinted in half-mirth, half-bitterness. “Wasn’t you supposed to ask your aunt about the medical records?” Of course Jimmy, who knew her better than most, correctly interpreted her tense silence. “Why have you not asked your aunt about the medical records, Joe?”

“Because,” Joe groaned and spun around on her office chair, “I haven’t seen her since the big talk and she’s super worried about me and if I see her I’m gonna have to tell her what happened with Derek and I’m just,” she blew air out of her mouth, “not ready to talk about all that.”

He gave her a pointed look over his granola-bowl. “People are dying, Joe.”

“I know.”

“Don’t you want to get your dad out of town too?”

“I do.”

“And isn’t the fastest way to make sure the murders end?”

“Well, we could always orchestrate some _worse_ murders in another state to make sure he gets called away,” Joe suggested, but faltered at Jimmy’s unimpressed look. “Fine, I’ll go talk to Aunt Mel.”

“There’s a good Alpha,” Jimmy cooed and grinned at the double middle-fingers Joe sent him.

“I want Erica back,” Joe called at him when he went back to his room, presumably to get dressed. “You’re getting insufferable.”

“Ride or die, Delgado.”

“Ride or die, asshole.”

A few hours later, Joe had mustered enough courage and willpower to go to the Beacon Hills Memorial. Since Jimmy took the car to Berkeley, she had gone on foot and found the walk just as excruciatingly boring as last night. To make matters worse, the nurse at the front desk told her that Aunt Mel was unavailable.

“Can you call her away for just two minutes?” Joe pleaded, almost hanging over the counter. “It’s really important and it’ll be super fast.”

“Melissa’s assisting in an open-heart surgery,” the nurse said with a frown. “So no, I can’t just call her away, no matter how important.”

It was hard to compete with open-heart surgery and Joe slunk back to one of the chairs in the hallway, prepared to wait it out. That massive pile-up from a few days ago had put a strain on the capacity and the hospital felt packed with both patients and staff alike. After waiting and consequently draining the battery on her phone, Joe sidled back up to the nurse’s station and asked how much longer it would be.

Six hours.

“I’ll come back later,” Joe said, and the nurse nodded without an inch of sympathy.

Back at the apartment, Joe paced around, hit with the absurd feeling of being bored for the first time in months. Scott and Stiles were busy studying for some test, because apparently grades did not stop mattering even if people were dying. Trying not to distract Jimmy, she only sent him a text message to call her when possible. Aunt Mel still hadn’t called her back from the text-message Joe had sent her. Her dad didn’t want her help with the case. Cora and Boyd were safer away from her. Derek was... better off without her.

All alone, she had no idea what to do with herself.

She tried to watch TV in her room, but found it hard to engage in the trivial problems blown out of proportion by the characters on the screen. Researching the Darach did not lead her anywhere new. The case files her dad gave her were inconclusive at best and searching the name of the missing man only lead her to genealogy websites from the _Era de Francia-_ days of the Dominican Republic.

After a shower, Aunt Mel finally called her, but just to let her know she had already left the hospital. She could dig up the medical records tomorrow, but now she just needed sleep. At least it spared Joe the awkward conversation, but it felt like a bust.

Joe spent the evening refreshing the Beacon Post website for any report of new murders, but came up empty. Jimmy still hadn’t returned. He got like that when he was onto something so she wasn’t worried yet. Maybe he had gone to see Erica? Maybe he preferred her company to Joe’s, which wasn’t that inconceivable if she thought about it.

At ten, Joe attempted to get back into a good sleeping schedule and went to bed.

Twenty-seven minutes later she was still wide awake.

Twenty-seven minutes of lying in bed trying every relaxation technique she could think of to fall asleep. Mind kept wandering. First to Derek, but she could not allow herself to dwell on that. Then to all those training sessions with Kali, all those times she got her bones snapped and skin slashed so she could heal and trigger whatever dormant gene was in her, so Erica could attend to her, bonding them closer together. It was sophisticated cruelty, but not purposeless. That was not relaxing.

Joe turned to glance at her phone laying on the nightstand. Twenty-nine minutes. She was not supposed to stay in bed for over thirty minutes trying to fall asleep. Something about sleep hygiene. If she wasn’t asleep by thirty minutes, she was supposed to get up and do something boring until she felt tired and tried again. Boring. This whole day had been boring.

At thirty minutes on the dot, she heard the apartment door locks click open in rapid succession. She jumped out of bed and snatched her bra with her from the floor, putting it on as she walked into the living room.

“Where’ve you been? I was getting worried.”

Still wearing sunglasses even at night, he pulled them off, and she saw how slick with sweat he was.

“I was right!” he exclaimed and turned on all the lights Joe had for once turned off before going to bed. He wrenched off his shirt as if any constrictions were too distracting at the moment and threw the discarded clothing item in one of the armchairs. All his focus was on the board. “I was right. The math never lies.”

As he snatched up a marker to begin writing equations straight onto the map, Joe picked up his shirt. Stained with blood and large splotches of water.

“Jimmy?”

“She got another one,” he said absentmindedly with the marker cap in his mouth. He must have smelled or otherwise sensed her trepidation and turned around. “There was nothing I could do, I mean, I got the location right, but not down to the exact spot. I came too late.”

“This is blood from the newest sacrifice?” Joe asked, holding up his shirt where blood had seeped through so it now stained her hand. She should freak out more, she thought. Should be more concerned with how an actual person had just died, and she was holding a piece of fabric with their still warm blood on it. “What-”

The purple in Jimmy’s eyes was intense as he spun around. “I told you about the telluric currents, right? That it was just a fancy term for energy? Which is correct and inconclusive at the same time.” He pulled her over to the map, Joe still clutching his shirt. Blood smears on his chest as well, she noted now. “But it’s not just energy, Joe. Because what is the thing with currents? It flows, Joe, it flows! It’s moving!”

He went back to writing on the map; the equations containing more letters and symbols than numbers.

“There’s a rhythm to it, a way to predict where the currents ebb and flow. She’s using the power to first abduct,” he marked a spot on the map, using a Greek letter to indicate the variable, “then sacrifice,” another spot, “and then place the body.”

“Jimmy, you gotta slow down,” Joe said, fingers digging into the blood-soaked fabric.

“Don’t you get it?” Jimmy announced and gestured to the equation written in red marker all over their map of Beacon Hills. “Using simple math, we can predict not only where but also _when_ this takes place!”

“Simple math?” she asked with a raised eyebrow at the formula that went on for several lines. “Hang on, predict as in getting there before, not after?”

Jimmy, usually not one for big gestures, grabbed her shoulders with both hands. “Yes! I had limited time, so I wasn’t able to get it exact, but I _was_ able to pinpoint it down to the high school today at somewhere between seven and ten.”

“So you stalked out the school? Without me?”

“I stalked out the school,” Jimmy confirmed and the sweat droplets on his face shifted as he smiled again. “There were a lot of people there, for some reason, band rehearsal I think. Then at just a few minutes past eight, one of the sheriff deputies arrive. I think I’ve missed the sacrifice, that someone found a body, and waited around for the ambulances as to not draw attention to myself.”

He stopped, seeming in need to catch his breath. “And as time dragged on, the ambulances never came. So I followed the deputy and lo-and-behold, she was the sacrifice.”

A numbness spread into Joe. “The Darach killed one of the deputies?”

“Yes, in the locker rooms,” Jimmy said and tried to make a smaller dot on the map. “That’s where I found her, but she was already dead. No reception in the basement, so I go upstairs to call the police, but when I come back, she’s gone. I follow the scent of her blood and she’s placed on the school sign.” He marked another dot, wild-eyed still. “I must have disturbed the Darach, because she should have been moved further, see, here, along this line to be sacrificed and then even further to be found.”

Half of her wanted to scream at him for being so reckless regarding his own safety. The other half really wanted to know if that would affect the ritual. She asked about the latter.

“Yes, it weakens the sacrifice. Either diminishes or eradicates whatever was hoped to be gained. Do you get this, Joe? We solve the next equation, we find out where the next victim will be taken.” To her surprise, he went over to the kitchen to start the coffee machine. “It’s gonna be a long night, Delgado.” He grinned. “We got this bitch.”

Apparently, despite his enthusiasm, solving these equations was not as straightforward as it seemed. There were a lot of variables and assumptions related to the telluric currents. Some of it available online, some of it available through ancient diagrams. And Joe had not had Calculus since high school, not counting when she helped Scott with his Algebra. Luckily Jimmy seemed to have a knack for it, but they were running out of room on the board.

They looked at each other and in synch, lifted the entire board down to reveal the pristine white wall underneath. Jimmy pulled up a chair and got up while Joe started cracking to find the missing variables and constants.

Her phone rang right when she was getting the immediate electric field variation measured in mV per kilometer of the closest observatory that happened to be in Stanford. Jimmy had to first interpolate it to consider the altitude difference to Beacon Hills.

_“Hi, it’s me,”_ Scott sounded tired over the phone. _“We found another one. Or, uh, Lydia found her.”_

“I know, Jimmy found her first,” Joe said and waved her hand at Jimmy who was demanding the necessary constant to get ahead in solving the equation. “Listen, we got a lead we’re working on, but it’s kind of time cruci-” She held the phone away from her ear to glare at Jimmy. “Jim, I’m literally just telling him I’ll call him later. Okay. Okay!”

“Listen, Scott, we’re working on it,” she said into the phone as she held it in place with her shoulder. She zoomed in on the computer screen so Jimmy could see the number he was after with all its eight decimals. “Do you know who she was? A deputy, right?”

_“Yeah, yeah, a deputy, Tara Graeme.”_

“Oh shit.” That was Sheriff Stilinski’s second-in-command after Matt did a number on the station. Both the cops and feds would be out for blood now. “Shit, okay, I’m sorry, Scott, I’ll call you when we have something!”

_“Okay, b-”_

She hung up, as Jimmy was working with record speed trying to create a list of likely flow patterns for the next twenty-four hours. With the botched first sacrifice, it was likely the Darach would speed up the timeline and try to get a new victim before long.

“Why the deputy?” Joe asked as she used a reference list to fill in numbers Jimmy had left blank in some parts. “What class are we looking at here?”

“Can’t establish a pattern out of a single data point,” Jimmy murmured, deep furrow between his brows as he tried to fix the numbers in a matrix to do some light linear differential equation solving. “Was she just a cop or could she also be something else? A mother, a bard, a herbalist, a scholar? Let’s focus more on the when and where instead of the why.”

The coffee machine and tea kettle were in constant use during the night. As the sun rose above the horizon, the apartment started looking chaotic. The walls in the living room were covered in different colored writing; not color-coded to Jimmy’s chagrin, but exchanged whenever a marker ran dry.

“It’s the high school,” Jimmy said eventually as the sunlight hit his naked torso through the windows. They had stepped back from the walls, comparing the numbers with the map of the telluric currents. “It’s the high school again, I’m sure of it, but that’s too imprecise. It’s not enough to stop the Darach...”

Joe was on her sixth cup of coffee, a fact she would never admit to Aunt Mel, and tried to reach the same conclusions he did. Her mind buzzed, as much with the excitement as the lack of sleep. When he did the numbers yesterday, he had made several lucky assumptions based on that the high school always seemed to the center of weird things happening. Now they had confirmed it.

“Okay, high school, but when?”

“We need to plot the telluric current over time and compare it with real-time data to find a viable match.” Jimmy frowned at the formula. “It’s not possible to do by hand, but I think I can write a script that will give us the statistical probabilities.” He looked at her. “You need to go to the high school and measure where the magnetic field are the strongest.”

Her brows lifted as he made his way to his computer, keyboard hidden under several stacks of paper. “You want me to what? I can’t go to the school, Jimmy, I-” She faltered at his disappointed expression and went to put on her jacket, shaking out her curls hoping to look halfway human at least. “Personal’s not the same as important, right, I got you. Fine, but how exactly am I supposed to measure the magnetic field strength? Is there an app for that?”

Already on his computer, typing furiously, he scoffed. “It’s a high school, Joe. The science lab has gaussmeters. Now please hurry when we still have the chance of getting ahead.”

“Shit, fine, okay,” was all she could say as she headed out, car keys in hand. The school would be in session pretty soon, so maybe she could just blend in with the general student body and hopefully not be forced to face Miss Blake, the pretty brunette English teacher in a pencil skirt.

Already when pulling up in the parking lot, for once not next to a red Toyota Prius, she could see how blending in might be difficult. A large portion of the area in front of the school had been sealed off with police tape — crime scene technicians moved around slowly in their plastic suits, careful not to disturb evidence. And policemen, as well as FBI-agents, seemed to be littered around all the entrances, probably searching and questioning anyone who tried to enter the building. With all the deaths lately, it was no wonder the county had ramped up its security regarding the school.

Unfortunately, she knew they would ask her why she was entering. As youthful as she looked, she could not pass for a sixteen-year-old, especially not when she hadn’t slept in — she did the mental math — twenty-eight hours.

Twenty-eight hours and counting.

Joe looked at her hands and saw the tremors. Flexing them, she scanned the school building again. If she asked for Scott, they would just call him up instead of letting her in. Shit. This was turning into more work than she hoped for. Trying to save lives here, so she had little choice.

“Long time, no see, kid.”

She walked up to her dad where he stood nearby a cluster of agents and what looked like state troopers outside the main entrance of the school. With the crewcut, FBI-jacket and aviator sunglasses, he fit the mold of the generic agent shipped out from the academy. As he took off his sunglasses, she saw the heavy lines under his eyes that seemed to draw all the way down to his mouth. Guess there were two of them who hadn’t slept last night. “What ya doin’ here?”

“I heard about, uh...” She just nodded towards the still-active crime scene out on the lawn.

“This prick’s got some nerve comin’ after one of us,” her dad commented drily and lit a cigarette in a fluid motion, gesturing for her to step out of the way for the incoming students. First period was probably about to start. “You knew her? Deputy Tara Graeme?”

“Not really. Saw her around,” Joe said and hugged herself, thinking of the blood-soaked shirt she had held in her hands. Now she knew it was Tara Graeme’s blood. She eyed the number of FBI-jackets visible from just where she stood. “You got people in from the local office?”

Her dad let out cigarette smoke in a low hiss, offering the cig to her without comment and she accepted.

“This guy’s something else. Usually we see a cooldown period, at least in the beginning, but not this sub. He’s mowing through bodies left and right. With Tara, that makes ten murders in the last month alone. My boss’s not sure all the murders are related and she’s gotta point, too many inconsistencies. No pattern, ya know? Age, gender, ethnicity, sexual orientation, religion — nothin’. And now he came after one of us. Taunting us. Let me tell ya one thing, kid, he’s not gettin’ away with it.”

Joe let out a puff of smoke and he snatched the cigarette back, sucking it down to the filter and squashed it underneath his boot. “Sorry, kid, I’m a little burned out. Didn’t mean to lay all that on ya.”

“It’s okay,” she said and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, a cheap attempt at comfort. “Uh, Dad, this is gonna sound weird, but I need a favor.” He indicated she should go on, in a manner that did not commit him to actually following through on anything. “I need access to the school.”

He regarded her with a policeman’s scrutiny. “Why?”

“I, uh, need to check on something.”

“That guidance counselor? Miss Morrell?” her dad guessed and misinterpreted her dumbfounded expression. “Look, I can connect the dots, all right. You two were lookin’ cozy outside the vet clinic when her brother went missing and I knew I interrupted somethin’ at that coffee shop.”

“Uh, that was not what it looked like,” she said in a slow voice, but he wasn’t listening. “Either time.”

“Come on, kid, I found you cryin’ in her office. Only love can make you cry like that, can hurt like that.” He sighed and put his hands in his belt, looking at her where she slowly realized what was going on. “Is it enough if I go see if she’s okay? No?” Her dad nodded in understanding. “You need to see it for yourself. All right, I get it.”

He looked a lot older than she remembered him when he glanced at her with a wistful smile. “She’s special, huh?”

Joe swallowed and tried to sound sincere when answering: “Yes?”

“All right, kid, come on.” He put a hand on her back and led her towards the main entrance. Her dad gave the uniformed deputy there a nod that apparently was all the confirmation needed for Joe to be allowed inside. “Hey, uh, kid.”

Joe turned on her heel, already well on her way through the doors with the rest of the student mass. “Yeah?”

“We need to talk,” her dad said with a tired smile, a sense of finality in his voice. “You know that, right? About more than murder and cold cases. I get that you never called, that’s fine, you know. You needed time. I get that.”

Three months where he had waited for a call from her that never came. Three months of silence was the only reward for finally being honest with her. She hesitated, knowing she was here on a time-crucial mission. So much to say, and so little time.

It was too much for Joe to deal with, so she compartmentalized everything for later, but whispered: “Yeah. Uh, be careful, Dad.”

He looked a bit perplexed, but nodded. “You too, kid.”

After some failed attempts, Joe finally found a room that looked like a science lab. The hallways were empty after everyone had sidled into different classrooms, but Joe cast a quick glance over her shoulder before pushing the door so hard the lock crashed through the frame. One good thing about high school science labs was that all they marked the equipment, otherwise she would probably not have known what a gaussmeter looked like. She had to call Jimmy anyway to ask how to use it and she could hear him pounding the keyboard of his computer even as he explained.

His plan was to use the real-time measurements around the school at specific coordinates as reference points. That way they could interpolate to find the next exact location the Darach would strike and, more importantly, when. Working as quickly as she could, Joe used the GPS on her phone to find the coordinates and moved around the empty school hallways, locker rooms and classrooms to measure the magnetic field strength. She sent the numbers to Jimmy as she went.

Even as quickly as she worked, she still had a lot more ground to cover when the doors suddenly started opening and the hallways filled with noise and people. First period must be over. Joe used the opportunity to dart inside the classrooms, moving fast to see if there were any hotspots that would mean a higher probability of a telluric current influx — or something like that, Jimmy was more concerned in doing the calculations than explaining them to her.

_“I need more from the eastern part of school,”_ Jimmy said as he’d called her when she sent the last coordinates and measurement. “ _Around the locker rooms. We’re getting close.”_

“Fine, got it,” Joe said and hung up. At least she knew somewhat where the locker rooms were — this year she’d spent more time at this high school than she was strictly comfortable with. With one eye on the gaussmeter, in case the measurement spiked, she wove through the high school students exchanging books in their lockers or just standing around talking.

It was like a whisper in the air, a slight prickling in the back of her neck that made Joe look up.

It shouldn’t have surprised her anymore to see Miss Blake, as her name was, standing on the other side of the hallway. Immaculate as ever, dressed in a nice red blouse and a dainty pencil skirt. Big eyes a bit widened when looking at Joe, lips parted as if she wanted to say something — or scream.

For a few seconds, they just stared at each other and Joe wondered if she should say something. Anything. Considering the last time they’d seen each other had been when Joe showed up in a frenzy to shoot Derek, maybe it would be better not to.

There was a glint in her eye, something akin to disgust. Again, she had watched Joe shoot Derek. Not that hard to understand the disgust.

Turning to look away, Joe kept moving down the hallway. Even when focusing on the gaussmeter, she felt the eyes of the teacher following her.

Near the locker rooms now, she couldn’t catch any spikes in the measurement. He’d wanted readings from this part of the school, so she took the coordinates and typed in the long number to send him.

“Shit.”

She kept missing the keys on her phone, fingers trembling too much. Flexing them, as if that ever helped, she tried again.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

People are dying, Joe, and you can’t even type in a goddamn number? Shit. What’s the problem? Seeing ‘Miss Blake’, the pretty teacher with the silky brown hair and large doe eyes and gentle smile? Soft and beautiful and everything Derek wanted? Shit. Practice what you preach, Delgado. You told Derek you wanted him to do what he wanted. Now he did. He’s doing who he wants. And it ain’t you.

“Shit!” Joe swore loudly and finally got the number right, hitting ‘send’ angrily. It sent and just then, an angry shout tore through the corridors.

_“You want a fight, Derek? Come and get me!”_

The sound that followed she would recognize anywhere. Werewolves fighting. Growling under her breath, Joe stuffed her phone and the gaussmeter back in the pocket of her jacket and started moving towards the noise. This better be important.

The snarls and roars came from the boys’ locker rooms and Joe pushed herself inside. It took her a second to recognize what was going on: Lydia Martin stood terrified to the side while Cora and Boyd were beating the living crap out of one of the twins. Aiden, who they had pinned up against the side of a locker.

Two on one, it was still a tied match as Aiden was an Alpha, even without his brother.

Cora, roaring like an enraged tiger, slashed over Aiden’s chest leaving a trail of bloodied skin. In retaliation, he knocked her aside so she flew to the ground. That left room for Boyd to strike — Aiden dodged so Boyd’s fist went through the metal of the locker like it was wrapping paper instead of his face.

“Aiden, stop!” Lydia shrieked, fists clenched by her side.

Aiden’s fist was not clenched, his entire hand open with splayed claws and he tore down slash open Boyd’s face. Already up from the ground, Cora dashed forwards to attack from the side.

“Hey!” Joe shouted, hoping to overpower the furious snarls. “I don’t have time for this bullshit! _Cut it out!_ ”

Of course, no one listened to her. She’d realized that what werewolves really understood was body language.

“Goddamn bullshit,” she muttered and threw herself into the mix. First instinct was to get Aiden to back off.

Joe leaped up, using a move favored by Kali, and span around with a hard kick to Aiden’s chest. He skidded over the floor, hitting a sink on the tiled back wall so the porcelain cracked.

Cora took the opportunity to rain down on him, but Joe was _not_ having it right now. She grabbed Cora around the arm and flung her over, slamming her back against the locker. With one arm over Cora’s chest, she tried to hold her there. “Cora, stop!”

Instead of answering, Cora only snarled loudly in her face and Joe gritted her teeth, laying more force in her voice. _“Cora!”_

Breathing hard, Cora stopped struggling, her face clearing back to human, although still livid. Bright brown eyes stared back at Joe, but shifted to something behind her and Joe remembered Boyd was still fit for fight. He roared at Aiden and they bashed into each other.

“Damn it!” Joe swore, dropped Cora and flipped back.

Something clattered to the floor, but Joe was more focused on getting between the two large werewolves locked in a power struggle. One-on-one, Aiden was a lot stronger than Boyd and Joe flinched when Aiden used a weightlifting plate to knock Boyd to the side. It left Aiden open and Joe pushed off from the floor, foot already coming out and front-kicked Aiden in the chest.

“Back off!” Joe yelled, mostly at Aiden, but also Boyd who was struggling to get back up, blood smeared on his temple.

Aiden recovered first and flew at Joe. Her body moved on its own — spinning around, she snatched the weight plate off the floor, using the momentum to smash it into Aiden’s chin. A trail of blood burst from his lip.

His teeth as red as his eyes when he grinned at her. A challenge.

“I said,” Joe grabbed Aiden’s arm, flipped him around to his knees and kicked her heel into his elbow so it _snapped_ with a loud crack, “back off!”

The locker room vibrated at his painful howl. Curling her lip in disgust, she shoved him away, and took a step back. Her blood boiled, she wanted to hurt him; she wanted to kill him. Behind her, she heard Boyd growl, and it pissed her off.

Her eyes switched as she turned to roar: “ _BACK OFF!”_

Yellow eyes, claws out, Boyd tried to fight it. His jaw moved as he bared his fangs, snarling and growling, equally much at her as the wounded Aiden behind her. The hatred glowed in his eyes and it triggered something inside of her, something that wanted to put him back in his place and she inhaled deeply again.

_“Aiden!”_

Scott and Ethan tore through the locker room before she could do anything; Scott went for Boyd, helping him up and holding him back where he swayed gently. Joe faltered at the sight, eyes dimming back to brown. Helping. That’s what she should have done. Another glance at her hands, now speckled in Aiden’s blood.

Ethan dashed over to Aiden. “You can’t do this!”

Aiden, eyes still red and mouth still full of large teeth cradled his broken arm. “They came at me!”

“It doesn’t matter!” Ethan insisted and physically pushed his brother back. “Kali gave Derek until the next full moon. You can’t touch any of them!”

Aiden did not look like he approved of this message as he practically hissed and spat toward Cora and Boyd, neither of who looked remotely done with the fight. With a grin at Joe, he snapped his elbow back in place.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” Joe demanded of all of them when she regained control of her voice; Stiles had also arrived and was helping Cora get up — she’d slumped when Joe dropped her.

Boyd, only held back by Scott who seemed to struggle a bit, roared: “Where is he?” The question was directed as much to her as the twins, who all looked at each other. “Where’s Derek?”

“You think we know?” Aiden shouted and now Ethan’s biceps bulged from pushing him back. “Ask his Alpha bitc-”

“You wanna go there, Aiden? I’ll break both of your arms, no problem.” Joe glared at him, but his shit-eating grin only widened. Taking a deep breath, because she did _not_ have the time and patience for a fight now, she tried to get her anger in check. Turning to Boyd and Cora instead, she said: “What do you mean ‘Where’s Derek’? He hasn’t come back yet? I found him in the woods two days ago.”

“You found him? To finish the job?” Boyd asked, anger steaming off of him and she saw the hard glint in his eyes. If Scott hadn’t physically held him back, he would have come right at her already. Now she worried Scott wouldn’t be able to hold him back as Boyd struggled to get loose. “To kill him like you killed _Erica_?”

Erica. Just hearing the name was like a punch in the stomach. She hated this. Hated it hated it hated it. Which was worst? The feeling in her heart or the look on Scott’s face? The look of shock and confusion and betrayal? It was mirrored in Stiles’ open mouth down by Cora and even Lydia had let out a soft gasp.

Breathe, just breathe. Joe slowly folded her arms, realizing that she and the twins were standing on one side of the benches with everyone else on the opposite side. Battle lines drawn. And she was on the wrong side.

Aware of the twins behind her, Deucalion’s literal lapdogs, she kept an even tone and bit out: “I never wanted to do that.”

She hated this. Hated how they looked at her. Hated how Scott’s eyes were still wide in confusion and not hatred. He should hate her. Joe focused on Boyd and Cora.

“But I didn’t kill Derek. If he hasn’t come back yet, that’s on him.”

“We haven’t touched him,” Ethan clarified, as most of them had shifted their suspicious eyes to them instead. “Like I said, he has until the full moon.”

“I don’t believe you,” Boyd growled at Joe. “Why should we believe anything coming out of your mouth when you did _everything they said_ _for two months?!”_

Her voice was barely over a whisper, mind already back at the vault, in the dust and darkness. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Resist!”

The lump in her throat made it hard to breathe, hard to talk. “I tried, I swear-”

He snorted, a guttural noise of disgust. “You didn’t try hard enough.”

“Boyd, I-” Her eyes watered over, she did not even see the others in the locker room, only him. “They were starving you.”

“Then you should have let us starve!”

_No_.

“That’s why you’re angry?” Joe trembled all over, but tried to stand her ground. “Because I ended your little hunger strike? Because I _forced_ you to eat?” On the floor, Cora looked away. It had not been pretty. Boyd’s nostrils flared, but Joe pushed on through the tears forming in her eyes. “Because _they_ ,” she gestured to the twins, “never told me to do that. You know who did?” She hated this. Hated it, hated it, hated it. “ _Erica._ ”

Boyd shook his head, looking sick. “You’re lying.”

“Listen to my heartbeat, _Verne_ , and tell me I’m lying. She begged me to stop you. Begged me to _make_ you eat.”

“Boyd, please, calm down,” Scott said gently, but it had the opposite effect.

With a harsh shrug, Boyd pushed Scott away. His chest heaved and even Joe could hear the growl with every breath and for a long second, she thought he would just go for it. Just attack her.

Unconsciously, she shifted her stance, getting ready for a fight.

Showing some remarkable restraint, Boyd lifted his lip in contempt one last time before he turned and walked out of the locker rooms, head still bleeding.

Joe didn’t move, kept her arms folded over her chest and just tried to breathe. Just breathe. Reaching some sort of silent agreement, Scott and Ethan nodded to each other, and the latter grabbed hold of his brother and dragged him out of the locker rooms as well, going the opposite way of Boyd.

“Hey, guys, I think she’s pretty hurt,” Stiles said and now Joe saw blood on Cora’s face as well. Must have happened when Aiden first knocked her aside. Groaning, Cora pushed away Stiles’ attempt of helping her up, typical Hale behavior.

Joe had not expected the same reaction when she reached for her. Cora recoiled from her touch, clutching one hand to her temple as she hissed: “Don’t touch me.”

She hated her. And Joe deserved it. Shoulders slumping, she tried anyway. “Cora, you-”

“I’m fine!” Cora insisted and through sheer willpower, got off the floor. She swayed over to the sinks, ripping paper from the dispenser. “Get out! Leave, like everyone else. Like Laura, like Derek, like Boyd!”

Joe took a deep groaning breath at the thought of Derek. Stupid asshole was probably still brooding somewhere in the woods. Still, Cora was hurt and not responding too kindly to Stiles and Lydia’s attempt to help her. Somehow, she looked like she was the one who’d been hit with the weightlifting plate. He’d knocked her about pretty hard, but she was covered in sweat.

“You okay?” Joe asked, wanting to reach over and touch her forehead. She looked like she was burning up. Knowing Cora would only strike back, Joe kept her arms folded.

“Like you care?” Cora asked, proving again that she was only seventeen years old, no matter how grown-up she acted. “I’ll heal.”

“Okay, you know what? I don’t have time for this,” Joe said with her arms up in surrender. She swooped down to pick the gauss meter out of Stiles’ hands — it had fallen out of her pocket during the fight. “People are dying.”

“Like Erica?”

To her surprise, it was Lydia who posed the question, voice tight and head tilted to the side in a challenge. It was hard to look at any of them, hard to see their judgemental faces. Stiles looked resigned, almost as if he’d expected this, and Scott just looked like someone told him his goldfish had died.

“Like _you_ care?” Joe asked eventually, enjoying the stricken expression on Lydia’s face. With a last look towards Cora, who focused on dabbing blood off her face, Joe left the locker rooms.

No sign of Boyd, he was probably long gone by now. At least that meant he was safe from her.

Only ten steps down the hall and Scott caught up with her.

“Don’t.” She tried to brush off his hand that he put on her shoulder, but he persisted. “Scott-”

“It’s okay,” he whispered, the confusion replaced with worry in his eyes. He held her in place, forcing her to look at him. “Joe, it’s okay.” It really wasn’t, but it was easy to believe it could be when coming from Scott. He glanced down at the gaussmeter in her trembling hands. “What’re you doing?”

“Jimmy was able to pinpoint when and where the sacrifice took place last night. We’re trying to predict the next one too,” Joe explained, because it was easier to focus on that than everything else. With Erica dead, Cora hating her and Boyd gone, she felt more alone than ever. Stupid pack bonds. The only bright side was she had no more betas left to kill. “He thinks the sacrifice got messed up because he interrupted, so next one’s probably gonna be soon.”

“Okay,” said Scott with a sigh, almost reminding her of Derek in his ability to focus on what needed to be done, disregarding other uncomfortable facts for the time being. “Okay, how can I help?”

“Make sure that murderous Baby Hale in there is okay.” Joe did not even need to think about that one. Sometimes she could just let her instincts do the talking. Besides, Scott would be a better replacement than both her and Derek. “I’ll deal with the murders.”

“Okay.” Scott sounded unsure, and she got the impression he was trying to measure where on the crazy-scale she landed at the moment. “Okay?”

“Dude, just go,” she said with a sad smile and shrugged him off her. “Be careful.”

“You too.” Scott turned to leave, but then span around quickly and planted a kiss on the side of her temple. It happened so fast and she wasn’t sure if she felt like she was seven or ninety-seven years old. He smiled with closed lips and brows drawn together. “Please. Be careful. Remember, we love you, no matter what.”

As she did not have the emotional capacity to deal with that, she just watched him leave in a daze before shaking her head to snap out of it. Murders and mayhem happening here.

Walking down the corridor, she focused on reading the magnetic field instead of acknowledging her own thoughts and worries. Where was Derek? He had been in a weird mood when she found him — or he found her if you worried about accuracy — but not hurt.

It was not until she tried to send the new text message to Jimmy that she remembered the reception was bad down here. Annoyed, she kept trying to send, but it wouldn’t go through until she was up the short set of stairs to the ground floor. Her phone immediately rang when the first bar indicating service popped in.

“Hi, sorry, I was down in th-”

“ _Now! Joe, it’s happening RIGHT NOW!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the beginning of the end. Fair warning, there's gonna be cliffhangers for a while. 
> 
> Sorry for the pseudoscience, it hurts my engineering heart.   
> Also, cigarettes are not cool, kids. Don't believe everything you read. 
> 
> Soo, anyone got theories on Erica? Who is this missing José? Should Joe have broken both of Aiden's arms?
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the long chapter, but thank you for reading it anyway 😊 Please let me know what you think, and then I'll see you on Thursday ❤ Stay safe, guys!


	76. The Storm II

_Is this going to work? Only, my last full moon I tried to kill Derek and I don’t really want to repeat that with you._

Jimmy screamed through the speaker of Joe’s phone: “ _Now! Joe, it’s happening RIGHT NOW!”_

There was no time to think.

_“Thirty-eight degrees north forty-three point fifty-six minutes and one hundred twenty degrees west forty-eight point forty-two minutes!”_

“Shit! Jimmy, slow down!” Joe shouted and dashed into school hallways, putting him on speaker so she could type in the coordinates at the same time. “Thirty-eight degrees forty-three point what?”

“ _Point fifty-six minutes,”_ Jimmy sounded like he was forcing himself to slow down, _“and one hundred twenty degrees west forty-eight point forty-two minutes. It’s on the side facing the lacrosse field, but it’s now, Joe, now!”_

Without any coherent thought, Joe just ran, keeping Jimmy on the phone. The GPS on her phone ticked closer to the coordinates given and Joe realized she had not brought her gun. _Then here are my weapons — my empty hands and feet._ She did not like the thought of facing some evil druid serial killer unarmed, but what was she going to do?

How did you fight an evil druid serial killer anyway?

“ _Do you see anything?”_ Jimmy demanded and Joe shook her head, not realizing he couldn’t see her. Empty hallway. “ _-e, do yo- — anything?”_

“No!” she hissed — the reception was breaking up again. “Are you sure you have the right coordinates? There’s no one here.”

Literally no one. All the classrooms looked empty as well. No answer.

“Jimmy?”

The screen showed the call as active, but she couldn’t hear him. Turning the volume up, she could hear something else. It almost sounded like chanting? Like a male choir standing in a cave, yelling out old Celtic death chants.

“Oh shit,” Joe said out loud and span around, hoping to catch the Darach before it came for her. The chanting crackled in her phone’s speakers, drowning out the sound of her own pulse coming hard and fast now. “Ooooh shit. Not good.”

_Then here are my weapons — my empty hands and feet._

Which was absolutely useless if she could not see her attacker coming! Except nothing came. She looked down at her chanting phone and saw she was still a few coordinate seconds away from the numbers Jimmy gave her. And if she moved down here... the chanting grew stronger.

Step by step, eyes glancing down to see the final last digits of the coordinates tick closer-

“Ah!”

Joe shouted when a hand clamped around her wrist and tore her into an open classroom. Instinctively, she struck out, but her assailant dodged like she was made of water. She forced Joe back against a wall, using more speed than strength. One hand still holding Joe’s wrist down, another clamped over her mouth and Joe stared into the golden almond-shaped eyes of Marin Morrell.

“ _Fthf?”_

Marin looked dead serious and released Joe’s wrist slowly to bring a finger up to her own mouth. Shh.

The chanting still came from Joe’s phone held out by Joe’s side, but grew more distant and Marin seemed to stare at it. Joe was at least half a head taller than Marin, but the latter wore heels where Joe wore combat boots leaving them almost nose-to-nose. She smelled nice, which was _not_ what Joe should worry about right now.

Finally, when Joe thought she would pass out if she didn’t start breathing soon, the chanting stopped and Jimmy’s voice replaced it: “ _Joe? Joe!”_ Seeing Marin’s eyes darting to the phone, Joe got the hint and ended the call.

“What the hell?” Joe asked when Marin slowly removed the hand from Joe’s mouth. She kept her voice down, as Marin still looked apprehensive. “Is this payback for that time at the vet-clinic? Because I’ll have you know, I was in a real-”

“Are you suicidal?” Marin demanded in a low hiss, not backing away from Joe and Joe would have acknowledged how close they stood if things were less weird. “Do you _want_ to become the next sacrifice?”

“No, I wanted to stop it,” Joe insisted and tried to regain her breath. She had thought her days were numbered when Marin had grabbed her. “What are you doing?”

The so-called guidance counselor had leaned to the side, looking out the small window in the door. She sighed. “It’s over. He’s gone.”

“Who’s gone? Did she take someone?” Joe peered out the window as well, catching the back of someone familiar wandering into a classroom across the hall. “Was that Lydia Martin?”

“Yes, she’s most likely drawn to the same energy spikes that you were trying to measure,” Marin said and had a stone-faced expression when plucking the gaussmeter out of Joe’s hands. “This is dangerous, Josefina.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to stop someone getting ritually sacrificed.” Joe put her phone back in her pocket and shifted to adjust her jacket, as it’d ridden up when Marin basically pinned her to a wall. Wonder what Rob Delgado would get out of that? The same thing Joe’s body was getting out of it and she cleared her throat to clear her mind. “Is it Lydia? Is she the evil druid lady? Who did she ta-”

A horrified scream pierced through the air without warning.

While Joe flinched, Marin seemed to have been expecting it. It lasted for several seconds and like a werewolf-howl seemed to skip the more common entryways and lodge straight into Joe’s spine.

“Jesus Christ! What was that?”

“ _That_ was Lydia. As for who’s missing, it’s Westover,” Marin said absentmindedly, watching the hallway. “There are people coming. You should leave.”

“He’s the teacher in Modern American History, right?” Joe asked, vaguely recalling the name from helping Scott with his homework. “And why?”

“Because you are getting too close!” Marin insisted and dragged Joe away from the window when a shadow passed by. “I told you before, you should be careful not to make yourself a suspect. Your FBI-agent father won’t be able to protect you, not when the Darach took one of the deputies.”

“Yeah, uh, about that,” Joe said and now really tried to avoid noticing how close they stood, “my dad kind of thinks we have a, uh, thing.”

Marin Morrell, all smooth skin and sharp beauty, gave her a raised eyebrow. “Does he?”

“Yeah, only, like, if he makes some comment, you can just ignore it,” Joe tried to excuse both herself and her father by extent. She swallowed. “But, uh, out of curiosity, how old are you? Exactly?” Now Marin leaned back a bit, the hint of a flattered smile. “I ask partially because you’re a druid, partially because you’re black and I would’ve guessed somewhere between twenty-five and fifty-five.”

“Your assumptions are correct again,” Marin said and Joe could feel the familiar rush in her stomach when she smiled a proper wide smile, her plump lips stretching over straight white teeth. “Somewhere between there.”

“That’s not an answer, but I don’t know what I expected.” A blush rose steadily up Joe’s back and she tried to suppress it. “It was just out of curiosity, by the way, I’m not coming onto you or something like that. It’s just, I have no idea how age works with you guys anymore or how Deaton looks younger than Kane, who’s also a druid.”

“Ex-druid.”

“What, so that means she canceled her subscription to the fountain of youth?”

Marin still paid more attention to the outside hall. “Something like that.”

“You,” Joe inhaled sharply, “warned Sarah Walker because of her relationship with Professor Kane, right? Because you’re druids first. What happened to the other Emissaries? Why didn’t you warn them?”

A darkness fell over Marin’s face. She avoided Joe’s questioning gaze, looking to the side. “By the time I realized what Deucalion planned with Ennis, it was too late.”

“And?” Joe pressed on. “What about Kali’s Emissary?”

For a while, Marin looked like she wasn’t going to answer. When she did, her voice did not reach above a whisper. “She didn’t believe me.” Marin’s mouth locked in a tight line, obviously burdened by the memories. “Sarah was the only one who did,” the words came in a rush, like ripping off a band-aid, “and she was the only one who made it out alive.”

Kali had killed her own Emissary. The thought should not have chilled Joe to the core, but it still did. It also meant the Darach was not a former Emissary.

“Do you know who’s doing this?” Joe asked Marin, whose face betrayed nothing. “Are you not telling me because of your druidic professionalism or because of Deucalion?”

The gentle perfume Marin wore floated toward Joe when Marin leaned closer. “I’m not telling you,” her breath hit Joe’s ear, “because I don’t know.” A hint of a smile on her lips when she pulled back. “I only pretend to know everything, Josefina.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Joe mumbled, suddenly dry-mouthed again. “Why do you keep on helping me?”

“Maybe I just like you?” Marin suggested and Joe forgot how to breathe, think, or function. “I already told you: to restore balance. Now you need to go.”

“Okay, but can you wait a few minutes so it doesn’t look like we’re leaving together?”

Marin blinked at her and with a good-natured roll of her eyes, grabbed Joe’s arm and steered them both out of the classroom.

The crowd in the hallway of students obviously heading for History-class were being held back by the school’s security guard. Odd, considering how there were plenty of cops available just outside of the school.

“Uh...”

In the full vicinity of the whole crowd, Marin touched her arm and with a warm smile said: “See you later, Josefina.”

Frozen to the spot, not sure what to make of her mixed emotions of ‘Oh my God, someone just got abducted’ and ‘Oh my God, I haven’t had sex in two years’, Joe noticed Scott in the crowd with a big huge question mark on his face. In fact, that was kind of how Joe figured she looked as well. Her limbs unfroze too late, as Scott shoved his way out of the crowd over to her.

“What was that about?” he asked and Joe wondered if she should punch him to stop him from using his senses, which he obviously just had considering how the confusion turned into disgust. “Wha-”

Not stopping to catch her breath, Joe let out: “Uh, calculation was correct, I just got here too late, there’s still a chance to save him, I gotta go, forget what you just thought you saw and consequently what you thought you just smelled and bye, I love you, please don’t say, like, anything.”

She did not wait for him to register everything she said before making her escape.

* * *

_I don’t want to hurt you, Joe._

“Anything?”

“It’s still computing. These are calculations equivalent to weather forecasts, Joe. There’s a reason they use supercomputers that are the size of a bus for that.” Jimmy, still half-naked, paced the open space in the living room not covered with papers and discarded markers. “If you hadn’t been too busy breaking up a dogfight, we would have prevented the last one.”

“Theoretically, at least. Not sure _how_ I would have done it,” Joe mumbled and watched the numbers dance over the computer screen. She knew Jimmy was smart, but this was on another level. Thinking of the fight made her squirm. “Do you think Derek left town? I just can’t believe he would abandon Cora and Boyd like that. Or even Scott.”

Jimmy cleared his throat. “Or the English teacher?”

That made Joe feel sicker. For all she knew, he could have gone to stay with her, leaving Cora and Boyd to fend for themselves.

Unsure what to answer, Joe defaulted back to work. “Speaking of, what’s the link between a sheriff deputy and a history teacher?”

“Tara used to be a teacher.” He sounded absentminded. “Middle school. She and Dad worked together.”

“So, teachers are the pattern. Like scholars?” Joe asked and a horrible thought struck her. “You don’t think your dad-”

“If the Darach is after scholars, I don’t think my dad fits the bill anymore,” Jimmy said in a tone of voice that shut down that line of conversation. He looked at her with his head tilted. “You might though, little miss doctorate. Maybe Morrell wasn’t exaggerating when she said you could be the next sacrifice.”

Joe pursed her lips at the thought of Marin Morrell again. She blamed it on being touch-starved. It wasn’t actually Marin she wanted; it was just that closeness. Aware of Jimmy’s now raised eyebrows, she coughed. “Uh, there are others who fit that bill more than me.”

“The English teacher?” Jimmy suggested again and Joe made a face to confirm. “Those morals of yours must be exhausting at times. In my opinion, you don’t owe neither her nor Derek anything.”

“If she ends up dead, I’m the one who has to live with knowing I could have done more. I already have one life on my conscience, I don’t want another one.” Not paying attention to the concerned look Jimmy sent her, Joe took out her phone. “How do I phrase ‘Hey, your girlfriend might be next in line for a ritualistic sacrifice’ without it sounding threatening? I really don’t want to stir up any drama.”

“Drama is better than dead,” Jimmy commented drily, but brandished his own phone. “I’ll call him if you’d like.” He hesitated before punching in the number. “I assume it’s futile asking you to get some rest?”

“Futile’s a good word,” Joe said and rested her head in her hands. It weighed a ton, but she knew sleep was out of reach just now. “Every move, every plan... it all seems futile.” She glanced up at Jimmy who had his phone out, but only looked at her with a semi-worried, semi-exasperated expression. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Jim.”

“Hopefully find someone else who won’t put up with your bullshit.” His expression softened a fraction as he rolled his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, Joe. Relax.”

Sleep-deprivation had started to sting her eyes, but she nodded gratefully at him and he placed the call to Derek.

“He’s not picking up,” he concluded after a while. “I’ll try him again soon. For now, I assume we have a few hours to find the missing Mr. Westover. I doubt the Darach would take another victim before then.”

“How strict are the definitions here?” Joe asked, still fumbling with her own phone. “Because I’d guess we can also classify you as a scholar.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning let’s both go and save Mr. Westover when we find out where he’ll be.” Shifting around to unstick her t-shirt from her skin, she nodded at the computer. “If that ever finishes processing.”

Instead of commenting, Jimmy went over to the dresser by the front door to get out his wallet. Her eyebrow rose when he handed her a few dollar bills. “Your anxiety is making me nervous. Go get us something to drink. I’d like a matcha latte.”

“A what’cha latte?” Joe quipped, but snatched the money out of his hand and headed out. “Call me-”

“Just go, Delgado, and don’t dawdle.”

“Derek was so right, you do talk like a 19th-century novel,” Joe mumbled with a roll of her eyes, hearing the door click shut after her. For once, she didn’t bother with all the locks — they were for her benefit anyway. As long as the door closed and sealed the barrier with mountain ash, nothing supernatural could get through unless they had a key. And if they weren’t supernatural, Jimmy would tear them to pieces.

The coffee shop was just a few minutes’ walk down the street. A small afternoon rush, but not too bad. “Hi, one large matcha latte and one oatmilk cappuccino, please.” She did the math and realized she’d been up thirty-four hours and her smile strained. “Make that last one a double.”

“Coming right up,” the nice barista informed her with a smile and Joe tried to smile back and pretend everything was normal. Like she wasn’t waiting for Jimmy’s computer to spit out coordinates and a time estimate for where they could intercept the second sacrifice of a scholar. It was hard to pinpoint exactly when her life got this weird, but it had all started with Derek lurking in the hallway of their house that one night.

What had she even been doing with her life before that? Spending almost all her waking hours on the computer, either correcting assignments or completing her own. Researching folklore to debunk the myths, not to save lives. Not that she had done much saving lately. Saved Kate’s life, which turned out to be the biggest mistake of her life. Saved Jimmy a few times, but mostly out of situations he was only in because of Joe herself. Yeah, let’s not put part-time hero on our resume just yet.

After a few tries to compose a text to Derek without coming off as a disgruntled and/or deranged ex, she gave up and texted Scott instead that the Darach targeted teachers.

Her phone buzzed with a reply almost immediately. Okay, they had worked that one out, but the Darach wasn’t after scholars, it was philosophers. Not that big of a difference.

Joe rubbed her face and blinked when the barista disappeared in a cloud of steam from the machine. Hopefully she’d be able to get some sleep after they stopped the sacrifice. Too amped up to even try now. She massaged the back of her neck with her hand, trying to still that prickling feeling she had now. That same hush she felt before at the school fell over her, like a gentle whisper.

Looking up, she half expected to see Miss Blake in the coffee shop, but it was just the barista handing her the order. So much for that sixth sense of knowing when Derek’s lover looked at her. Just regular old paranoia. Thanking the barista for the drinks, Joe made her way back to the apartment.

“Anything?” she asked the second she was in the door, but Jimmy rolled his eyes and that was answer enough. Her lips curled in distaste when taking the first sip of her drink — it had either been too long since she had a proper oatmilk cappuccino or the lack of sleep messed with her taste buds. No sign of the computer being anywhere near done. “This is ridiculous. I mean, it’s amazing, but it’s ridiculous.”

“Indeed,” Jimmy said and probably knew exactly what she meant. It would not be the first time she did not need to articulate herself sufficiently for him to understand what she was trying to say. “Didn’t reach Derek, but we’ll have to assume he’s either with her to protect her or...”

“Or?” Joe asked again, smacking her lips at the weird aftertaste. For a wild second, she worried someone had slipped mountain ash in her coffee again, but it didn’t taste like that. It was just slightly bitter and acidic. Maybe the milk had gone bad? As Jimmy never answered, Joe rolled her eyes. “Or he’s left town and by extent, doesn’t care about anything that happens to the people left behind.”

Jimmy sighed. “Your words, not mine.”

“Scott says the Darach’s after philosophers, by the way, not scholars.”

For some reason, that warranted more response than she’d initially thought as Jimmy turned around sharply. “Are you sure? How did he reach that conclusion?”

“Uh, he didn’t say,” Joe mumbled and sent another text asking Scott the same question. Another immediate reply. “Argents.”

“Interesting,” Jimmy said, brows slightly pulled together. “Scholars would have meant knowledge. Philosophers mean strategy.”

This coffee really did not taste right, but Joe needed the caffeine. “Does that matter?”

“I suppose that depends on how close the Darach felt you got today.”

Neither said anything else. They were safe in the apartment anyway. Numbers continued to stream over Jimmy’s computer screen as it tried to plot out the most likely scenario going forwards. To prepare, or distract, Joe made sure to load the clip of the 9mm pistol — she was not walking into another scenario unarmed.

She paused when loading up the small bullets. Now that they were close to finding out the when and where, she was starting to worry about the ‘how’. “You think regular ammo’s gonna cut it?”

“What other kinds of bullets did you have in mind?” Jimmy asked, as always uneasy in the gun's presence, and glanced at her over his shoulder. “Silver won’t bite on a werewolf, what would bite on a druid?”

“Well, pretty much half of folklore is about how to repel spirits and kill monsters,” Joe said with a half-grin. “Iron is usually a safe bet. That’s why you hung horseshoes over your door, to prevent any non-humans from entering your home. Same reason why old cemeteries have iron fences, to keep the dead inside. Then you have salt, also good for repelling spirits. Another name for mountain ash is witchbane. It’s a long list, we’ll find something.”

“Doubt we will have time to work through it, I was going to settle for ripping her head off,” he commented drily, but a bit distracted.

The computer made no other inclination of being done than it had the last hour and Joe waited for Jimmy to continue. The small frown between his brows, coupled with a tilt of the head — he was listening to something.

Without thinking, Joe’s hands injected the clip back into the handgun.

“What?” Her voice came low, hoping not to disturb him. The purple glow dissipated when he closed his eyes briefly — a finger in the air to have her wait. “What do you hear?”

Genuine confusion clouded his face. “Nothing.”

“Then why the worry?”

“It’s literally nothing. Just a thin ringing sound, blocking out all else.” With stiff movements, his body on high alert, he stalked over to the windows. “Hide your gun!”

“What?”

“Do it now or you lose it! There’s space behind the air vent in the bathr-”

The urgency in his tone made her body move on its own accord. She dashed into the bathroom and stuffed the 9mm through the narrow crack of the tiny air vent almost too high for her to reach. It happened too fast for her to consider why he wanted her to hide it rather than use it.

He stood immobile out in the living room when she returned, obviously waiting for something, taking deep calming breaths.

“Jim-”

The apartment door exploded open.

Broken pieces of the locks and hinges scattered into the air, concealed by the onslaught of uniformed people in full tactical gear.

_“FBI! FBI! Get down! Get down on the ground!”_

It happened too fast; they came in like a tornado with chaos in its wake. Shouting and holding their weapons out, hoping to confuse them before they could consider fighting back.

It worked.

Barking orders, the FBI-agents had both her and Jimmy on the ground before she could think. More agents moved through the entire apartment with their weapons drawn, declaring rooms to be “Clear!” one after the other.

“On the ground, ma’am, hands over your head!” one agent yelled at her and she remained that way, facing the floor while panic swept through her body.

_“James Carter? You are under arrest for the suspicion of the murder of Deputy Tara Graeme. Do you understand? ”_

“No!” Joe yelled, recognizing both the voice and seeing her father bent over Jimmy’s body, locking his wrists back in handcuffs. “Dad, it’s-”

“Ma’am, on the ground!” the agent yelled again, but she wasn’t thinking. Wasn’t thinking how they might shoot her if she got up, like she did, to rush over to her dad. No one shot her though, probably because of _what_ she was shouting.

“Dad!” she shrieked while her dad and another agent hefted Jimmy up to stand. “What are you doing?” Out of breath, she addressed Jimmy: “ _Jimmy, listen to me, it’s okay, just breathe, please, it’s okay.”_

His face locked in a grimace, Jimmy had squeezed his eyes shut, probably hoping to conceal the purple glow. No, she realized, it was more than that. He was in pain and her eyes fell to the handcuffs that looked to be something out of a sci-fi movie. Electrical currents rode through the cuffs to his skin, leaving him weakened.

Joe tried to follow her own advice. Breathe, just breathe. “Dad, what is this?!”

“Get him back to the station,” her dad ordered the other agent, not even acknowledging Joe. The other agent kept reading Jimmy his rights while her dad turned to grab her elbow. “ _Josefina,_ you need to come with me.” His eyes fell to the rest of the apartment, to the entire wall covered in writing. _“Oh por Dios...”_

“No, no, you don’t understand!” She shook out of her dad’s grip, trying to physically hold back Jimmy. The remaining FBI-agents tore apart the rest of the living room. “Dad! You can’t do this! He’s not the killer!”

Her dad, not looking at her, told his colleague, who was shoving Jimmy toward the front door: “Hang on!”

The brief reprieve where she thought he had actually listened to her fell short when her dad lowered his voice to Jimmy. _“Turn off your eyes, son, or I’ll have to turn up the current.”_

“I can’t,” Jimmy bit out, sweat pearling on his upper lip. He trembled all over. “I _can’t_ , sir.”

Either the cuffs hurt him or he was just fighting to stay in control. Joe did not understand. How did they know to use electrical cuffs? Why wasn’t her dad more freaked out? _What was going on?_

“Jesus Christ,” her dad spat and wrenched off his own sunglasses to shove them onto Jimmy’s face. “All right, take him!”

“Jim!”

“Don’t panic, Joe,” Jimmy wheezed, his nostrils flaring under the lopsided sunglasses. He gave her a forced grin over his shoulder as he allowed the agent to push him ahead. “Panic is your enemy.”

_“Come on, move.”_

Her universe crashing down into flames, she could do nothing but watch Jimmy — _her_ Jimmy — escorted out of his own apartment. Not breathing, she turned to the scene of agents snapping pictures of the wall and, to Joe’s horror, unplugged the computer to take it with them.

“We’re on the clock here!” her dad snapped. “Come on, guys!”

She whimpered — everything happened so fast! Her breath hitched when her dad grabbed hold of her again, steering her to the apartment door. “Dad! Please, you have to listen-”

For a second, he looked like he was going to answer her, but turned at a _“Sir!”_ from one of the agents.

The agent held up Jimmy’s shirt from last night — the blood-covered shirt. “Tests positive for human blood.”

A frustrated scream lodged in Joe’s throat, but she could only stare alongside her dad. She knew how this looked. _No, no, no_.

Her dad shook his head. “Tag it and bag it!” His grip on her arm intensified. “Come on, kid.”

“No!” she finally yelled and wrenched out of his hand. Ignoring his mild look of confusion of her strength, she instead went to shout at the agent who was packing up the computer. “You got it all wrong! We’re trying to stop the murders, not-”

Her dad swore under his breath. “ _Puta madre, mija_.”

Instead of grabbing her, he cut in front of her so she would not downright assault one of the other agents. “Don’t make me arrest you. _Por favor_ , _Josefina_ , not again.” His voice dropped to a low hiss. “It’s not looking too good for neither of you right now, so unless you come with me to the station on your own volition-”

“He was trying to _stop_ the sacrifice!” Joe bit out, horrified that she was crying now that the adrenaline from them first tearing into the apartment subsided. “Listen, Dad, he found a way to calculate when the next- Dad! Listen to me, there’s not much time!”

Her dad forced her over to the door again and gave her a stern glare. “You know where Adam Westover is?”

“No, that’s what we’re trying to find out! Dad, just please, listen to me,” she pleaded, not coherent enough to struggle when he manhandled her down the staircase. More uniforms downstairs, most likely state police. No sign of Sheriff Stilinski. “Dad, please!”

“Take her downtown,” her dad said and handed her over to one of the guys downstairs. “I’ll be down when we finish wrapping up here.”

_“¡Papi!”_ Her shrill voice at least made him pause on his way back upstairs. She hadn’t called him that in at least a decade. _“¡Por favor, escúchame, por favor! ¡Tienes que creerme! ¡Lo tienes todo mal! Please, Papi, you got it all wrong!”_

As tired as he looked, he seemed to muster up the last of his reserve when ordering over his shoulder: “Get her out of here.”

Before she could think of tearing out of the other agent’s grip, she found herself in the back of a police car, door slamming in her face. No sign of Jimmy. _Don’t panic._

* * *

_If I trust you? Yeah._

By the time her dad actually made it downtown, Joe’s stomach was in an uproar. Every movement felt like she was going to throw up; that was honestly the only reason she hadn’t torn down the flimsy door of the interrogation room to find Jimmy.

No one answered her questions. No one would tell her where Jimmy was or what was going on. A guy popped in every few minutes to see if she needed water or the bathroom, but that was is.

No clock in the interrogation room. This was a tactic, to make the subject unnerved and nervous. If it was nerves, worry about Jimmy, anger about her father or the general lack of sleep — coming up to forty hours now probably — was hard to tell. All of the above, probably, and Joe sat on the table, holding around her stomach as if keeping her organs in one place would make her feel less nauseated.

The door opened, and she prepared to tear the guy a new one, but this turned out to be her dad walking in. Alone, no partner, but with a large stack of papers she recognized from the apartment.

“You wanna tell me what the hell’s goin’ on here, kid?” he demanded before she could recover enough to start shouting. He snapped his fingers to get her off the table and slammed the papers down where she had sat. “What is this?”

“Notes,” Joe bit out, fighting to stay calm in hopes it would get her out of here faster. “To stop the bitch who’s killing people.”

“Enough with the bullshit!” Her dad raised his voice, flinging his FBI-jacket back to put both hands on his hips. “You get how serious this is? We got a witness placing Carter at the school last night around Graeme’s time of death. Guy’s got a search history more disturbin’ than a crime novel writer. And we’re finding he’s got a bloodstained shirt lying around his apartment that happens to be full of delusional writing.”

Forcing her lips together, she tried to breathe instead of spitting venom.

“You see how this looks, right, Josie? It’s not looking good. Now I’m gonna need you to be very honest with me and tell me what you know-”

_You know you can’t tell him the whole truth?_

Derek’s voice from months before. Before, that was the clue here, wasn’t it? Before.

“It’s complicated,” she said instead and her dad scoffed loudly, rolling his eyes back in his head. “It is! You don’t know all of it!”

“Then tell me all of it, Josie! I swear to God, if you start lyin’ to me again-”

“Me?” she shrieked, pointing at herself with a hard finger. “ _Me_ lying to _you_? That’s what you’re worried about?”

“Don’t start this again, kid, not now.”

Her fists clenched against her side as she glared up at him. “ _You_ started it from the second I was old enough to speak!”

“You lied about Erica!” he roared now, face turning red from the pressure. This was her dad. This was the dad she remembered. The name again hit her like a sucker punch. “Remember her? Erica Reyes? The sixteen-year-old that went missing?”

Her hands shook, and she backed away into the wall.

“You should’ve told me everythin’ you knew back then, could’ve avoided a lot of trouble. You knew what took her, right?”

“No, I didn’t,” Joe insisted, swallowing at the effort. It wasn’t a lie, not a direct one. “It’s complicated, okay? Again, you don’t know all of it!”

“Don’t know what? That a werewolf took her? That Jimmy Carter’s a werewolf?” her dad snapped, slamming both hands into the table in front of her. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know that _you_ know that?”

Speechless, Joe could only watch her dad pace the floor in the interrogation room with jagged movements.

“So, let’s try that again, Josie, huh? What is going on?”

Tears filled her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “It’s _Joe_!”

“Joe, Josie, Josefina, _Josefina_ , whatever the hell you want to call yourself, kid,” her dad rattled on, listing each name on his finger. “You wanna talk about names? All right, let’s talk names.”

He spread the papers on the table out and opened up a manila folder at the bottom. “Let’s talk about Heather,” he flung out a picture, obviously taken post-mortem of a blond girl with bloodied hair and pale shrunken lips, “let’s talk about Ryan,” another picture of a just as dead person, “Emily, Kyle, Jonathan, Adrian, Debrah, Kelly, Nicolás,” and finally, on top of all the others, “and Deputy Tara Graeme.”

The contents of her stomach upended inside of her, the sight of dead bodies not helping.

“Enough names for you? This is serious, kid! This isn’t pulling the fire alarm to break into hospital state records, this isn’t joyriding without a license after downing a sixer of beer, this isn’t smashing in my car window with a steel pipe after I took away your fake ID.” He pushed off the table, anger evident on the taut lines of his face. “People are dyin’, kid. Ten people dead! So unless you start talkin’, I’ll have you locked up right next to your werewolf roommate in ten seconds flat.”

Breathe. Just breathe. “You know?” she stuttered, having risen and stepped away from the table when he filled it with pictures of the Darach’s victims. “You know about-”

“Werewolves?” Her dad sounded incredulous. “Yeah, what’d you think the Special in Special Crimes Unit was for?”

“So you’re,” she bent over, clutching at her stomach again rebelling against any movement, “like the Argents?”

“No, we’re not like the goddamn Argents, kid. The hunters and the werewolves got their own feud goin’ on and we stay out of it, unless they start bleedin’ over the general population. That’s where we come in. Like now.”

It was too much, too much to take in. “But why didn’t you come before, when Pe- all those alleged animal attacks that happened in January, where were you then? That didn’t count as the general population?”

“As long as the attacks look like they came from an animal, the general policy is to let the hunters deal with it.”

His words chilled the room several degrees.

“What?” She couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t real, this wasn’t happening. “You let the hunters _deal_ with it? _It?”_

At least her dad looked somewhat bothered, but the Delgados were headstrong people. “They have a Code-”

“They’re _fascists!”_ Joe screamed, nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms. “They’re fanatical, brainwashed _fascists!_ And you let them _deal with it?_ What, if something looks like a black person did it, you let the Klan handle it? Or,” Joe stuttered, could hardly get the words out, “if it was a Mexican immigrant, you send the Minutemen? A Neo-Nazi for an alleged Jewish perpetrator? What the _fuck_ , Dad?”

“You watch your mouth with me, kid!”

_“No! Do you have any idea what they’ve done?”_ Joe shrieked, not caring if anyone else in the station heard, not giving a flying fuck what her dad was saying. “How they deal with things? They target children. Erica and Boyd? The hunters got to them first. They chained them up in a basement with electrical wires and tortured them. Children, _literal_ children, Dad, who’s never hurt a fly let alone spilled human blood or whatever their Code says to justify killing them. Four out of five Argents don’t give a rat’s ass about any kind of Code, anyway. Christ’s sake, Dad, they burned Derek’s family alive!”

A horrible thought struck her, and she had to fight to keep her stomach contents down.

In a quieter voice, she asked: “Did you already know that?” He didn’t meet her gaze, and she gagged in her mouth, a physical response to dreading what she was going to find out. “Answer me.”

Still with both hands on his hips, he looked to the side. “There were rumors that it might have been arson-”

“Oh my God, no, no, no...”

“-but this was before my time in the unit! Things are different now, okay? We’re hunting Kate Argent down, kid, justice’s gonna be served. They’re not protected anymore!”

Joe wasn’t listening. She was pacing, clawing at her neck, unable to look at him. “I can’t believe I defended you. I can’t _believe_ I ever thought you were different, I can’t-” Tears ran down her face, she had no way of holding it in. “All cops really are bastards, aren’t they? Fascist assholes every _fucking_ last one of you!”

“We can talk about this later, okay?”

“Talk about this later?” she repeated, staring at him in horror. “How you sic trigger-happy psychopaths after _kids_ based on a suspicion? You taught me,” she pointed at him, whole hand shaking, “to trust the system. You taught me that everyone deserves a fair trial. Jesus Christ, Dad, I saved Kate Argent’s life because you taught me that!” Her breath, her voice, her hands — everything trembled. “It was just bullshit, wasn’t it? Everyone deserves a fair trial except werewolves because they’re just animals to you, aren’t they?”

“No.”

“You ‘stay out of it’,” she repeated his earlier words, “because protect and serve obviously doesn’t extend beyond what you consider the right kind of people. Or what you consider people at all. You _let_ Kate Argent get away with mass-murder for years because your _policy_ was to just _stay out of it!”_

Her dad slammed his palm into the table. “And when the Hale Alpha retaliated, we stayed out of that too!” Momentary dumbstruck, Joe only stared at him as he tore a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket, lighting one up almost too fast for her to follow. “Every one of those murders in January were people linked to the arson-case. So yeah, we stayed out of it. The hunters and the werewolves go back centuries, kid. And you know how many agents in the bureau knows about this stuff? Officially?”

She shook her head, her vision almost blurring from the effort of standing still.

“Twelve.” He disappeared behind a puff of smoke. “It’s on such a need-to-know basis I haven’t even told Raf about this. And there are some really powerful people on _both_ sides who want to keep it that way. Because you know what would happen if everyone found out? Can you imagine if the general police officer found out that there are people out there who look like regular humans, but aren’t? Who are strong enough to bench press a car? Who can take a full clip of bullets without slowing down? Who can _smell_ fear? We already have guys fingering the trigger to cover up how they’re almost pissing their pants just by pulling over someone who _looks_ different from them. So I know it’s not ideal, kid, but it’s what we got.”

Her dad took another harsh drag of the cigarette and the smoke did nothing to keep Joe’s stomach from revolting.

“And you can stay here and whine about police brutality or racial bias all day long, but I have a job to do and a potential victim who could still be alive. I didn’t arrest James Carter because he’s a werewolf, kid, I arrested him because of why I’ve arrested anyone else in my career: probable cause.”

Joe took a deep shuddering breath. “So you had a judge issue a no-knock warrant? To _my_ place to arrest _my_ roommate?”

“Yeah, we had a warrant, that’s what you wanted to know?”

“Listing what, exactly, as probable cause?”

“Eyewitness account usually holds some ground.”

“Who?” Joe asked and gritted her teeth together at the flummoxed look her dad gave her. “Who’s the eyewitness?”

“Jesus Christ, kid, you think I’m gonna tell you that?”

“Don’t you get it?” Joe almost cried. “The only one who could have seen Jimmy there is the actual murderer!”

“So you knew he was there?”

“Dad, please, don’t try to trip me into anything, I want to find Mr. Westover too. Just,” Joe struggled to breathe, but pushed through, “please just listen. You know the murders are sacrifices, right? That there’s a Darach-”

“A what?”

“A dark druid. She’s sacrificing groups of people to absorb some aspect of their powers.” Joe moved forward to the table, ignoring her organs protesting, and started arranging the pictures. “Virgins.” Heather, Ryan and Emily in one pile. “Warriors.” Kyle, Jonathan and Adrian. “Healers.” Debrah, Kelly, Nicolás. “And philosophers.” She held up Tara Graeme’s picture. “Along with the History teacher missing, and there’s probably going to be another one before the day is over.”

Her dad leaned over the table too, staring at the piles.

“That’s why you couldn’t see the pattern, Dad! They’re in threes!” Her hands shook, rattling the pictures like leaves in a sharp breeze when she held them up to him. “And she’s using the Telluric currents to get enough energy to perform this- Dad, I _know_ how it sounds, but this is me! You know me, I would not be making this up!”

Out of breath, she had to brace herself against the table before her stomach contents made a hasty exit out of her mouth. “Jimmy is not the killer, Dad, you have to believe me.”

“It’s a nice theory,” her dad said, and she knew right then she’d lost. “But I can’t ignore the evidence. We’ve had our sights out for James Carter for a while now. The search history, his threats to his college professors, his history of mental illness, and now an eyewitness placing him at the school? His shirt covered in what I’m willing to bet my pension on is Tara’s? Come on, kid, you gotta be honest here.”

“I am being honest,” Joe said and slumped back onto the chair. Now she felt dizzy, room spinning around like at the end of a long and alcohol-heavy night. If she didn’t blink, Kate waved from the corner. “We’re trying to stop the murders.”

“Uh-huh.” He did not sound too convinced, but at least he’d stopped yelling. He put out his cigarette, placed both hands back on his hips, towering over her. “How well do you know Carter?”

Joe’s eyes slipped shut. “He’s my ride or die.”

“That’s cute.” Her dad fished an unopened folder from the bottom of the file and brought out another picture. “You seen this before?”

Aware of her shaking hands, she took the photograph. It showed a Celtic-looking symbol, not one she was familiar with, carved into the floorboards of-

“The Hale house?”

“That’s right. Picture taken night after the ordeal with Kate Argent. See that symbol? It was first found in an excavation of Burnswark Hill. It’s linked to second-century _virgin sacrifices._ Now you see those red markings? That’s blood. Wanna know whose blood that is?”

There was no need to guess. Joe recognized the location as almost exactly where Peter had ripped Jimmy’s throat out. Virgin blood. “Jimmy.”

“That’s right. So this is not his first rodeo with druidism. Maybe you think you’re telling the truth here, but are you sure? Do you know _for a fact_ that he had nothing to do with this? Can you, without doubt, claim you know his whereabouts for when each of these murders took place? Or even one of them?”

Special Agent Rob Delgado was a good cop. Of course, he noticed her slight hesitation as she tried to think. Jimmy came and went as he pleased. She never questioned it.

“You say he’s found some magic formula to work out when and where the next killing takes place. Sounds convenient.” Her dad shrugged with a pull in his lip. “Easy to beat a rigged game, kid.”

To avoid crying anymore, and to keep herself from vomiting all over the table, she bit her lips together. Breathe. Just breathe.

“Do you,” she hesitated, but only for a second, “even know about Scott?”

“What?”

“You said before that when the Hale Alpha started retaliating, you stayed out of it. Let him have his vengeance, right?” Even through the thundering pulse of her own ears, she heard his annoyed intake of breath, obviously not getting the context. “Did you know the first thing this Hale Alpha tried to do was build a pack?”

“What’s this have to do with-” Her dad cut himself off and when she lifted her head to look at him, she saw the panic. “Scott.”

“Yeah. That’s why Kate came after Derek, you know, to get to Scott. And before that, Chris Argent almost shot him in the forest without asking questions first, if you know what I mean. Oh, and Gerard Argent tried to cut him in half with a broadsword. Just, you know, if you wanted some perspective on what happens if you just let the hunters _deal with it_.”

“Scott is a-”

“Yeah. And I’ll take that as a no, you didn’t know until now,” Joe almost whispered with a bitter laugh. “Which means you stayed under the same roof as a teenage werewolf with the general stealth of a newborn elephant for _weeks_ — and you never caught on? You didn’t figure it out? Maybe,” her voice rose, “you’re more biased than you like to think or your detective skills aren’t what you thought they were, Special Agent Delgado, and _maybe_ you can at least consider that you got the wrong guy because you do.”

Her dad shook his head, still not recovered from the revelation. “I’ll let the evidence decide that.”

“What are you doing to him?”

“Interrogating him, same as you. The cuffs hold enough current to keep him subdued without hurting him.” Dad shook his head again. “Despite what you might think, Joe, I don’t hate werewolves.”

They were both saved from answering when someone knocked on the door. The same man who’d asked if Joe needed to use the bathroom popped his head in with a whispering message to her dad. It was too low for her to hear and she wasn’t going to pretend to be interested. They’d probably found Mr. Westover.

“All right, thanks,” her dad said to the man who retreated again. He looked more contemplative than angry now. “Mel called, from the hospital.”

A sense of dread filled in her, filling her already somersaulting stomach with ice and spikes. Something had happened to Scott. Or Derek. Or any of the others.

“You know anyone of the name Cora Hale?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, and Papa Delgado who was doing so well too :(  
> To be fair though, Jimmy as the paranoid ACAB-guy he is should have known better than to just get a murder victim's blood all over him.  
> And Joe just throwing her cousin under the bus like that? Sheesh.
> 
> On a different note, I just have to say, **thank you so much for your comments!** Especially on the last chapter, you probably don't realize how much it means to me.
> 
> No shade to the readers at FFN, but let's just say you guys here on AO3 at least pretend to be interested in more than the romance part of the story (and I hope you genuinely are interested of course). Don't worry, Derek's back in the next chapter and Halegado is definitely endgame, but I kind of want to do justice to the other parts of the plot too and your comments give me the motivational boost I need to do so. Love hearing your theories and thoughts on what's going to happen ^^
> 
> Okay, so, thank you for reading as always, and as I just said, please leave a comment to let me know what you think. How is Joe gonna fare without Jimmy? Or is she gonna pull a prison break and get him out of there? Time will tell, the storm's not over yet...
> 
> Because you guys are awesome, next chapter's up on Saturday <3 Take care until then!


	77. The Storm III

_You’re right. She does look like her father._

Ten minutes.

He gave her ten minutes.

The sick feeling in her stomach did not subside by the time they made it to the hospital. Neither did it improve by the thought of Cora passing out like Aunt Mel had relayed over phone. The fight with Aiden had not been that hard; Joe had seen Cora take a way harder beating and being fine just minutes later. Hell, _she’d_ given Cora a harder beating than that without the girl having as much as a bruise afterward.

Her dad drove while Joe stared out the window, trying to keep her stomach contents inside. Throwing up would not make things any easier. It would not make Jimmy any less arrested. It would not make her father any less agitated.

“You okay, kid? Lookin’ a little green around the gills there.”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“I’m doin’ you a favor here,” her dad pointed out, but Joe kept her glare fixed at the moving scenery. “This Cora Hale, is she related to Derek?”

“You do _not_ ,” Joe bit out, “get to talk to me about Derek. Or anyone named Hale. In fact, you don’t get to talk to me about anything unless I have a lawyer present.”

“Oh, we’re playin’ that game, are we?”

“You arrested me, remember? So I’m taking the Fifth.”

“Is that so? You don’t want me to read you your Miranda Rights first?”

Joe scoffed. “Figured the _Special_ part of _Special_ Crimes Unit meant this was gonna go through a _special_ court of law, _Special_ Agent. How’s this work? You have _special_ judges too or do you just find someone sort of likely guilty and then take ‘em out back to _really_ take ‘em out?”

“Jesus, this took a dark turn fast,” he muttered and fumbled with his jacket when his cell-phone buzzed. “Believe it or not, kid, executin’ people isn’t part of the job description.”

“And if they don’t fit in your definition of people?”

Cell-phone in hand, his gaze flickered between her and the road. “I gotta take this.”

“I don’t care.”

He muttered a harsh swear before answering the phone. “Delgado. Talk to me.”

Not even pretending to listen, Joe huddled in her seat, feeling sicker by the second. Her dad ended the call and gave her a sharp order to let him know if he needed to pull over for her to throw up. Then his phone rang again. She ignored him. It would serve him right to get vomit all over his car.

The tension grew exponentially and she dashed out the second he pulled up outside the main entrance of Beacon Memorial.

_“Rob!”_ Sheriff Stilinski intercepted them when they came to the hospital. He barely glanced at Joe, so she guessed he wasn’t on the down-low with Jimmy’s arrest. “We got another one.”

“Jesus. Okay. You got ten minutes, kid,” her dad warned her as Aunt Mel took over, bringing her over to Cora’s room. He knew she wouldn’t run. Knew she wasn’t that stupid. This was a favor of immense proportions; she knew that too.

“Stiles brought her in here. Apparently she just passed out,” Aunt Mel explained rapidly. The hospital buzzed around them; people seemed more in a hurry than usual. With a lowered voice, Aunt Mel asked: “She’s like Scott, right? Any idea what could make her sick like this?”

Joe shook her head, not trusting herself to talk. She had no idea.

“Hey.” Aunt Mel paused in the hallway and put her hand on Joe’s sweaty forehead. “You don’t look too hot yourself. Are you okay? Is there some kind of,” she waved her arms out vaguely, “ _special_ stomach bug going around? I’m assuming you’re special too, I don’t know if you ever straight up told me. Just, sweetie, are you okay?”

“Dunno. I just think I had some bad milk before.”

“How are you breathing? Only, Cora’s got a lot of the same symptoms as Danny-”

“Danny the Lacrosse-goalie?” Joe asked with furrowed brows. He’d been the one to do a paper on the Telluric currents, but that was all she knew. “What happened to him?”

Before Aunt Mel could answer, another nurse with a drawn face rushed over and whispered in her ear.

“Yeah, listen,” Aunt Mel talked fast when the other nurse hurried away, “I gotta deal with this. The forecast is saying a storm’s coming and the management want us to prepare for worst-case scenario. Cora’s in the second room on the right here. I think Stiles is still in there, I gotta-”

“It’s fine, go,” Joe mumbled and Aunt Mel gave her a short grateful hug and followed the other nurse down the hall. Joe took a deep breath, steeling herself and hoping she could keep from throwing up just a little longer.

Nothing could have prepared her for seeing Cora in a hospital bed with a bandage wrapped around her head.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of Derek Hale sitting by the bed, clutching Cora’s hands with tears in his eyes. That look on his face... She was starting to know it as well as his angry scowl. The guilt so clearly evident, not diminished when Joe entered the room.

Stiles was nowhere to be seen and Joe froze momentarily in the doorway. For a second she worried Aunt Mel had tried to set her up, but she realized Derek had just gotten there himself. He averted his gaze, focusing on his sister and Joe managed to get her legs moving again.

“Why isn’t she healing?” Joe asked, already breathing hard at the sight. Automatically, her hand went to Cora’s, but touched the hard plastic of an IV-line instead. A werewolf with an IV-tube — the paradox made her stumble back into the other chair. The room span a bit when she sat down and tried to look at Derek across Cora’s limp body. “What’s wrong with her?”

His voice was rough as if he hadn’t talked in a while. “I don’t know.”

“What can make her sick like that?”

“I don’t know, Joe.”

Hearing him say her name did not improve her condition. Joe realized her own face was as sweaty as Cora’s, with baby hairs clinging to their temples in the same manner. Cora Hale, aged seventeen, was lying unconscious in a hospital bed with an Alpha on either side of her, one just as useless as the other. Kid had not been dealt an easy hand.

“Where have you been?” It was hard to not sound accusatory and he didn’t make it easier by not answering, just lowering his head in shame. “The Preserve? Really?” Joe swallowed gruffly. “Why?”

Again, he did not look at her. “I don’t know.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. “Well, what do you know, Derek? You know Cora and Boyd tried to take on Aiden today? Because they thought the Alphas got to you while you were apparently moping around in the woods?”

No answer, probably meaning that he didn’t know this either.

Joe clenched her fists together, hoping to stop them from shaking. “Do you know where Boyd is?”

“No.”

Joe had leaned forward in the chair without realizing it and now she slumped back, face muscles drawing into a harsh frown. Some pack. Erica dead, Jimmy in jail, Boyd missing, and Cora deathly sick.

“Do you know _anything?”_

His jaw tightened, flexing hard, probably to avoid biting back at her. He kept his eyes on Cora’s quiet form, still clutching her hand.

The coldness, the lethargy, everything rubbed Joe the wrong way. Her hands shook and she _knew_ she was not being rational, but she was _done_ being rational.

“Did you know I could feel it?” she asked, voice trembling as much as her hands. He did not look at her, but she was used to his signs by now. The tightening around his eyes, the flicker of a protruding vein on his neck. “When you and that English teacher got busy the night after your failed attack on Deucalion?”

Lack of sleep, Joe thought somewhere in the back of her mind. She had a tendency to become mean. She didn’t care.

“Did you know?” Joe pressed on when Derek didn’t say anything. The anger felt better than the worry; the fury better than the hurt. “I swear to God, Derek, if you don’t answer me-”

“Yes.”

He said it without looking at her, like she wasn’t there, like she was something unfortunate he had to deal with. Even now, she could feel his scent wafting over to her side, masked heavily with the bitter undertone. It was _her_ , she realized. She could smell _her_ on him.

His answer, although expected, made her feel even sicker. She swallowed and used the edge of her sleeve to wipe sweat from her top lip. “Then why-” Her voice broke and she hated feeling like this. Hated feeling weak. Pathetic. “Why would you do that?”

Derek’s bright eyes were shiny, but he still didn’t look at her.

“I’m guessing you know how to control that too?” Her tight voice had venom dripping from every syllable. “Answe-”

“Yes.”

The short, clipped answers ignited the flame inside of her. That hot tight ball of betrayal and anger and pain, twisting and turning inside of her. She already felt sick; now she felt rotten.

“You’re a lot of things, Derek, but I never thought you were cruel.” It took everything she had to keep her voice as steady as possible, to keep the tears from falling. Her whole face was tight, holding on to whatever control she had left. “How could you do that to me? Like that?”

“I don’t-” Derek’s eyes were unfocused, staring into thin air. He shook his head weakly. “I don’t know. I swear, _I don’t_ know.”

“I know I’m not the best at taking hints,” Joe choked out, not really listening to him, “and I thought you were just pushing me away because of the vault and that you felt guilty, but couldn’t you just have shown me those texts? Or had the common decency of giving me a heads-up that I had the wrong idea?”

Hands shaking so goddamn much and she hated it. Hated him. Hated herself.

“Or had the common decency to keep it in your pants until you were strong enough to control the connection,” she continued, her strained tone vibrating, “when I had spent the last _eighteen_ hours keeping you alive? Taking as much pain as I could while still looking for you?” Nostrils flared, temples drawn up high, maintaining the stone-faced expression as if her life depended on it. It hurt, but not as much as everything else. “While Cora and I tried to find you? While Scott couldn’t even heal because he thought you were dead?”

Still no reaction other than a continued tightening of his own face, eyes quivering with the effort of looking at Cora’s bedsheet and not her. And that tight ball inside of Joe kept on turning, desperate to get _any_ reaction from him.

Joe tilted her head, baring her teeth in a thin slit. “You know how sick it made me feel? How sick it still makes me feel? Like I can never get clean enough, never scrub hard enough, like I have this constant layer of filth just inside my skin?” she hissed, leaning a few inches forward as if to jam the facts into Derek’s head. “You know I had Jimmy knock me unconscious in the end because nothing else worked?”

If she had not been glaring at him, she would have missed the single tear dripping from his right eye. The slight ripple going through his nose, all the signs of him holding onto his composure with equal strength as her. Equals. She wanted him to fight back. To say _something_ , anything, even an angry unthoughtful reply. Anything instead of this bitter self-loathing written all over his face.

“You know why I don’t sleep? It’s not because of nightmares or hypervigilance, it’s because,” she gave a bitter laugh, noting grimly the tears dripping, “I have this obsessive compulsion of keeping the pain to my side at all times now, to the extent that I don’t think I _can_ let go if I tried.”

That thought — that soppy mentality — nearly made her retch, something that would undoubtedly make her vomit right now. She would not, could not, and downright refused to throw up in front of him. Not if he could not even look at her. The scream rose in her throat alongside the bile, a harsh demand for him to do _anything_ , at least _look at her!_

The internal scream died the same second his eyes flickered to her. Wide green eyes, wide with fear and hurt and guilt — and she wanted him to feel it, feel just as bad as she had when she thought he died. And it hurt _her_ how much she wanted to hurt _him_ because she still loved him and that hurt her too.

“Joe, I’m- I’m sorry,” he almost whispered and she saw his knuckles turned white from clutching Cora’s hand tightly. The silent tears ran into his beard, grown thicker than usual from his time in the woods doing who-knows-what. “About everything. I don’t know,” he almost flinched at his own wording, as if aware of how repeated the phrase was, “why I did it or how it happened. I just know I’m sorry it did.”

“Yeah,” Joe said breathlessly and tried to find a dry spot on her sleeve to wipe her tears. “Me too.” Her hand shook as she used her flat palm to indicate Cora. “You can’t bail again, Derek, because if you do then _I_ have to be her Alpha and she doesn’t deserve that. Neither did Erica, but that’s too late, so you _have_ to stay.”

It felt like her stomach was going to burst straight open at his expression. It was beyond guilt; it was anguish. If he was going to say something, he never got the chance as someone knocked gently on the open doorway.

_“Time’s up, kid.”_

“I’ll be right there,” Joe said and got up from the chair without looking away from Derek, gut revolting and legs swaying. Sweat dripped down from her face when she leaned over Cora’s bed, but she was beyond caring. “I’ll be MIA for a while because I’m arrested for the sacrifices that’s been happening.” She hesitated, hating these stupid morals. “Did Jimmy ever reach you?”

Derek shook his head, looking as sick as her.

“Yeah, okay, the newest pattern is teachers and there’s still one victim left so, you know, warn your girlfriend or something.” Joe straightened up with a shrug. “There was no correlation between those two statements, by the way, I haven’t sacrificed anyone and I’m not gonna start now.”

Turning on her heel, she left him there next to Cora’s unconscious body. If she tried, she could pretend she hadn’t seen the lines of tears down his face. If she tried, she could ignore those same lines on her own cheeks.

“You okay?” her dad asked when she emerged out in the hallway, using the already wet sleeves of her sweatshirt to wipe at her face, covered in both salty sweat and tears. The handkerchief materialized, and Dad handed it to her wordlessly. She supposed her face answered his question better than she could with words and since he apparently knew all about werewolves, he knew better than to pry with Derek so close by. “Come on, kid, I’m takin’ you over to Mel’s place.”

Every step felt like a loop in the roller coaster, a feeling of weightlessness and imbalance like she was falling down the hospital corridor instead of walking. Like someone had attached balloons to her feet, keeping her from hitting the ground properly.

“Aunt Mel’s?” she asked, hearing how weak her own voice was. “Why not the station?”

“Timeline’s not addin’ up, Westover was alive when those who found him got there.” It sounded like he was talking through a fishbowl. “You’re not off the hook just yet, but I’m not flaggin’ you as a flight risk. Don’t disappoint me now.”

“You’re gonna let Jimmy go?” she slurred and tried to blink to keep the other people in the corridor from duplicating. A rush to her stomach told her she keeled over.

Her dad caught her with razor-sharp reflexes. “Whoa, hey, kid, you okay?”

“Feelin’ sick,” she admitted. Her dad spun her around to place her in a chair, but Joe closed her eyes as the motion made her seasick. Bile rose in her throat and she gagged rancid air into her mouth, keeping it in, barely. “Oof.”

Her dad’s hands held her upright. “Hang on, hang on, lemme get you a bucket or som- _hey! A little help here?”_

Too late. Feeling the onrush, she pushed her dad away and leaned forward to throw up. It hit the floor in a wet splash and she vaguely heard people yelp and move away.

A faint hint of something bitter lingered in her mouth and she shuddered when her tongue found a chunk still left. Damage already done, she dribbled it out onto the floor. The small white bead that fell out joined in with the rest of the porridge-looking lump mixed with black ooze. Black ooze that looked a lot like what Derek threw up that one time at the clinic.

“Okay, okay, hang on, Joe, here ya go.”

Someone shoved a bucket into her hands, just in time for the next round. Joe was not a sympathetic vomiter, but just the sound of the liquid — well, mostly liquid — slopping into the bucket made her sick all over again. It kept coming, like her body fighting for dear life to expel whatever she’d gotten into her system.

Her dad apologized to the nursing staff; she vaguely noticed him help clean it up using paper towels to get the solid matter as one of the hospital cleaners went to get a mop.

“Blast from the past this,” he said while down on the floor. Her dad, in his FBI-jacket, leather shoes and slacks, was on his knees cleaning up her puke. His tone was light however, like it had always been when she got sick, as if his good mood could counteract how bad she felt. He sounded mildly disgusted as well. “Kid, I gotta ask you somethin’ and I need you to be honest with me.”

Her body convulsed when the next mouthful splashed out of her. “Wha’?”

“Are you pregnant?”

“What?” She dry-heaved, but nothing came up this time. “No!”

“Okay, I had to ask, ‘cause this looks _exactly_ like what your mother would throw up every damn day she was pregnant with you.”

Despite it all, this made Joe laugh into the bucket. It had been over a decade last time he talked about her mother like that. Before Joe started asking too many questions, he’d referenced her almost daily. Saying things like: ‘That’s just how your mother looked when she wasn’t happy’ or ‘You got her mouth, kiddo, but not her nose’. That last one was actually funnier now.

“I begged her to see an OB-GYN about it,” he continued and deposited the soiled paper in a small trash bag he’d procured from somewhere. “She was, uh, big on alternative medicine. Her friend said it was perfectly normal, however, so we rode it out. Tough as nails, your mom was. Just like you.”

Eyes watering, Joe peered at her dad, questions building inside of her, but the next round of vomit prevented her from asking. “ _Blergh_.”

“Funny,” he said again as he studied the content of the paper towel with a grimace. “She had this same kind of white berry-looking stuff in her system too. You been snacking on unripe blueberries or somethin’?”

“Dad, you need-” Joe said as dribble from her lips landed on the edge of the bucket. “Need to-” She heaved as yet more bile came up and landed in the now sloshing liquid in the bucket.

Her dad came to sit in the chair next to her and rubbed her back. “Okay, kid, just take it easy. Jesus, you’re tremblin’ like a leaf.” More focused on the bucket, Joe only noticed the warmth from her dad draping his FBI-windbreaker jacket over her. “You’re sure you’re not-”

“I’m not fucking pregnant,” Joe mumbled, throat burning from the stomach acid. The contradicting feelings made her dizzy all over again. It shouldn’t be possible to love and hate someone so much at the same time. “Dad, you said-” She coughed into her mouth, but didn’t puke this time. “You said if I had two heads, you’d buy me two hats. What,” her voice shook, “what would you buy me if I had glowing eyes? A wolfsbane bullet?”

She felt her dad’s hand still on her back, but not pulling away.

“I know about Mom. What she is.” Joe turned her head sideways to avoid breathing in the pungent fumes from the bucket still in her lap. “Did you? Is that why you- did you do something to- did you try to make me human?”

His brows were pulled down into a familiar frown, but she felt his hand slowly rubbing her back as he thought. “Yeah, I knew.” Before Joe could contemplate the sinking feeling inside of her, Dad cracked a half-smile. “And if I didn’t know before, there wasn’t much doubt left after your birth.” The smile fell, and he sighed, still massaging her back. “I knew, kid, I knew. Knew there was a fifty-fifty chance you’d take more after your mom than me in the genome-department.”

Another round of dry-heaving, and Joe spat the foul taste out of her mouth. “That’s why mom left, right? Because I took more after you?”

His eyebrows rose. “Kid, I’m not an expert on this, but as far as I know, it’s impossible to tell what someone’s gonna be when they’re that young. Maybe you’ll see some signs before, but most of the actual powers don’t manifest until puberty.”

That matched what Derek had told her once, but not what Joe had imagined happened between her parents. Or what she imagined her dad had done. “Then why did she leave?”

“Joe, your mom... I already told you, she had a hard pregnancy and, unfortunately, it didn’t get much better after you were born. The postpartum-stuff was tough on her. She had trouble with the breastfeeding, which according to Mel is a common thing, but I suppose your mom took it as a personal failure. You were losing weight, throwing up and getting sick, and when I finally convinced her to try formula, you got better almost immediately and that only added insult to injury, I suppose. In her state, she took it as a sign she wasn’t supposed to be a mom. Maybe she also got it into her head that it meant you were human, I don’t know.”

Joe tried to match this up with what she already knew. Nothing made sense.

“When your mom left, I knew there was still a chance you’d turn when you became old enough. I researched my ass of trying to prepare — in some roundabout way, that’s how I ended up in this unit in the first place.”

“But you... I never... what?”

“Kid, if you had glowing eyes, I’d buy you a,” he seemed to search for an idea, “lunar calendar or somethin’. One of those squeaky toys shaped like a bone. Industrial-strength nail file, maybe,” he chuckled at his own joke before turning serious again, “but not a wolfsbane bullet. Not for you, not for Scott, not for your mom. I don’t hunt werewolves, kid. I hunt criminals, it’s just that some of ‘em happen to be werewolves.

Something wasn’t right here. Something was not adding up.

Before she could gather up her thoughts, rapid footsteps came down the hallway. From Joe’s point of view, she only saw the bottom of some khaki trousers and work boots. Sheriff Stilinski, as confirmed by his hasty words: “Rob, I got a lead. We gotta go.” He must have sensed her dad would protest as he added, leaving no room for argument: “Now.”

“All right,” her dad said and patted Joe’s back. “We’ll talk about this later, kid, I promise.”

“ _Rob!”_

Dad rose to follow Sheriff Stilinski and Joe could hear his work-persona taking over. “Mel, keep an eye on her, would ya? _Gracia', gracia'_ ,” his voice drifted down the hall, “I love you both, I gotta go.”

Aunt Mel’s sensible working shoes came into view, and Joe heard her scoff. “As if I’m not always keeping an eye on you. You feeling any better, sweetie?” Her aunt’s hand felt cool on her forehead when she brushed some of Joe’s curls away. Aunt Mel stepped aside next to Joe’s chair when the cleaner came with his mop. “Hi, Fred, thank you.”

“ _Nurse McCall to the front desk. Nurse McCall to the front desk.”_

Aunt Mel sighed. “Sorry, things are crazy tonight. Hang in there, it’ll only be a second. I’ll get you some water too.”

Before Joe could say it was okay, Aunt Mel already left. Not that Joe was alone, the hospital was always full of people and she tried to smile apologetically to the cleaner who mopped up.

Still with the bucket in her lap, her back flexed as she retched, but nothing came up. To distract from the tense rollings of her stomach, she watched the mop wipe away all the remaining evidence of her mishaps. A single white bead kept escaping through the mop though.

Unripe blueberries.

Shit.

“Sorry, so sorry,” Joe said and put the bucket to the side so she could get up. Normally she would not have left someone else in charge of a bucketful of her stomach contents. “I’m really sorry!”

Dodging patients and staff, she made her way back to Cora’s room. Mouth already open to shout, it snapped shut when she saw the one attending to Cora was not Derek, but Peter.

“Where is he?” she asked, hand coming up self-consciously to wipe away any excess black drool. Her eyes darted around the room as if expecting to see Derek hiding behind the curtains. Her initial revelation halted, she felt instead the hard pit of icy realization. “He left?”

“He got a call-”

“From who?”

Peter winced. “From Scott, it was about some teacher, a Miss Blake?”

“He left Cora for _her?”_

“He asked me to look after Cora,” Peter corrected, hands up in a calming manner, “which I am. Apparently it was some kind of emergency.” His open friendly face, that of a cartoon-drawn snake, met hers with worry. “Are you okay? You look a little pale, if you don’t mind me sa-”

“Mistletoe!” she half-shouted, the anger felt when talking with Derek earlier returning tenfold and writhing into her veins. She realized her hand shook, and she quickly put it down, noting how his gaze followed. Even if Derek allowed himself to be distracted, she couldn’t. Not right now. “Mistletoe, it’s poisonous, right? Not just for humans?” She nodded towards the limp and pale Cora, looking worse than when she saw her less than thirty minutes ago. “Could it be mistletoe that’s affecting her?”

“Yes. It’s highly poisonous,” Peter said carefully as if he was trying to work her angle. “Even more so for werewolves. Why do-”

Not bothering to listen, Joe had already turned to run out of there. Things were falling into place and she was running out of time. Jimmy was immune to wolfsbane because of exposure. And what happens at hospitals? People survive.

“Hey!” Aunt Mel’s voice boomed when Joe passed the front desk. “Where do you think you’re going? Aren’t you technically under arrest?”

Joe span on her heel, pulling the FBI-jacket tighter around her. “Aunt Mel! Listen, seven years ago, there was a freak happening here-”

“With crows killing themselves by the dozen?” Aunt Mel finished for her. Glancing surreptitiously sideways, she pulled out a folder from under the desk and opened it to Joe. “Sheriff Stilinski had me look this up.” Her lips stretched in a sideways grin at Joe’s expression. “These are the same files you wanted, right? Know who she is?”

Wide-eyed, Joe took a step forward and stared at the report. It listed the name as ‘Jane Doe’, but a small photograph showed a familiar-looking, slightly dumpy face with mousy brown hair. It was her.

“Okay, you have to call Dad,” Joe said and grabbed a notepad on the desk, scribbling hastily. “ _This_ is her real name.” Joe stabbed her finger into the pad. “Tell him that, he’ll understand. I have to go, I have to find Jimmy.”

“Okay, but Joe- _Joe!_ ”

Too little time, Joe couldn’t stop. Cora needed help — and Derek had left her.

A baleful wind had picked up outside, but it had the right direction and gave her speed as she ran downtown in the quickly darkening night.

Tightening the FBI-jacket around her, she barged into the Sheriff’s station. It was alive with stressed deputies and phones ringing all over the place.

_“Excuse me, ma’am, I need to see some ID, that’s restricted area, you can’t- ma’am!”_

Joe ignored the deputy working the front desk and ran down the hallway to the interrogation rooms. Both doors were ajar — empty. Instinctively, she turned to the office her dad had used this summer, but it looked cleared out as well.

“Ma’am!”

A hand clamped over her forearm and she yanked it lose. “Where’s Special Agent Delgado? Or- or any of the other FBI-agents? They had someone in custody, James Carter, I have to talk to him, I have to-”

“Ma’am,” the deputy repeated, and she realized the jacket was the only thing saving her from being arrested. This was a new guy, one who didn’t know her. “You can’t be back here!”

“Where are all the agents? Where is-”

“Prisoner transport picked up Mr. Carter an hour ago,” the deputy explained calmly, but Joe could see more people milling down the hall, ready to intervene. “Far as I know, all the agents left with it. If you’d take a seat out front, I can try reaching Agent Delgado.”

“Prisoner transport?” Joe repeated, and she stumbled back, still dizzy and sweating worse than ever. “Where would they take him? County? State?”

“Federal transport, that’s all I know. Ma’am, please, come sit down and-”

Joe shook her head. “No. No, no, no, no, you don’t understand, I need to talk to him, I need him, I-” Both hands came up, raking through her damp curls, trying to bring air into her skull. “Where’s Sheriff Stilinski?”

For some reason, the deputy flinched as he steered Joe back towards the front without touching her. “That’s something we’d all like to know.” More phones rang and Joe got the sense of general panic in the station. “Ma’am, can I get you some water?”

“No!” Joe’s voice cracked, and she gritted her teeth, hating the new tears dripping from her eyes. “No, I don’t want water, I want Jimmy Carter. I need Jimmy, you don’t get it, I’m not- I don’t know what to do without him.”

How many hours now? Over forty at least. Too many.

“Okay, if you just take a seat, I’ll try calling Agent Delgado,” the deputy said, but Joe shook her head.

Could she trust her dad? Could she trust anyone? Could she even trust herself? At least it meant her dad was out of town — safely away from Joe and the other Alphas.

The deputy kept talking, but Joe wasn’t listening. The sound of _“Ma’am? Ma’am!”_ followed her out of the station, but she was already running again.

The Darach had poisoned Cora. Probably Joe too. And she was not facing her empty-handed, so Joe rushed to the apartment, silently hoping to find Jimmy there. Even if it meant he had torn apart a handful of federal agents to escape. No such luck. It was empty. The agents had cleared out, sealing the apartment door shut with tape that Joe pushed through with no effort.

“Can you believe that he just left her?”

“Shut up.” The order came without thinking, an old habit hard to quit, when Kate’s astonished question arose from a dark corner in Joe’s bedroom. Joe’s sweater was covered in bile and she wrenched it off. Hot and sweaty, she took everything off.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the view,” Kate drawled, laying down on the bed. “But why are you bothering with a wardrobe change? Cora’s dying and you’re worried about appearances?”

“There’s such a thing as dignity,” Joe answered and slipped on a pair of running tights and a sports bra. She put the FBI-jacket over. Movement. She was not facing anyone reeking of vomit and stale sweat without the full ability to move.

“Wow, things are really going great for the two of you.” Kate’s voice followed her as she made her way to the bathroom. The bathroom vent was untouched; the agents must have rushed their search of the place. Good old Jimmy, she thought, always a few steps ahead. Kate kept talking: “So much for that powerful new pack.”

“Shut up.”

Joe tried to think, tried to plan, tried to be like Jimmy. It failed. She needed him. And he was gone. Because of Dad.

Think, think, think.

“One beta arrested, one in a coma, one driven away, and one dead by your own hands,” Kate listed and made an impressed gesture. “Yeah, you got this one down, babe. How many hours are we at now? Since you last slept? Forty-seven? Forty-eight? That’s typically when the hallucinations start, right?”

“Shut up.”

Okay, she had a weapon and felt marginally better for that. She did not have a plan. Help Cora was a plan, but it was flawed. Find Derek was another plan, even more flawed. She needed more answers. Needed help. Joe realized she was pacing the dark apartment, the slider of the gun pressed against her forehead in case she suddenly needed to shoot the ceiling. Think, think, she needed to think.

“He left her! Again! Even when you begged him not to!” Kate yelled now, as Joe kept pacing. “Just like he left her and Boyd for several days!”

Didn’t look at her. Didn’t acknowledge her. The thing about hallucinations is that they don’t need acknowledgment. Don’t need encouragement, because they know exactly what you’re thinking.

“He left Cora because of Miss _Blake_. And he couldn’t even look at you before. He’s ‘sorry it happened’? What kind of bullshit excuse is that? What happens next time he loses control? Are you gonna be popping mountain ash pills for the rest of your life?”

“Shut up, shut up,” Joe mumbled, tapping the cool metal of the gun against her sweat-slick skin. Jimmy, she needed Jimmy, but breaking him out would be suicide even if she could find him.

“He didn’t even have the decency to break up with you! And you know why? Who am I kidding? Of course you know why. There’s no point to break up with you. He _can’t_ break up with you, not even if he tried. He’s bound to you as much as you’re bound to him. And there’s only _one_ way to break it.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

“He’s the reason you’re an Alpha in the first place! He made that choice, not you! It’s _his_ fault you got kidnapped, it’s _his_ fault you killed Erica, it’s _his_ fault Cora’s sick!”

“No, that’s not- shut up. Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

“Three months of pain and torture! Three months of pain and torture while he was getting busy with Little Miss Pencil Skirt! He told you he knew how to control it. He _knows_ how to hold back. You wouldn’t know. You wouldn’t know if he was getting his rocks off while you were getting your bones crushed!”

“SHUT UP!” Joe screamed and fired at Kate’s face. The bullet tore through the drywall, going through Kate like it was air — because it was — and for several seconds Joe’s ear rang with a high-pitched whine. Her chest heaved, already sweating through her jacket, and she forced herself to take her finger off the trigger.

_“Joe?”_

Gun up, Joe span around and found a familiar blonde figure at the end of the barrel. “Erica?” The girl looked more like when Joe had first encountered her a lifetime ago, with her hair made up in loose ringlets and her makeup emphasizing her larger-than-life eyes. Eyes that were widened when faced with her. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, I’m supposed to get a status report from Jimmy every day,” Erica explained, mouth twisting and working even when not saying anything. Modestly dressed by her standards, in just jeans and a knitted sweater that only grazed her curves instead of hugging them. “I didn’t hear anything and I worried something had happened.”

Her breaths came in small shivers, and Joe realized Erica’s eyes flickered to the gun repeatedly.

Or at least the hand holding it. The trembles were back with vengeance and Joe could nearly hear the bullets rattle inside the grip of the gun. Joe looked at her hand, forcing her aim slowly away from Erica. “You’re not real.”

“I’m real, I promise.”

“No, no, no, you’re not because I killed you,” Joe mumbled, eyes almost slipping shut from the pain of just looking at her. “I did exactly what they wanted and I’m hallucinating you because I feel so guilty I want to kill myself only I can’t because I’m the only one Cora’s got and isn’t that the most tragic thing you’ve ever heard?”

Erica’s lips quivered. “Joe, I’m real, I’m here. Let me help you. What’s going on?”

“Don’t you see the pattern?” Joe laughed and stumbled back in the apartment that still bore signs of the raid earlier. “You’re only here when I’m not sleeping! The second I started to feel better, you were gone. A Plan B _?_ Really?” She gestured more at herself than Erica. “Classic coping mechanism. Like the mental equivalent of telling your kids you sent the half-crazy dog they got for Christmas that no one had the time to look after to live on a nice farm somewhere.”

Now Erica only stared.

“You should leave,” Joe said and licked her dry lips. “Come on, get out. Out of my head or the apartment, I don’t care.”

“No, I’m not leaving you,” Erica insisted and took a hesitant step into the apartment. Despite her bravado, she faltered when Joe only aimed the gun down to the floor. “I’m _real_ , Joe.”

“You have to leave, anyway! Don’t you get it? Because either you’re a hallucination and I already have one of those going on at the moment, thank you very much, or you’re actually here in the flesh, which means I can hurt you because I’m not doing too good mentally right now. I’m losing it, Erica, I’m not safe to be around.”

Because even now, Erica’s face morphed into someone else. Even now, Joe already replaced her with Kate.

“Leave,” Joe said slowly, in a voice so dark it did not sound like her own. “Find Boyd and leave. Get out of town. Find a new pack, like you were planning to. Just please, _please_ get away from me so I can’t hurt you.”

“But you’re my-”

“I never wanted to be an Alpha! I never wanted to be _anyone’s_ Alpha!” Joe screamed and only her father’s insistent voice of _trigger discipline trigger discipline_ in her head kept her from shooting up the floorboards. “Okay? So get out! Leave! Don’t look back! Find someone who can protect you because I can’t!”

A sweet voice whispered in her ear. “I think you’re gonna have to be a bit more persuasive, babe.”

“Erica,” Joe said slowly and raised the gun again, both hands coming around the grip. “Leave. Now.”

Large hazel eyes, wide with fear, stared at her defiantly. Not moving, Erica remained in the doorway. Stupid instincts. Joe hated this.

_“GET OUT!”_ she roared, her voice layered with something foreign and animal. The remnants of coffee in a cup trembled. She knew her eyes flashed, knew the color they became. _“LEAVE!”_

In one motion, she pulled back the slider, chambered a bullet, and fired into the door frame. Too late, thank God, as Erica had already fled.

Sobbing, Joe collapsed on the floor, gun still in hand. Ten seconds. Ten seconds and you get up because you _have to._ Don’t panic. _Panic is your enemy._ Cops would be here soon, or neighbors, or the goddamn fire brigade.

Function. You have a function. You have _to_ function.

With the gun tucked into her waistband, Joe dashed out of the apartment and out on the dark streets of nighttime Beacon Hills. There was a storm coming.

This time there was no tunnel vision when heading into the apartment complex. Despite Kate’s pestering all the way over, Joe found her mind clear when she entered the building and headed for the elevator. She’d made her decision. No longer hanging on by a thread; she’d let go and there was freedom in free-falling like this.

Breath steady, unsure of what she would find, she headed for the top floor. As expected, the door was open.

“Good, you’re here,” said Kali, slithering off the same chaise lounge she had laid on when Joe last came here. “I worried I would have to come to find you.” Her eyes trailed over Joe. “Nice jacket.”

What did that mean? Had they expected her? Ten steps ahead, Joe reminded herself. Deucalion probably banked on it. He wasn’t here. There was no one else in the penthouse as far as Joe could tell, but her senses weren’t equal to these guys. Didn’t matter. Didn’t matter if they heard. Joe had nowhere else to go.

“The Darach,” Joe said and tried to sound strong. “I know who she is. I’ll tell you on one condition.”

“I’m not usually the negotiator, Sefina.” The side of Kali’s mouth drew upwards in a satisfied smile. “But go ahead, name your price.”

“Cora Hale lives. The Darach poisoned her. Help me save her and let her go, then I’ll...” Joe trailed off, still not angry enough to say the specific words. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Really? Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“I’m ready,” Joe said, keeping her voice neutral and steady.

“Not sure if I believe you. Why do you think we care about some dark druid, anyway?”

“I think Deucalion would do wise to worry about someone who’s willing to sacrifice fifteen people to exact revenge. And,” Joe hesitated for a second, “I suppose it’s personal for you.”

“Why?” Kali asked with a tilt of her head. “Because she used to be my Emissary?” A hard pit dropped in Joe’s stomach. They knew. Ten steps ahead. “Don’t look so shocked, Sefina, I’m able to connect the same dots as you. I knew the teacher seemed familiar that time at Derek’s loft. She looks different now, but her scent was still the same. I just couldn’t place it.”

“What?” Joe gasped and took an involuntary step backward. “What teacher?”

Kali’s brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You mean you didn’t know? Apparently she calls herself Jennifer Blake now. That’s not her actual name, she used to be-”

“Julia Baccari,” Joe whispered. Inside of her, puzzle pieces were clanging into place with deafening booms. “The crows. First for survival, then for appearance. That means Derek’s working with her?”

Trembling like an aspen leaf, Joe watched Kali walk gracefully towards her with slow movements, claws clicking on the floor. “Here you come thinking you have all the answers,” Kali whispered and tucked a curl behind Joe’s ear, “and you don’t even know the right questions.”

When Joe said nothing, her voice too far back in her throat to become unstuck, Kali continued: “No, _mon bébé_ , poor Derek is not working with her. If anything, I suppose you could say he’s working _for_ her, but I doubt it’s by choice.”

“How- how do you know that? How can I be sure?”

Without breaking eye-contact, Kali put something into Joe’s unresisting hands.

Joe looked down. Her phone.

Her old phone, last seen at the diner several months ago. It seemed funny to her that Kali would have had to charge it, as its battery was almost full and it turned on without issues. Joe kept glancing up, awaiting any further comment from Kali, but the woman was gliding over the floor back to the chaise lounge.

Her hands shook, but Joe managed to read briefly through the familiar messages with Scott, the ones she had screenshots of. Several unread messages from her dad, a few from various contacts — like Alex, asking for her address to forward the wedding invitation — and then from Derek. That took a while and Kali never said another word. Joe read them again. Swallowed, looked away, read them once more.

Finally, heart beating hard, she found the strength to turn off the phone and held it by her side. “This isn’t proof of anything, it doesn’t matter.”

Kali sounded like Kate when she drawled. “Really?”

“This is from before, before I-”

“That pathetically sweet attempt at courtship was sent less than twenty-four hours before you ran away.”

Before. That was the key-word. Before. Even as much as she resisted, Joe could not help to consider the implications. Derek never had a choice, did he? He _never_ had a choice.

“As I’ve said, the mate bond is strong. Powerful.” Kali pushed back onto her feet and rested her weight on one hip. She wore a tank top with a cut-off denim vest over it. “It would take something equally powerful to surpass it, to make him ignore it. Something like,” Kali’s face stretched in a lazy grin and held up her clawed painted fingers to show the number, “three sacrificed virgins.”

It fit. Everything fit. The timing, the order of sacrifices, the motive... Even Hallucinate-Kate had connected the dots before Joe. So many pieces falling into place.

“The spell she’s cast on him is strong, as you’ve undoubtedly noticed.”

Joe’s memory flashed to the rooftop where she’d told Kali everything — everything — after the painful howl. “His scent... It’s been off since I came back, I thought it was because of me.”

“Oh Sefina,” Kali said, almost pitying. “I suppose it’s not your fault you don’t know these things. But if someone’s scent is _off_ , the problem is usually with them.”

Not really listening, Joe nodded. “How do I break the spell?”

“You’re the expert on these kinds of things.” Kali grinned again. “You tell me how spells are usually broken.”

Mouth dry and mind racing, Joe found herself nodding again. “I have to kill her?” More pieces were falling into place. “Which coincides neatly with your plans, right?”

“Sometimes coincidences are just coincidences.”

No, Joe thought, but kept her mouth shut. They weren’t. Everything was connected. This didn’t start seven years ago, it started twenty-three years ago.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

A smirk replaced the grin and Kali tilted her head the other way, a beautiful tigress despite the proclamation to be a wolf. Joe stared at Kali’s satisfied face, realizing _she_ did not know all the questions either.

“I’ll do it,” Joe repeated, and recalled the mistletoe and her dad’s words. The woman in the medical report Aunt Mel had shown her did not look like Jennifer Blake, but it looked exactly like the woman in the Polaroid from Joe’s birth.

So Derek and Cora aside, Joe was also going to kill Blake for what she had done to Kali.

* * *

**Bonus: The Texts**

[May 6th 2011 3:44 PM]

Lobito: Drive safe.

[May 8th 2011 1:32 PM]

Lobito: Tried calling you. Call me back when possible.

[May 10th 2011 7:01 PM]

Lobito: Pick up.

[May 20th 2011 08:00 AM]

Lobito: Tried calling you again. Are you okay?

[May 25th 2011 6:15 PM]

Lobito: Heard from Scott you’re going south. Travel safe. Call me?

[June 6th 2011 12:00 PM]

Lobito: This is getting stupid. Please answer your phone.

[June 19th 2011 9:32 PM]

Lobito: Pick up. Please.

[June 22nd 2011 6:08 PM]

Lobito: Tried calling you again. Are you busy?

[June 22nd 2011 6:12 PM]

Lobito: Did you block my number?

[July 03rd 2011 09:02 PM]

Lobito: Are you okay? Please answer.

[July 20th 2011 1:02 AM]

Lobito: Hope you are well. Can we please talk?

[July 20th 2011 2:41 AM]

Lobito: I’m not angry, just please answer me. Are you okay?

[August 1st 2011 12:40 PM]

Lobito: I miss you. I don’t care where you are or what you’re doing, I just need to know you’re okay. Please text me back.

[August 15th 2011 10:31 PM]

Lobito: Hey

[August 15th 2011 10:32 PM]

Lobito: I have tried to write this for several days now. Actually, I have tried writing this for over a week. That is why I haven’t sent you anything for a while, although I’m not sure if you noticed or even read my messages. Not that it matters if you read this. I tried to make this perfect and couldn’t. There is so much I want to say and the boundaries of the English language are forever constricting. Nor am I a skilled writer, despite being an avid reader. I’ve tried to read to find inspiration for this; to find a phrase or a sentence that could capture even a fragment of what I wanted to say. And in the thousands upon thousands of words I read, nothing sounded like what I felt.

[August 15th 2011 10:51 PM]

Lobito: You would think humans had invented words strong enough to describe feelings, but I’m finding it just as elusive as trying to describe scent to someone without a heightened sense of smell. Humans can never know the full extent of how something smells and wolves never need to find words to describe it.

[August 15th 2011 10:58 PM]

Lobito: There is no describing a scent using words. A scent goes beyond what humans typically can imagine. There is taste, texture, colors, and sensations that surpass any attempt of capturing them in the mere 26 letters the alphabet offers. And yet, I will try to describe your scent as it is to me, because even that is easier than putting words to my feelings.

[August 15th 2011 11:27 PM]

Lobito: The first word I can use is hot. Not warm, but blistering. Hot like midday August in Little Italy, where there’s no choice but to remain impassive with the only alternative being melting. Like standing on scorching pavement bathing in the relentless rays from the sun. Like coming up from the sea and being hit by the intense desert winds. You smell like explosive fire, volcanoes, and unwavering bedrock. You smell like getting in a warm bath after going through a blizzard in the dead of winter.

[August 16th 2011 12:02 AM]

Lobito: You smell calm. Like fresh flowers after spring rain, put in a favorite vase. Like coffee roasted with vanilla, ready when you get out of bed. Like a wave that can drown you, but with a current that keeps you afloat. You smell like a whisper in your ear, a promise on your lips, and a smile in your eyes.

[August 16th 2011 12:08 AM]

Lobito: And you smell strong, most of all. Head-turning, powerful, and addictive. Like gunpowder ignited and the kick of a rifle. Here is where words fail me again, because there is no comparison worthy. You are the strongest person I have ever met, Joe, and I hope I can be your equal in that respect.

[August 16th 2011 12:19 AM]

Lobito: I hope you will let me be your equal. There are many things I wish I would have done differently since meeting you. While I have never lied to you, I know now I should have been honest. In my fear of losing you, I acted in such a manner that this was exactly what I achieved. I do not expect you to forgive me because of simple words, but I am asking you for a chance to prove myself.

[August 16th 2011 12:51 AM]

Lobito: The mate bond connects us, Joe, but it does not control us. The mate bond ends exactly where our feelings begin. It is _how_ I have fallen so ridiculously for you, not _why_. The why is all you. And while I don’t have all the answers to your questions, I know that I have never felt anything like this for anyone else. And if I’m honest, that terrifies me. It scares me more than anything else I can think of, except the thought of never seeing you again.

[August 16th 2011 12:53 AM]

Lobito: This is the only quote I found that described anything close to how I feel right now. It is the brilliant Vita Sackville-West in her letter to Virginia Woolf: ‘I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way.’

[August 16th 2011 12:54 AM]

Lobito: That was it, Joe. A long way of saying that I miss you and please consider coming back when you’re ready. I will wait for you, regardless.

[August 16th 2011 12:55 AM]

Lobito: Yours, Derek Hale 🐺

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Joey-girl, time to fight _for_ your man instead of _with_ your man.
> 
> (And yes, before you ask, that is exactly how I envision Derek Hale to text. Either super-blunt and to the point or just this long rambling going nowhere.)
> 
> Anyway, that's all I'm gonna say now, I hope the chapter speaks for itself. Excited to hear your thoughts about it, so please leave a comment and tell me what you think! Thank you for the support on the non-romance part of the story, it really helped with my motivation. Next chapter's up on Tuesday and it's one I've been excited about for a while!  
> Have a nice weekend, guys 😘


	78. The Storm IV

_If you don’t trust me, trust your instincts._

There are five stages of sleep deprivation. Stage one occurs after twenty-four hours and most people experience that sometime in their life. You feel ‘off’, basically. Drowsy, irritable and with heightened stress levels that could cause — Joe glanced down at her hands, one of which held her old phone — slight tremors.

Finally, the screen of her phone flashed with Scott’s name, and Joe answered with the most neutral tone she could muster. It wasn’t a long call.

“Okay, got it. Thanks for the update. Be careful.”

Swallowing, Joe put her phone down. As she’d hoped, Scott never questioned why she’d texted him from her old number.

Stage two of sleep deprivation sets in after thirty-six hours without sleep. You got all the symptoms from stage one, only intensified. Different parts of the brain stops communicating with one another. You’re likely to experience impaired decision-making, behavioral changes and an overwhelming urge to sleep. In theory at least, Joe had never felt more awake than now.

“They’re heading for the hospital.” She focused on Deucalion, even though she had no idea how much he could tell. “All of them.”

“Not unexpected,” said Deucalion with that slight half-smirk always on his lips. Always ten steps ahead, nothing took him by surprise it would seem. He held his arm out to Kali. “Shall we?”

“Let’s,” said Kali and allowed Deucalion to use her for guidance towards the penthouse front door.

No other orders were necessary. The twins followed without hesitation — even if Aiden gave Joe a leery smirk when he passed her. He made a show of rolling his arm, the same one she had broken earlier that same day. Not healed, Joe noticed and filed the information for later. With a brief sigh to herself, she followed the others.

All of them marched into the elevator without saying a word.

Based on her estimations, Joe had reached stage three. Forty-eight hours without sleep and it was now technically _extreme_ sleep deprivation. Hallucinations — check. Depersonalization — check. Increased irritability — Joe glared at the back of Aiden’s head, not caring a bit if the werewolves could smell her anger — _check_. While he didn’t have the balls to question her presence directly, most of the communication in the Alpha pack happened non-verbally. He did _not_ trust her.

As of now, they had a common enemy though. The Ex-Emissary; the Darach; Miss Blake or Baccari; whatever you wanted to call her had tried to kill Lydia Martin during some sort of recital at the high school. She had then stolen away with Sheriff Stilinski, according to Scott’s quick update, and managed to kill the final philosopher. Somehow, Scott and Stiles had exposed her and were bringing her to the hospital so she could heal Cora.

It was a complicated web of events, but Joe had no doubts Deucalion could weave them through it successfully. Which meant Joe had to weave in between that again to stand a chance of winning this dangerous game. It was probably not one she should play with decreased cognitive performance, but what choice did she have?

“Weather’s picking up,” Deucalion commented drily when they reached the streets. It was an understatement as a heavy fall storm was coming over the city. The kind that left the roads littered with fallen tree trunks and threw garbage bins into windows.

No one said a word as they walked. Deucalion had given his orders in the penthouse — he had not seemed perturbed by Joe’s presence the slightest, quite the opposite in fact. Joe could not help but wonder how many philosophers Deucalion had sacrificed in his time or if he had always been like this. On that note, she hoped Jimmy was okay. He was probably okay. If anyone could talk their way out of a cop-killing murder charge with damning evidence, it would be him. Or he had smack-talked the interrogators until they got sick of him and locked him up somewhere, but he would be fine.

She hoped.

With the rain pouring, Joe was glad she had taken the time to braid up her hair to lay tight to her head. It was like when she played high school soccer or like Allison had offered to do when they were heading to fight the Alphas. It kept it out of the way. Sneaking a glance at Deucalion and Kali ahead of her, Joe could not help but notice how much easier this was. Easy being the one chasing instead of fleeing. Apex predators, no natural enemies, just prey.

Joe pursed her lips — no _natural_ enemies, but there seemed to be an abundance of supernatural ones.

It did not come as too much of a surprise when they saw ambulance after ambulance leave the Beacon Memorial — built in the sixties, it had never upgraded its electrical system and the staff must worry about a power failure. She risked another glance at Deucalion — had he known? Did he plan for this? An empty hospital would be easier to navigate than a full one. Even the Alphas preferred to keep their business away from the public eye. Now she thought of Professor Kane of all people; what would happen if people found out about werewolves? What always happens. Lynchings and mob executions.

She hoped the near-empty hospital meant Aunt Mel had left too.

“As young Josefina here has posed an ultimatum,” Deucalion said in the same even tone she imagined he would discuss golf results and he nodded towards the twins, “you two go get the girl.”

“She’s on the second floor,” Joe supplied, but shifted uneasily when watching the twins conjoin themselves. Not just because it looked uncomfortable, also because she didn’t trust them an inch. “I thought I was-”

Deucalion smiled and kept heading for the main entrance of the hospital. “You have a different role to play. Come along.”

No one had told her what her different role would be. Only Kali had said something, before the other Alphas returned: _“If you’re not ready, bring her to me. Follow your instincts.”_

Somehow, Kali and Deucalion entered the hospital nearly dry. Joe suspected their basal body temperature simply evaporated the rain before it hit them, because Joe was soaked to the bone, her dad’s FBI-jacket dripping onto the floor. The hospital looked to be on its last leg of evacuation as most of the high-strung people running around was staff employees.

Joe tried to walk as calmly as Kali and Deucalion, seeming to have all the time in the world and wordlessly took the same turn around a corner.

At the end of the new hallway they emerged, the elevator dinged.

Joe had no way of knowing how Deucalion knew exactly where to go. The elevator doors opened to reveal pretty Miss Blake, not in a pencil skirt for once, but dressed in all black with a pair of open-toed heels.

She took two steps out of the elevator before noticing them. Joe was about to pull out her gun when Kali gave her a small headshake to make her stop.

How they communicated was beyond Joe, but Deucalion, in a swift motion, uncapped the end of his walking stick and threw it with both a strength and accuracy that any Olympic spear thrower would envy. It embedded itself deep in the wall next to Miss Blake’s head and the fear — the look of unconditional panic — on her face gave Joe a tingling feeling in her stomach.

The hunt was on.

The tingle made her miss how Kali took off running, sprinting down towards the elevator where Miss Blake had jumped back in and pressed the button hurriedly. Based on the angle of her arm, Joe knew which button she likely pushed. Joe knew this hospital as the back of her hand after all.

The doors slid shut, but not before Kali reached them and forced both hands in. She must have missed the automatic sensor, because the doors continued to close, fighting against Kali’s werewolf strength.

Her growl echoed, but was cut short when Kali flew back. Something, like an invisible force, tossed Kali back towards them. She landed hard on her back in the hallway and Deucalion gave a small sigh, as if this was unfortunate, but not unexpected.

“I know what floor she’s heading for,” Joe said and without waiting for approval, took off towards the stairs.

With the storm raging, the elevators seemed like a risky bet anyway. The staff had marked all the doors on the second floor with a red X; fully evacuated. The hallways looked and sounded deserted, at least to Joe’s ears. Without heightened senses, Joe did have another trick up her sleeve. Joe paused and for the first time in months, inhaled through her nose, filtering for that specific trace of... Derek. He was up here. Looks like Kali was right. Miss Blake — the Darach — would not stray far after all.

Her wet shoes squeaked over the floor, and Joe leaned down to take them off. Just then, the lights flickered, and the hospital fell into a deep silence as the ventilation system cut off. Strange how you sometimes never notice a sound until it stops. She left the boots in the hallway and flexed her bare toes. Now when she walked, she could only hear her own breathing.

A slight hiss and the back-up generators must have kicked in. Lights flickered on again, but only the essentials, leaving the whole hospital in an eerie glow. Joe wondered if she was calm because things were going by plan or if general fatigue just left her numb. Forty-nine hours and counting. Still, no Kate now, which was a small blessing. Just her own steady heartbeat and serene walking down the hallway, following the trail that grew stronger and stronger.

Even if she hadn’t heard the echoes of voices, she would have found them.

_“She was trying to get out!”_

Lo-and-behold, Derek was angry. Must mark this occasion in the calendar, like every other day in existence. Joe walked slowly down to a set of double doors to a medical stock room.

_“I was trying to keep from getting killed.”_

Joe had a tingling sensation in her body, like she was weightless and floating. That voice... It was the first time she had heard it, if you didn’t count the desperate scream when Joe had shot Derek in the chest. Good times.

_“You can't blame me for that. The Alphas are after me, if they find me-”_

It was more fun being the predator than the prey. Joe took a moment outside the doors, knowing they would see her silhouette.

Stiles’ nervous voice sounded from inside: _“I think they just did.”_

Showtime. Without ceremony, Joe pushed the doors open and stepped inside. They were all there. Stiles over by the wall, Derek, Scott and Peter bent over Cora’s still unconscious body laying on a stretcher and _her_ , standing closest to Joe, tense and wide-eyed.

Scott sounded equally confused and relieved, and Joe had to smother the growing guilt. “Joe?”

Ignore him for now. Focus on the prize.

“Hi, Jennifer, right?” Joe said with a large smile, like she was at a networking event, like she did not have the urge to just pull out her 9mm and shoot the other woman in the face. The other woman who had that delicious panicked look on her face. Joe took another step forwards while Jennifer Blake backed up. “I don't think we've ever been officially introduced. It’s Jennifer, right? Or do you prefer Julia?”

“Who?” Scott asked, but Joe kept ignoring him.

“I’m not usually a fan of deadnaming people, but I’m not sure of protocol here since you didn’t technically die. Unfortunately. That's your ‘real’ name, isn't it though? Julia Baccari?” Joe’s smile grew as Julia/Jennifer looked as sick as Joe had been earlier. The other occupants in the room seemed confused, but no one felt inclined to say anything yet. Joe could feel her own smile turn stiff, less friendly and more sharp. “I won't bother to introduce myself, you know who I am.”

Jennifer swallowed and had taken another step back. Her voice shook and Joe loved it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? That’s what you’re going for? Feigning ignorance? I gotta say, that’s disappointing. But hey, leaves me more room for monologuing!”

“Joe,” Scott came forwards with widened eyes, “what are you doing here?”

Folding her arms, but not looking away from Jennifer, Joe answered: “Same as you, I'm here for Cora.”

She kept smiling, because for once, she felt in control. Even more so when there was a flicker over Jennifer’s face, a crack in her facade; mouth quivered, her eyes filled with fear — or was it hate? Hard to tell. Maybe both.

“You know,” Joe said conversationally and leaned on one hip. “First, I didn't get it, why would anyone want to poison me and Cora.” She shrugged theatrically — she’d been serious about that monologue. “Then I remembered that one word that I'm really starting to hate,” Joe tilted her head, glancing briefly at the guys behind Jennifer, “ _leverage_. And you did just sacrifice three philosophers for strategic insight.”

As no one said anything, Joe laughed and nodded towards the room in general. “I gotta say, I’d ask for a refund on those sacrifices if relying on these guys to get you out of here was what you came up with. Seriously? These guys? Who don’t have a _single plan_ that’s _ever_ worked out between them?”

“Okay, that’s,” Stiles cleared his throat, “strangely hurtful.”

“Agreed,” said Peter, eyes shifting around.

“So, what are you gonna do, _Delgado_?” Jennifer finally found her voice and now Joe knew she was definitely more filled with hate than fear. She seemed to cling onto the innocent teacher-act as she tilted her head. “Are you going to shoot me too?”

Joe stopped smiling, returning Jennifer’s stare evenly. “At this point, I'd shoot you just for messing with my coffee. All the other stuff? I simply don’t have the vocabulary to explain what I’d do to you.”

Peter gave a knowing smile from where he stood next to Cora. “Hell hath no fury-”

“Oh shut up,” Joe cut him off and rolled her eyes, not even acknowledging the guilty expression crossing over Derek’s otherwise stoic face. This was _not_ about that, not yet. Still looking at Jennifer, Joe nodded towards Cora. The young Hale seemed to be in fever-throes, but still completely out of it. “Heal her.”

“Not until I'm safe.”

“Heal her,” Joe said slowly and reached back for the 9mm, “or I _will_ shoot you.”

“You think a bullet's gonna kill me?” Jenifer asked and crossed her arms. Joe focused on her, almost a tunnel vision, the other guys in the room irrelevant. Especially the look on Derek’s face. She could not allow herself to lose focus.

“I hope sixteen of them's gonna hurt, yeah.” Joe held the gun by her side and fought to keep her voice neutral and flat. “Or I’ll have to move on to other stuff.” She observed Jennifer, looking for tells. “Like salt. Silver. Iron.”

Gotcha. Jennifer had flinched on her last word. It was discreet though and her nostrils flared; she recovered quickly. “You won’t. I know you.” Her voice turned hard as if this was the greatest insult she could think of. “You're too much like your father.”

“Don't worry,” Joe tilted her head to the side, not breaking eye contact, still keeping the gun down for now, “I'm my mother's daughter too.”

The pale realization on Jennifer’s face was better than anything Joe had ever felt. She laughed.

“What, you thought I didn’t know? I’ll admit, it’s not my favorite thing to think about. I mean, I went twenty-three years with a specific image of my mother and it kinda took its toll when I learned the truth. Disassociation, I think it’s called. I don’t know, I’m not a psych-major.”

On the bench, still unconscious, Cora moaned, and the sound made something in Joe break.

“Funny thing, though. I didn’t connect _all_ the dots until the mistletoe only made me throw up instead of rendering me like _that._ ” She nodded towards Cora. “Because that was part of your plan, wasn’t it? What about you, Jenny? Figured it out yet? Doesn’t look like your plan’s going all that well. Almost like someone messed up the first philosopher-sacrifice.”

Joe could live long on that expression, when the woman forgot she was supposed to be all innocent and sweet and let a wash of hatred fill her eyes. It seemed to make her at a loss for words.

“Gotta see the whole board,” Joe continued and clicked her tongue. “Past, present, and future. It's all connected like you druid assholes like to say. I’ve built up a tolerance, and you only got yourself to thank.”

It gave her that same tingle to practically see the wheels turning behind Jennifer’s eyes. It tempted her to drag this out further, but Cora did not look like she was getting better by this whole exchange.

“So, what was it? A little berry every day with the prenatals? A sprinkle in the lactation supplement? Specially made mistletoe-smoothie delivered each morning?”

Stiles blinked, slipping out of his anger for a second as he looked at the other guys. “Is anyone else completely lost with this conversation?”

For a while, Joe feared Jennifer wouldn’t take the bait. Or that she had it wrong. She needed to know. That was why it was extra sweet when Jennifer finally spat:

“I knew if you were human she'd never bother with you.”

“There you go,” Joe whispered and couldn’t help the smile stretching out her face. Overhead, the lights flickered, the generators struggling with the storm.

“I am still lost, in case anyone wondered,” Stiles added, but neither Joe nor Jennifer paid him any attention.

“She’d just become Alpha when she found out.” Her face drawn in anger of bitter memories, it was pure unadulterated hatred when she looked at Joe. “She did not need that kind of distraction.”

She seemed to mean it as an insult of sorts, but Joe only kept smiling and tilted her head. It felt good to be right. Smiling in the face of someone who looked so angry filled her with a warm buzz. Better than coffee. Better than sex.

This was probably baiting the potentially powerful evil druid too much, but she couldn’t help herself. And, Joe figured, she was severely sleep-deprived and deserved a little fun.

Activating her eyes, knowing they shone a deep dark red with a thick black ring around the outside of the iris, Joe said: “Turns out there were a lot of things Kali didn’t need in the end.”

They both moved fast. Jennifer took a step forward, arm raising, but Joe already had her gun up, aiming square at the woman’s chest.

“That hit a sore spot?” Joe’s smile widened when Jennifer’s nostrils flared, obviously restraining herself. “I can imagine. Marin said she warned you, but you didn’t believe her. Why is that? I mean, it can’t be because of her tenderhearted nature, she’d killed José years earlier.” There was something, a glint, a hard set to Jennifer’s jaw, something sad in her expression that made Joe narrow her eyes. “You thought you were special, didn’t you?”

“I was.” Her nostrils flared as Jennifer bit out: “More than you or your dad.”

“Sure about that? If she thought he poisoned her, why’d she never come after him?”

“Okay, _what_ are you guys talking about?” Stiles did a double-take with his entire body as if the other guys in the room should have answers for him. “What? Just- _what?_ Kali? The toenail lady?”

It was difficult to make out expressions with the eyes activated, so Joe dimmed them back to her regular brown. Jennifer looked enraged, positively livid, and probably too angry to even say a single word. At least she didn’t have an answer to Joe.

“Kali?” Scott almost whispered and his mouth hung open. He looked at Jennifer with his brows pulled together. “You were her Emissary, weren’t you? And she’s your...” he stared at Joe, more surprised than disgusted just yet, “what?”

Did Derek look surprised? Yes, he did, eyes flickering uncertainly to Joe as if he was adding up facts in his head and realizing he should have known it sooner. It hurt to look at him right now, and Joe could not allow herself the distraction. Not yet. Weaving between Deucalion’s plans, she had to function, but it was hard, because she _wanted_ to kill.

As usual, Peter was ahead of the rest. He sighed and looked at Joe with narrowed eyes. “Whose side are you on exactly?”

“I haven't decided yet,” Joe said with a shrug, taking the gun away from Jennifer slowly to cross her arms, mimicking Peter’s stance. “The others made a _very_ compelling argument.”

Stiles looked uncertain, only halfway recovered from Joe’s revelation. “They'll rip her apart.”

“Yeah, I know. That was literally the whole argument. Very compelling.” They’d wasted enough time and Joe nodded towards Cora again. “Heal her. Or I don’t see any compelling arguments of keeping you alive anymore.”

“I told you,” Jennifer’s voice shivered, a tasty combination of fear and anger. She looked at Derek, eyes widening, possibly trying to invoke his protective side and Joe narrowed her eyes, “not until I'm safe.”

“I'd like to volunteer a different method of persuasion,” Peter said lightheartedly. “Let's torture her.”

“Works for me,” Derek said instantly, but neither of them got two steps before the PA-system sounded.

_“Um, can I have your attention?”_

Recognizing the voice, Joe felt a hard pit form in her stomach. Shit. Shit shit shit. Deucalion, that bastard, was as usual ten steps ahead. First strike, Delgado. You messed up.

Scott, who had jumped forward to stop Derek, turned his focus towards the speaker on the wall, face falling. It was a slight consolation that Jennifer did not seem to approve of this message either.

_“Mr. Deucalion,”_ Aunt Mel said over the loudspeakers. _“Excuse me, just Deucalion,”_ she corrected, and the fear layered in her voice was not as delicious as Jennifer’s, _“requests you bring the woman calling herself Jennifer Blake to the E.R. reception. Do this, and everyone else can leave. You have ten minutes.”_

“He's not gonna hurt her.”

Realizing they’d said the same thing, both Joe and Jennifer glared at each other. Derek only pointed his finger at Jennifer though, business-like when telling her to: “Shut up.”

Joe narrowed her eyes again — he seemed angry, but not enough. Not like she knew him. Was it an act?

“He won’t!” Jennifer insisted while Joe went to lean against the doorway. Jennifer looked at Scott, trying to appeal to the calmest werewolf in the room. “Scott, you know why.” She gestured back at Joe. “Even she knows! Tell them it’s true.”

“He won’t,” Joe grudgingly had to supply, hating to agree with this woman on anything. “It’s just a reminder,” to her surprise, she found Scott nodding slightly in understanding, “for what’s at stake.”

“You're seriously on their side?” Stiles asked with the disbelief plain on his face. He looked worn, Joe noted now. Dark circles under his eyes and thinner than usual, emphasized by the wet shirt still clinging to him. “That Stockholm Syndrome thing wasn’t that far-fetched after all, was it?”

“I’m not brainwashed, kid. I’m radicalized. Two different things.” Not perturbed by Stiles’ outburst, Joe shrugged. She knew their reaction wouldn’t be pleasant. She’d known since she first went to Kali of her own volition. “Duke’s an asshole, but he’s not stupid. He won’t hurt her.”

“Because of you?” Stiles asked with raised eyebrows.

“Partially, but mostly because of Scott.”

“What does she mean?” Derek asked Scott, the simmering anger so very dangerously close to the surface. That was the Derek she knew. Faced with a situation you can’t resolve, fight blindly because at least you’re doing something. It didn’t slip by Joe that he addressed Scott when the question should have been posed to her. Coward.

“You’re not the only one he wants in his pack,” Jennifer explained, sounding like a different person when talking to him than any of the others. “Deucalion doesn’t just want an Alpha pack. He wants perfection. That means adding the rarest of Alphas to his ranks.”

Again, the fastest one to catch on, Peter nodded to himself. “A True Alpha.”

“What's that?” Stiles asked, while Derek’s face swiveled to look at Peter.

“The kind that doesn't have to steal his power from another.” Peter let his gaze travel from Derek to Scott, who stared hard out into the air. “One that can rise by the force of his own will.” Hard to tell if he sounded jealous or proud. “Our little Scott.”

Derek and Scott looked at each other while the latter one shook his head and said: “It doesn't matter.” Making up his mind, he faced Jennifer again. “We still need to get her out of here.”

It was hard to tell if he meant Jennifer or Cora. Stiles pushed forwards. “Scott, your mom-”

“My mom,” Scott cut him off, “said there’s one more ambulance coming in twenty minutes. And I don’t think we’ve been here that long, so if we can get down to the garage, get to the last ambulance, we can get out of here.”

Scott looked away from Derek and the others, eyes pleading when facing her. “Joe, I need to know you’re on our side.”

Before Joe could answer, Stiles supplied in a tight voice. “She... she has my dad.”

“As a Guardian-sacrifice,” Joe said evenly and saw how Jennifer stiffened, “meaning she won’t touch him until the lunar eclipse.”

“You sound so sure,” Jennifer said, turning around with a curl in her upper lip. “Are you?”

Joe sighed, fatigue setting in more now. “Yeah, I’m sure, because that’s when the sun, moon and earth are in synch and balance, which you guys have such a massive hard-on for.” Seeing all the confused faces, she wondered just exactly how little everyone else had found out. Everyone else didn’t have Jimmy though. “And when they’re in balance, you can use the solar, lunar _and_ telluric currents’ energy to fulfill your _oh-so-original_ quest of revenge.”

“Lady, if you’d shown up a few months earlier you’d probably have your very own kanima to boss around,” Joe said with another shrug. “Like everyone else we’ve been up against, you want revenge for _nearly_ dying, right?” Now she looked at the guys behind Jennifer. “Like Peter,” who gave a tight smile, “like Matt, like Kate and probably like Gerard sooner or later. And this is just a side-note to the room in general, we gotta start making sure people actually die, because this is getting ridiculous.”

Joe looked at Jennifer again and knew she sounded nearly bored. “I know you used the crows as a sacrifice back in 2003 to survive. Then the crows a month ago to change your appearance, which I gotta admit, was a stellar improvement.”

To her credit, Jennifer did not flinch or react to her words. This just meant Joe could keep going.

“I know that's not what you really look like. I know you're spending half your energy all the time just looking like that.” She swallowed and pushed off the doorway, taking a step towards Jennifer. “Because you failed at getting the werewolves at the motel to kill themselves for you, that would've made it permanent, right?”

“Got it all figured out.” Jennifer had fake happiness in her voice. “Such a good little detective.”

“I'm getting there,” Joe said evenly and found she desperately wanted a fight. She wanted this bitch to pay. She wanted this bitch to know that Joe knew everything. “Took me a while to figure out the virgins though. Motive and all.” Her voice was sharp as she leaned in to whisper. “Because I thought: someone going through all that trouble just could not be _that_ pathetic.”

Hard to tell who moved first, but Jennifer raised her arm while Joe pulled out her gun.

“I’ll empty the clip in your head,” she said with a steady aim to Jennifer’s face. “Might not kill ya, but it’s gonna take a while to heal.”

“You need me.”

“No, what I need is Jimmy, who you just got arrested. That means I lost that last tether I was hanging onto and I’m spiraling fast, lady. Look at my face, Jules, and tell me I’m lying. Tell me I don’t want you dead.”

“Joe!” Scott shouted, not daring to move forward in case Joe’s trigger discipline slipped.

“She won’t,” Peter drawled. “Her instincts are to protect Cora. As her Alpha, right?”

“Sure,” Joe said, not dropping the gun an inch or looking away from Jennifer. “My instincts that I’m so in tune with.”

Her voice must have been hard and her heartbeat steady as Peter hesitated. “Oh sweet little Josefina,” he drawled. “What did they do to you?”

“These eyes didn’t come cheap if that’s what you want to know,” Joe said, watching Jennifer intently if she made another move. She’d used some kind of power, reminiscent of Professor Kane actually, when pushing Kali away from the elevator just before. She looked innocent, helpless, but Joe had to remember it was all an act. A glamor.

“And you’ll still hand me over to her?” Jennifer asked in a shaking voice. She held her hands up in surrender, unarmed, like that mattered.

“Kali’s broken every single bone in my body twice,” Joe spat, the memories too painful to keep the hurt out of her voice, “to undo what _you_ did. What _you_ did to both me and her and then you had the audacity to blame my dad for it all. So yeah, bitch, I’ll hand you over to her in a heartbeat.”

Trigger finger off the trigger, she repeated internally and avoided looking at Scott or Derek, both with so guilty expressions it made her want to shoot them instead. Her eyes fell to the unconscious girl on the bench and she struggled with her instincts.

Nostrils flaring, Joe lowered the gun. “But, Peter’s actually right for once, so...”

For a second, no one said anything, but then Stiles shifted, blinking at her with despair in his eyes: “Joe, this isn’t you. The Alphas got you under some sort of trance or something, this isn’t... Scott, tell me this isn’t Joe.”

Scott remained quiet, just looking at Joe. Probably seeing the dark circles under her eyes, the frizzy hair framing her face, the uncaring expression. “How many hours?” He took a step towards Joe with his hand up, as if to calm a startled animal. “Stage two? Three?”

“What?” Stiles whispered, glancing around to see if anyone had any answers. “What are you-”

“Forty-nine and counting,” Joe drawled and tucked the gun back in her waistband, grinning at Scott who tried to work this out. She held up three fingers. “Stage three.”

He nodded slowly. “Hallucinations?”

“Oh yeah. Lots.”

“Bad ones?”

“Yup.”

“What’s that mean?” Stiles used his whole body to ask the question, glancing between Joe and Scott. “Stage three hallucinations don’t sound good. Scott, bud, what does that mean?”

Without looking away from her, Scott answered Stiles. “It means that this _is_ Joe, but it’s Joe who’s missing forty-nine hours of sleep. She has a tendency to, uh, become slightly delusional and, uh, very mean.”

Stiles looked stricken. “So, what, we can’t trust her?”

“I wouldn’t,” Joe interjected with a shrug. “But you probably shouldn’t listen to me.”

“As worrisome as that is, I’m sensing not everyone in this room is as willing as I am to subdue Josefina,” Peter gave a pointed look to both Scott and Derek, “so what choice do we have?”

Joe just shrugged and leaned back against the doorway. Did she have an actual plan? Not that she could remember anymore. Not beyond getting Cora to safety. Follow her stupid instincts. If this was through Jennifer or Kali remained was yet to be determined. It was a minor comfort that Derek looked to be equally worried as Scott and Peter. Mostly he looked confused. Conflicting instincts too? Maybe.

Or conflicting feelings? Because as much as she wanted to believe Kali about the spell, as much as she wanted to believe the texts Derek had sent her were real, one thing still nagged her. The emotions when she felt him having sex with Little Miss Pencil Skirt. The intense sensation of a deep connection. It did not feel like a seduction spell; it felt like love.

There were no rules against being under a spell _and_ in love. Technically, Joe was, even if she hated it.

But Derek was nothing if pragmatic and could prioritize his problems. “The twins aren’t gonna let us just walk out anyway.”

“I’ll distract them,” Scott said instantly.

“You mean fight them.”

“Whatever I have to do.”

Derek nodded and held Scott’s even gaze. “I’ll help you.”

“Um, sorry,” Jennifer said and Joe narrowed her eyes just from the sound of her voice, “but I’m not going anywhere without you, Derek.”

At that, Joe’s eyebrows rose and Jennifer must have felt her staring as she turned to stare back over her shoulder. What was her deal with Derek? Was it _just_ to antagonize Joe or did she have feelings for him too? They held each other’s eyes for a few seconds before Joe admitted: “I just don’t think you’re gonna be as fun to hallucinate when all of this is over.”

“I’ll do it,” Peter said, ignoring Joe and Jennifer for the time being. “But I’d prefer to be out there with an advantage.”

“An advantage? Like what?” Stiles asked, shifting from one foot to another. He did not have his usual edge to his voice. “You mean like a weapon?”

“Something better than a baseball bat,” Peter said and Joe found herself at the center of attention.

“You can have the gun,” she said easily and Peter looked pleasantly surprised, “over my dead body.”

Derek, for the first time this evening, gave her a regular angry sigh. It was the first one in a while and if she hadn’t been so tired, she might have relished it more. “Are you gonna help us fight them?”

“Probably not,” Joe admitted, if only to see his irritation grow. She wanted to see the real him.

“Really?” Stiles asked and his annoyance shone on his face. “You’re just gonna let your cousin Scott, age seventeen, handle it? You don’t care if he gets hurt?”

“What are you so worried about? We’re talking about the same twins here, right? Ethan and Aiden What’s-Their-Face?” Joe gave Scott an encouraging smile. “Come on, they’re the weakest Alphas you’re ever gonna face! They’ve never absorbed any of their betas’ power, they got the least experience, so if you _separate_ them,” she glanced at Derek who looked away, “they’re just like any other Alpha without a pack.” Joe grinned at their expressions and added: “Weak.”

“Isn’t Scott,” Stiles sounded unsure, “technically an Alpha without a pack?”

“Oh, yeah.” Joe hadn’t thought about that. “Okay, uh, pro-tip: they tend to favor opposite arms — Ethan’s always on the left, Aiden’s on the right. Ethan’s got a habit of telegraphing his hooks by rotating his shoulders,” she demonstrated with her own body, “and Aiden’s right elbow still isn’t fully healed since I broke it this morning. Uh, what else... Okay, they’re under orders not to kill you, but Aiden’s probably a sociopath so keep an eye on him. You’ll be fine, kid. One-on-one even Erica could take them. Easy-peasy.”

Peter cleared his throat. “And what about me?”

“What about you?” She blinked when the room as a whole stared at her in part-shock, part-awe. “Okay, fine, jeez. I’ll split them for you, but that’s it.”

Stiles looked disgusted. “You’ll what?”

“Nevermind that,” Scott interrupted them, cast a last glance at Joe, and looked around the room. “There’s gotta be something in here we can use to gain the upper hand.”

While the guys split up to search through drawers and cabinets, Joe kept her position by the door, glaring at Jennifer just because she could. She really had undergone an extreme makeover from how she looked both from Joe’s Polaroid and the medical files. Darker brown hair, slimmer face, bigger eyes — eyes that now glanced over at Joe periodically. There wasn’t anything left of the mousy brunette. She was pretty now, Joe supposed, but not really her type. She looked familiar though, like Joe had seen her before.

There were still missing puzzle pieces. _Why_ had Jennifer tried to make Joe human? _Why_ not kill her? And why blame Joe’s dad? Hopefully, after she saved Cora, she could ask Jennifer this. Just the two of them, having a private girl talk. As if Jennifer could sense her thoughts, she glanced over at Joe. Despite her dark fantasies, Joe smiled.

“Hey, wait,” Stiles said and held up a pair of defibrillator pads. “What about these?”

“Do you know how to use those?” Derek asked from where he rummaged through a cabinet.

“Well, no.”

“Put ‘em down,” Derek ordered and Stiles did so without question.

“Are ya seriously that worried about the twins?” Joe asked, shifting her weight from one foot to another. It was easy to ignore the fatigue when something was happening, but just standing around like this made her eyes heavy. Joe vaguely noted how much of her old accent slipped back, the one she had toned down when getting into Berkeley. “Why don’t we just throw Peter out as bait and take off in the opposite direction?”

“Why do you always insist on being completely out of it,” Scott asked with an annoyed frown as he tore through some drawers, “whenever there’s gonna be a serious fight?”

Without hesitating, Joe snapped back: “Someone always insists on poisoning my coffee, Scott.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Stiles asked from further back in the room, “you two worked that out, right? You’re not still holding a grudge or anything, are you, Joe?”

“Come on, guys, you know me. Do I seem like someone who would harbor a grudge?”

Stiles stared at her. “You went years without even talking to your dad!”

“That is true. But, really, why would I hold a grudge against my only cousin who drugged me against my will and indirectly enabled a psychopathic killer to attack and violate me and then didn’t apologize until after learning I’d been locked in a vault for three months? If anything, I should be holding a grudge against the guy who, also _after_ learning I’d been locked in a vault for three months, figured it wasn’t that serious actually and asked me to _deal with it_ instead of telling Aunt Mel where I’d been. Oh wait, that was Scott too.”

“And this is why,” Scott murmured. “You get mean when you don’t sleep.”

“Oh, you think I’m being mean? Right now I’m just delusional. Free-falling. Balls-deep in crazy.”

“Whatever,” Scott said distractedly and seemed to find something of interest in the cabinet. “Just keep your shirt on please.”

Again, without hesitating, Joe unzipped her jacket and let it drop. The noise attracted too much attention, and she scoffed. “I’m wearing a sports-bra, guys, relax. Besides, someone’s gotta show a little skin.” Joe turned to Jennifer again. “Did you not get the memo of the obligatory low neckline for evil villains? Look, the top’s cute and all, but you gotta have some cleavage.” She nodded towards Peter’s low V-neck sweater. “See? Uncle Creeper gets it.”

“This is gonna be a long night,” she thought she heard Derek mutter, but it might have been Scott. Either way, Scott had found whatever he had been looking for and held up a hefty syringe with a long thin needle.

“Epinephrine?” Scott asked.

It was basically pure adrenaline and to Joe’s surprise, Derek seemed to know this as he shook his head. “That’s only gonna make him stronger.”

Interest piqued, Peter glanced over. “How strong?”

Sensing they were finally getting a move on, Joe straightened up and stretched her limbs. Kate, who had been sitting on one of the cabinets, hopped down as well. “Gotta be careful here, babe. Don’t like that look on her face.”

Julia/Jennifer was watching the guys make a battle plan, trying to calculate how long the adrenaline would give Peter the necessary boost. Kate had a point. There was still something serene in Jennifer’s face, even though it evaporated every time she looked at Joe.

“Poisoning Cora was leverage for Derek. Poisoning you was probably a double whammy, for both Scott and Derek,” Kate continued with a detached voice, like this was just a helpful suggestion. “She always targets one more victim than she needs, remember? So double for Derek, but not double for Scott? Sounds fishy. Who’s the last one?”

About to answer, Joe noticed Scott waving his hand at her. He looked over to the empty cabinet where Kate had been. “You weren’t kidding about those hallucinations, huh?”

“Nope,” Joe said and pulled out her 9mm. Derek had Cora over his shoulder with Stiles and Jennifer nearby, ready to leave when Peter and Scott had distracted the twins sufficiently. “Everyone on board?”

“Wait, Ethan favored his left, Aiden his right?” Peter asked and Joe nodded. “How do I know who’s who?”

“Easy. Ethan’s the gay one. Are we all set?”

“When you are,” Peter said and allowed Stiles to stab the needle straight into his heart. Either the sting or the adrenaline rush made him instantly tense up and huff air out his mouth. “Okay.”

His muscles tensing up, he waddled out the door, needle still sticking out of his chest. Not even thinking about it, Joe followed Scott the same way. The hallway lights blinked on and off, but two familiar shapes were down at the end.

“All right, boys,” Peter said unsteadily, and every vein protruded from his neck as he tore the needle out. “Let’s rumble.”

The twins, already shirtless, let out a roar and walked in synch towards them. Swallowing, Joe put both hands around the pistol. She could feel Kate’s hands on her waist, smell the perfume and then hear her voice as she whispered: “You gotta wait until they’re nearly together. Gotta find that sweet spot.”

A missed hit costs twice as much as one that lands. Time slowed down. Joe brought her left foot forward, toes pointing towards the twins and her right foot canted forty-five degrees out. Almost like a boxer stance. Kate corrected her arms. “Don’t extend your gun arm fully, don’t lock your elbow, there you go.” Other arm she bent to another forty-five-degree angle. “Push with your right arm, lean with your left. That’s it.”

The twins were halfway down the hall before Aiden reached into his brother’s neck and they began merging. “Breathe, baby. Just breathe.”

In-between breaths, just as the twins’ heads pulled together — always the last — Joe fired right into the center.

“That’s it,” Kate cooed as both twins leaped to the side, red eyes glaring enraged down at her. Aiden looked particularly furious and Joe grinned. It cost them a lot to join together, they wouldn’t try for at least a while now.

“Which side are you on?” Aiden roared and Joe shrugged theatrically.

This was Scott and Peter’s signs to roar and dash ahead. They’d hold them for a while, but not forever, and Joe rushed after Derek and the others who snuck out of the room behind her.

“Okay,” Stiles said with an insecure grin to her as they ran. “You split them. Nice.”

No time to answer, Joe just ran ahead to push open the doors to the stairwell for Derek. Not for Derek, really, but for the girl he carried over his shoulder. She let him and Stiles past her and then kept close to Jennifer.

“You should know,” Jennifer’s voice echoed as they ran down the stairs and Joe could hardly believe her ears of what came next, “why I did what I did, Josefina.”

“Are you talking about feeding my mom mistletoe when she was pregnant,” Joe asked as she jumped over several steps, “killing eleven innocent people-”

“It’s twelve now!” Stiles corrected as they turned a corner and continued down.

“-getting Jimmy arrested or poisoning Cora?”

“Listen to her voice,” Kate said as she slid down the banister with a wink. “Listen how sweet she sounds.” Kate was right. Jennifer’s voice was now cloyingly sweet, like she was talking to Derek. She could not be trying to seduce her, right? Or maybe she was, who knew how that thing worked.

“You might hate me,” Jennifer continued and Joe wanted the ability to growl, so she could show her annoyance better, “but I wasn’t the one who lied to you. I wasn’t the one who left you.”

Joe rolled her eyes and followed close on Stiles’ heels. “Bitch, shut up.”

“And you have to believe me-”

Just one set of stairs left and Joe picked up the pace, hoping the footsteps would drown out the voice behind her.

“-I didn’t know about you when I and Der-”

“Oh my God!” Joe’s voice echoed now, and she jumped down the last steps to land in front of the door to the basement. “I don’t care!”

Ignoring Derek to the best of her abilities, she kicked the doors open just because she could.

“Still here!” Stiles said with relief as the ambulance still stood with its lights blinking and backdoor open.

It was the last one, the garage otherwise empty. They raced forwards and Stiles jumped in to heft Cora’s body fully onto the stretcher from Derek’s shoulder. Jennifer went to the side of the ambulance, but Joe paused.

The ambulance should not still be here, she thought, and sure enough, Kali stood leaning by the front with a Cheshire Cat-grin. She tilted her head at Joe in a question and Joe nodded. If nothing else, it would allow her time to reason with Kali, if the only way to save Cora was through Jennifer after all.

Speaking of, Jennifer’s shrill voice rang out. _“Derek. Over here!”_

With another nod, Kali stalked in front of the ambulance, and Joe went around the back. With a warning glare to Stiles, she quietly shut the doors. Finger to her lips. Shh. He nodded in pale understanding.

“ _Julia...”_

Kali’s singsong voice echoed in the garage. As Joe went out on the other side of the ambulance, Kali emerged while twirling the ambulance keys on her finger. In front of Derek and Jennifer laid a bleeding-out paramedic and that made Joe’s stomach twist. Collateral damage in Kali’s mind, but an innocent human being in Joe’s.

_Follow your instincts. Come on._

“It _is_ you,” Kali said in a warm voice, looking at Jennifer who had taken a step back to hide behind Derek. Warm as in the way blood was warm. Or a still-beating heart, ripped straight from someone’s chest. Even if Joe knew the truth, it was hard to face when thinking of what kind of person Kali really was.

“Derek...” A sixth sense must have made Jennifer turn around to spot Joe and Joe could imagine her expression was not as pretty as it could have been. “You can’t beat them on your own.”

And finally — _finally!_ — Derek looked at Joe as well. Not a brief glance, but a long hard stare like he was afraid of what he would find. Finally — _finally!_ — it occurred to him that she could betray him just as he could betray her. Finally, he must have realized he would have to fight back.

And instead of doing that, of giving her that fight she craved, of showing Joe his true self, he said: “That’s why we’re gonna run.”

“Are you kidding?” Joe hissed while Kali leaned forward to roar. Joe jumped and used the ambulance to push off, kicking herself into their path. Her bare feet skidded across the wet floor, as Derek had dodged. “Asshole!”

She and Kali went separate ways, Kali hoping to intercept them further down the hallway.

Joe, however, knew she was just as fast as Derek and dashed after them, hitting the doorway they’d just emerged from. She saw the edge of his foot disappearing into the elevator and Joe span around on the wall, throwing herself inside before the doors closed.

Something, probably Kali, banged against the doors with a growl. It didn’t register, as Joe’s action had flung her straight towards Derek. Or, onto Derek.

She landed with both legs around his waist and for a brief half-second, they stared at each other in shock. Or he did, while she pulled her fist back and punched him.

If nothing else, he understood body language. This wasn’t her Derek. Her Derek wouldn’t run!

He threw back his head with a snarl, blood flying in the air. Joe locked her legs, squeezing him tight both to keep him in place and to cut off his air supply. She punched him again and again, hard as she could and he stumbled back into the wall. Derek’s face morphed into full wolf and he roared so the elevator shook around them.

Aware of his claws, she grabbed one wrist that came for her, then the other, both locked away from their bodies. They struggled against each other. He was strong, but so was she!

His jaw opened and the lengthened teeth glittered as he snapped at her. Finally! Finally a fight!

With her still around him, he dashed forwards, flinging them both into the other wall. Joe hit it with her back, but the recoil landed them back in the middle of the elevator. The pain glimmered in her skull, but she refused to let go of his wrists.

Instead, she unhooked her legs and pulled them in front, sprinting up his body to spin herself backward, the air a quick rush in her ears. She used the momentum to effectively fling him overhead and smash into the floor.

Joe flipped up first, already somersaulting with her foot out, but he rolled to the side, leaving her foot crashing into empty space. Both up, they were on either side of the elevator, Joe baring her teeth and Derek snarling, baring his fangs.

Then the lights went out, and the elevator stopped, jolting them all off balance. As the emergency lights flickered on, Derek’s face was back to normal. And in synch they both turned their heads to the side, remembering the last occupant in the elevator who had pressed herself into the wall.

“If you’re gonna fight,” she whispered, breath shaky, “can you wait until you’re not in an enclosed space with me here?”

“Shut up.” Rolling her eyes, Joe dropped out of her stance and stretched her neck where it had snapped from hitting the wall. Enclosed space with Derek and his lover was not how she’d anticipated this evening to go. “Who takes an elevator during a storm?”

“Someone who’s trying not to die,” Jennifer said carefully and Joe gave her a pointed look, signaling that was definitely still on the table. With a huff, Jennifer turned towards Derek instead. “You still need me to save Cora.”

He seemed to be through with listening, but he gave Joe a wary glance before going over to the elevator doors. Was he protecting Jennifer or was this his way of saving Cora?

Derek forced the doors open maybe fifteen inches, the maximum emergency opening in case of shutdowns. Didn’t matter as they were between floors and just stared into gray concrete except a tiny sliver at the top no one could fit through.

With a raised eyebrow, Joe watched him stalk over to the middle of the elevator, glancing upwards. Jennifer must have caught on as well.

“If you're thinking service hatch, they bolt it from the outside, so you'd have to break it.” She sighed when realizing that this did not pose a problem for Derek. “All you'd end up doing is creating a lot of noise, telling them exactly where we are.”

Throwing a dark look towards Joe, Derek said: “Kali already knows.”

“Not necessarily. She saw that we got in, but she might not know that we didn't get out.”

Noticing Derek’s second suspicious glance, Joe shrugged and leaned into a corner as far away from the two of them as possible. “I don’t think Kali owns a phone and I’m certainly not telepathic.”

“Yeah, well, if I get through, then we can go to another floor.”

“Or you'd end up fighting them alone in an elevator shaft, with this one,” a gesture towards Joe, “as an obvious wildcard.” She sounded genuinely heartbroken as Derek went back to the doors as if looking for any other way out. “They'll rip my head off before you even have a chance to land a punch.”

Joe scoffed. “How is that a bad thing?”

“You need me to save Cora!”

“Oh my God, broken record much?”

“If you want me dead,” Jennifer said in a low voice, sounding more sad than angry, “why don’t you just kill me yourself?”

“That’s a good question.” The fatigue burned inside of Joe now and huddled into the corner. “You were right, you know, I’m a lot like my dad. Nature versus nurture and all. So the truth is, I’m just waiting for the hallucinations to get so bad I’ll think you’re someone else. That’s the only way I can go through with it. The hair’s wrong, so it might be a few hours.”

The other occupants in the elevator stared at her, and Joe shrugged, resting her head back against the wall.

“That’s your deadline for saving Cora. Tick-Tock.”

“Then someone needs to get the backup generator running again,” Derek proclaimed and fished out his phone. Joe realized her was still in her jacket, now left behind up in the supply room. “So we can actually get to Cora.”

“Look at us,” Kate said from where she had taken up the same stance as Joe in the opposite corner. “All of Derek’s girls in one place. Okay, we’re missing one, but who’s to say she’s not here in ghost form? Think we should try a seance?”

“Oh shut up,” Joe said, not caring about the disturbed looks Derek and Jennifer sent her. She shrugged. “Hallucination. Stage three, don’t worry. Stage four is where it gets bad. And five is disastrous.”

The only comfort, as the ventilation dropped to nothing with a low hiss, was that Derek looked as uncomfortable with the situation as she did.

Now she definitely heard the heavy sigh and muttering of: “This is gonna be a long night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know exactly why, but this is one of my favorite chapters, even if Derek has like...two lines? I love giving Joe a good monologue. 
> 
> Hopefully, this chapter answered some questions and there's gonna be more in the next one, because now Joe, Derek and Jennifer are trapped in an elevator and have the chance to talk. Does not sound like a recipe for disaster, not at all.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for the feedback on the last chapter! We're getting closer to the season finale and I'm excited to wrap this one up 😊  
> Thank you for reading, as always, and please let me know what you think! Next chapter's up on Friday ❤


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